The context around HORSES means that all conversations about the game end up being conversations around the game, and about the state of the medium as a whole. Despite being one of the most talked about games of the moment, it has somehow fallen out of the conversation even about itself. For a brief explainer, a ban from Steam, followed by a ban from the Epic Store, is more of an illustration of a systemic problem with distribution than anything else. While any platform holder can obviously decide what to put and not to put on their respective platforms, each decision sends a message and creates a larger reflection on what they have decided to platform. The bigger problem is the system, where meaningful distribution is narrowed to too few places and your possibility of success is based on the whims of large corporations that are also deeply affected by the whims of payment processers (as we saw earlier this year, which this scenario is really a coda to). What this has all done is frame every conversation around the game HORSES as a speculative search for extremity. To make an aside, there's a piece in Don LeLillo's novel, White Noise, about the most photographed barn in the country which concludes, among other things, that 'once you've seen the signs about the barn, it becomes impossible to see the barn.' The context placed around the barn becomes the story of the barn to the extent you can never see it without this context placed around it. You cannot just play HORSES anymore, you can only play HORSES: The Game Too Extreme for Steam and thus will only receive it in that way. A shame, really, as this alters the natural progression of the narrative and somewhat skews the messaging of the game. HORSES does want to shock you but it wants to shock you in a different way: it wants to shock you due to your complicity in cruelty and in line with larger messaging about authoritarianism. Now, the player is looking for shocks and evaluating the shocks against a metric of 'is this shocking enough?'. This becomes even more apparent if you look at how the game describes itself in promotional materials. The potted description is purposefully vague: _'An enigmatic first person horror adventure that blurs the line between reality and the darkest corners of your imagination. Fourteen days, a horse farm, and a few rules to follow.'_ And the longer description engages in an act of deception to describe the surface of the game rather than what is uncovered as you play. This, really, is how HORSES should be engaged with and, even in this review, we've strayed too far away. Ban be damned, HORSES is interesting because HORSES is interesting, a game worth playing entirely on its own terms. Something that is immediately appealing about HORSES is that its reference points place it outside of most other games. The game adopts a specifically filmic aesthetic, a black and white look complete with silent film codes such as intertitles. An obvious comparison point, and an overt inspiration, is the early work of Luis Buñuel. Later in the game, you watch a suspicious looking VHS tape that houses a short film deeply inspired by the syntax of _Un Chien Andalou_ (1929), and the wider game could certainly be compared to _L'Âge d'or_ (1930) and, most pertinently,_Land Without Bread_ (1933). There's an overt engagement with polemical surrealism as well as an unflinching naturalism where stylistic flourishes are engaged to ultimately display humanity at its cruellest, in a way that should be read as a reflection of social systems. To go beyond Buñuel, while the wider gaming press has pointlessly postulated about 'gaming's _Citizen Kane_ ' for decades, we can at least now declare gaming's _Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom_ (1975). This is where HORSES sits, an Italian tale about hierarchical treatment that is deeply concerned with the horrors of fascistic dehumanisation. Genuinely anti-authoritarian art that is making progressive and interesting points through intentionally wielded extremity, and certainly not something we should be banning (to briefly indulge with a conversation best avoided because of the unwanted implications). The game is carefully structured, a narrative game with light mechanics but that does make its points through interaction rather than filmic exposition. You, in first person, play a young adult who – after apparently wasting his time at college – has been sent to get some work experience on a farm. The connotations here are obvious in terms of expectations around masculinity and social conformity. The farm is run by a single owner, an older man, and you become his only member of staff. You are there for fourteen days (here the game finds its loop and rhythm) and, while you are there, you need to do the chores expected of you. This is how things start, a Papers, Please (2013) esque conceit where you are told to do things and you do those things because you are told to do them. There is no room for failure or divergence here, though. At points, you can react (usually positively or negatively) to something suggested to you but, no matter what you pick, you will have to go along with one forced path. You cannot opt out outside of quitting the game; HORSES wields autonomy as a way to make a point about lack of autonomy. It is not the illusion of choice, it is foregrounding the point that you have no choice and a way of making you complicit. The first major discovery is that this horse farm is not a horse farm. Instead of being for horses, it is actually populated by enslaved humans wearing horse masks, forced to live in captivity as animals. Your boss acts like they are just horses but, as you get a small assortment of visitors, it is clear that (even in fiction) this is not the case. You learn that a supposed flouting of societal norms has got them here and no more is filled in, this itself leading back into the point about lack of autonomy in rigid systems. The game world is limited to the farm, with different parts of it open to you at different points. Days predominantly follow the same structure, a loop of _Jeanne Dielman_(1975) esque domesticity where repetition is wielded as a way to highlight deviation. Here, the prosaicness of your tasks is effectively juxtaposed with the cruel reality of what you are engaged in. Normal tasks on a farm become horrific when considering you are actually furthering enslavement, with no room for deviation. At points, you have to follow orders from your boss that involve disciplining and harming the enslaved people. This is inherently extreme but a few things you have to do are particularly extreme, and the game makes you do them. A light interactive layer adds force to the messaging that makes it even more bluntly effective than something like Salò. Rather than just confronting your voyeurism (and making you bear witness), this uses gameplay to make you complicit and to thus further the point of how fascistic systems work. To the game's credit, the overall narrative is an arc towards revenge and a kind of justice – if a twisted form of this which makes its own point about how broadly destructive these system are. While the game doesn't let you _not_ conform, because it is also narratively on rails, it doesn't let you _not_ rebel. This is a powerful utilisation of the inherent agency of video game mechanics that manages to embed the discomfort of cruel systems while also mechanically pushing the need for resistance. This all being said, it is a stilted and at points poorly articulated experience. The objective focused nature can get in the way, where trying to work out exactly what the game wants you to do (or how to achieve that within rudimentary systems) creates meta-thinking as opposed to message-thinking. It is not the perfect blend of gameplay and narrative, and one could very much argue it overstates its point and does not always express it in the most effective ways. However, the overall success of the game is more a condemnation of how little the wider medium engages with these kind of semiotics to this extent. There are numerous immediate parallels to film and literature – I was specifically reminded of the poem Giuseppe, by Roderick Ford (available on his website, https://www.roderickford.com/giuseppe/). Yet another Italian located tale of the dehumanising effect of fascism, in that poem 'the only captive mermaid in the world / was butchered on the dry and dusty ground': a narrative about the same kind of animalisation that reflects how the other is treated under fascism and the masks we put on to ameliorate abject cruelty. It is an exceptional poem and is on the high school syllabus for English Literature in the UK. Salò and the works of Buñuel are canonised classics. One could also link HORSES to Yorgos Lanthimos' _Dogtooth_(2009), a filmmaker that now has very broad acclaim. HORSES is not on the same level as any of these works but that is not the point. Where other mediums see it as their duty to challenge and provoke for intellectual reasons, this impulse in gaming is still held with suspicion. The really depressing part is that wider art forms are not without similar scandals but the voices of dissent come from outside. When it comes to video game censorship, the call is coming from inside the house, a truly depressing place to be.

Seattle Film Critics Society (“SFCS”) announced the winners in 22 categories for the 2025 Seattle Film Critics Society Awards on Monday, December 15, 2025. _**One Battle After Another**_ was named the Best Picture of 2025. Written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson and shot in immersive Vistavision, the topical comedic thriller about a father and daughter confronting the cruel echoes of a violent revolutionary past won the most awards in SFCS history. Taking home eight awards, it was one win after another for Anderson. In addition to Best Picture, the filmmaker was also recognized for Best Director and for his Screenplay, an adaptation of Thomas Pynchon’s _Vineland_. The film was further recognized for standout performances from Leonardo DiCaprio (Best Actor), Sean Penn (Best Supporting Actor), and Best Ensemble for a sprawling and memorable cast that includes the big screen debut of Chase Infiniti alongside affecting performances from Teyana Taylor, Regina Hall, and Benicio del Toro. _**One Battle After Another** _was further recognized for Best Editing and for Jonny Greenwood’s invigorating Original Score. “A number of films made an impact on our members this year, but none more than Paul Thomas Anderson’s 10th feature, ** _One Battle After Another_** , which captures the present moment like nothing else with vivid characters, thrilling–sometimes hilarious–chase sequences, and a tender father-daughter relationship in which the revolutionary spirit passes from one generation to the next,” said Kathy Fennessy, SFCS President. As part of our annual tradition of honoring exceptional filmmaking in the region, SFCS honored ** _Train Dreams_** with **Best Pacific Northwest Film.** Written and directed by Clint Bentley and filmed across Washington state, the contemplative drama about a laborer at the turn of the 20th century boasts some of the most stunning footage of the region put to film. ** _Songs of Black Folk_** , documenting a groundbreaking Juneteenth concert in Seattle was the winner of SFCS’s inaugural award to honor the Best Pacific Northwest Short Film. Other film awards include ** _WTO/99_ ,** Ian Bell’s masterful reconstruction of the 1999 World Trade Organization protests in Seattle from a trove of archival footage, was named Best Documentary Film. _**It Was Just An Accident,** _Jafar Panahi’s madcap thriller exploring the possibilities of revenge among former political prisoners in Tehran, was awarded Best International Film. _**KPop Demon Hunters,** _a globe-conquering phenomenon that inspired theatrical sing-a-longs and a #1 song and album soundtrack, was chosen as Best Animated Film. Additional acting honors went to **Jessie Buckley** (Lead Actress) and **Jacobi Jupe** (Youth Performance) for their portrayal of mother and son in Chloé Zhao’s heartrending ** _Hamnet_. Aunt Gladys** from _**Weapons,** _chillingly portrayed by Amy Madigan, was named **SFCS’s Villain of the Year.** The SFCS also issued a special citation to recognize **Indy’s** achievements in Animal Acting for the suspenseful horror film ** _Good Boy_. ** ** _Sinners_ ,** Ryan Coogler’s Delta Blues vampire allegory of assimilation, received two awards: Best Supporting Actress for Wunmi Mosaku and Best Cinematography (Autumn Durald Arkapaw). ** _Frankenstein_ ,** Guillermo del Toro’s sumptuous interpretation of Mary Shelley’s gothic novel was honored for Best Production Design and Best Costume Design. Other craft awards went to box office behemoths ** _Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning_** (Best Action Choreography) and ** _Avatar: Fire and Ash_** (Best Visual Effects). The SFCS is also proud to announce the 2025 John Hartl Pacific Northwest Spotlight Award will be presented to director **Sky Hopinka**. Born in Ferndale, Washington, Hopinka has directed a wide range of acclaimed short films and features, including the upcoming feature-length documentary ** _Powwow People_** , which is scheduled for release in 2026. The SFCS will present the third John Hartl Pacific Northwest Spotlight Award, named in honor of the legendary Seattle Times film critic, to Hopinka in May, during the 2026 Seattle International Film Festival. **Complete List of 2025 SFCS Awards Winners** Picture: ** _One Battle After Another_** (Paul Thomas Anderson) Director: Paul Thomas Anderson (**_One Battle After Another_**) Lead Actor: Leonardo DiCaprio (**_One Battle After Another_**) Lead Actress: Jessie Buckley (**_Hamnet_**) Supporting Actor: Sean Penn (**_One Battle After Another_**) Supporting Actress: Wunmi Mosaku (**_Sinners_**) Ensemble: ** _One Battle After Another_**(Cassandra Kulukundis) Pacific Northwest Film: ** _Train Dreams_** (Clint Bentley) Pacific Northwest Short Film: **Songs of Black Folk** (Justin Emeka, Haley Watson) International Film: ** _It Was Just An Accident_** (Jafar Panahi) Documentary Film: ** _WTO/99_** (Ian Bell) Animated Film:**_KPop Demon Hunters_** (Maggie Kang, Chris Appelhans) Cinematography: ** _Sinners_**(Autumn Durald Arkapaw) Editing: ** _One Battle After Another_** (Andy Jurgensen) Screenplay: ** _One Battle After Another_**(Paul Thomas Anderson) Production Design: ** _Frankenstein_** (Tamara Deverell, Production Designer; Shane Vieau, Set Decorator) Costume Design: ** _Frankenstein_**(Kate Hawley) Original Score: ** _One Battle After Another_**(Jonny Greenwood) Action Choreography: ** _Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning_** (Wade Eastwood) Visual Effects: ** _Avatar: Fire and Ash_**(Joe Letteri, Richard Baneham, Eric Saindon, Daniel Barrett) Youth Performance: Jacobi Jupe (**_Hamnet_**) Villain of the Year: Aunt Gladys (**_Weapons_** , as portrayed by Amy Madigan) **About SFCS:** _After forming in late 2016, Seattle Film Critics Society officially became a non-profit organization in 2017, with a membership consisting of 40 film critics, representing print, broadcast, podcasting, and online film criticism. This year’s awards are the tenth to be held under the banner of the SFCS, honoring the best films and performances of the year._ _Contacts:__seattlefilmcritics.com_ _| @seattlecritics |[email protected]_

The Seattle Film Critics Society (SFCS) has announced nominations for the 2025 SFCS Awards, honoring the year’s best in film. Ryan Coogler’s _**Sinners**_ ties the all-time record for most nominations in a single year with 14, matching 2022’s _Everything Everywhere All At Once_. Close behind with 12 nominations is Paul Thomas Anderson’s **_One Battle After Another_** , with Pacific Northwest film **_Train Dreams_** , directed by Clint Bentley, following with eight nominations**.** **This year’s 10 nominees for Best Picture include:** _**Bugonia**_ , Yorgos Lanthimos’s reimagining of the 2003 South Korean film _Save the Green Planet!_ follows two cousins who kidnap a CEO, believing she is an alien from outer space. Along with its Best Picture nomination, Emma Stone is recognized as a nominee for Lead Actress. ** _Hamnet_ , **Chloé Zhao’s bittersweet drama exploring the events that inspired William Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_ earned five nominations: Best Picture, Director, Cinematography, Youth Performance (Jacobi Jupe), and Lead Actress (Jessie Buckley). ** _It Was Just an Accident_ , **Jafar Panahi’s latest film, shot in secret, depicts former political prisoners struggling with the decision of whether to enact revenge on their former abuser. In addition to Best Picture, it earned a nomination for Best International Film. _**Marty Supreme,** _Josh Safdie’s hyperkinetic story of table tennis champion Marty Mauser earned nominations for Best Picture, Director, Ensemble Cast, Screenplay, Film Editing, and Lead Actor (Timothée Chalamet). **_One Battle After Another_ , **Paul Thomas Anderson’s topical comedic thriller about a single father desperately trying to protect his teenage daughter from a former enemy earned 12 nominations, including Best Picture, Director, Ensemble Cast, Screenplay, Cinematography, Editing, and Original Score. Notable acting nods include Lead Actor (Leonardo DiCaprio), Supporting Actor (Benicio del Toro), Supporting Actress (Teyana Taylor), and Sean Penn, who earned both a Supporting Actor and Villain of the Year nomination for his portrayal of Col. Steven J. Lockjaw. ** _Sentimental Value_ , **Joachim Trier’s Norwegian drama about an estranged father reconnecting with his adult daughters through his art, earned nominations for Best Picture, International Film, and Supporting Actress (Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas). **_Sinners_ ,__** Ryan Coogler’s multi-layered gothic horror film set in the Mississippi Delta in the 1930s, earned nominations for Best Picture, Director, Ensemble Cast, Screenplay, Cinematography, Costume Design, Film Editing, Original Score, Production Design, Action Choreography, and Visual Effects. Michael B. Jordan earned a nomination for Lead Actor, Wunmi Mosaku is a nominee for Best Supporting Actress, and Jack O’Connell’s bloodthirsty antagonist, Remmick, is a Villain of the Year nominee. **_Sorry, Baby_ , **Eva Victor’s deeply personal story about a woman’s recovery from assault earned a Best Picture nomination, while also being recognized for Lead Actress (Victor) and Screenplay. ** _Train Dreams_** , Clint Bentley’s contemplative drama about a laborer at the turn of the 20th century earned nominations for Best Picture, Director, Cinematography, Costume Design, Screenplay, Supporting Actor (William H. Macy), and Lead Actor (Joel Edgerton). The film is also one of six nominees for Best Pacific Northwest Feature Film. **_Weapons_** , Zach Cregger’s buzzworthy horror film about the mysterious disappearance of a classroom of schoolchildren earned nominations for Best Picture, Youth Performance (Cary Christopher), and dual nominations for Amy Madigan in Supporting Actress and Villain of the Year for her memorable portrayal of Aunt Gladys. Other films earning multiple nominations include **_Frankenstein_** (six nominations) and **_F1® The Movie_** (three nominations). _**Avatar: Fire and Ash** , **The Phoenician Scheme** ,**Predator: Badlands** ,**Wicked: For Good** ,****_ and Pacific Northwest documentary **_WTO/99_** earned two nominations each. As previously announced, the Seattle Film Critics Society recognizes six films this year for Best Pacific Northwest Feature Film. In addition to the aforementioned **_Train Dreams_** and **_WTO/99_** , this year’s nominees include documentaries **_Not One Drop of Blood_** and _**Wolf Land (Director’s Cut)** _and narrative features **_To Kill a Wolf_** and** _Twinless_** , New this year, the SFCS has added a second Pacific Northwest Award recognizing short films. This year’s inaugural nominees include _**Charlotte, 1994** ;**A Fateful Weekend** ;**Shelly’s Leg** ;**Songs of Black Folk** ;****_ and **_Style: A Seattle Basketball Story_**. Winners of the 2025 Seattle Film Critics Society Awards will be announced Monday, December 15, 2025, across the Seattle Film Critics Society’s various social media platforms. _The Seattle Film Critics Society is an association of professional critics working to facilitate a community that supports local productions and festivals; enhances public education, awareness, and appreciation of cinema; and strengthens the bonds of critical dialogue as it pertains to the cinematic arts._ _Further information about the Seattle Film Critics Society’s annual awards can be found at_ _seattlefilmcritics.com/upcoming-awards_ _Contacts:__seattlefilmcritics.com_ _| @seattlecritics |[email protected]_ **The 2025 Seattle Film Critics Society Nominations** **BEST PICTURE** * ** _Bugonia_** - Yorgos Lanthimos * ** _Hamnet_** - Chloé Zhao * ** _It Was Just an Accident_** - Jafar Panahi * ** _Marty Supreme_** - Josh Safdie * ** _One Battle After Another_** - Paul Thomas Anderson * ** _Sentimental Value_** - Joachim Trier * ** _Sinners_** - Ryan Coogler * ** _Sorry, Baby_** - Eva Victor * _**Train Dreams** _- Clint Bentley * ** _Weapons_** - Zach Cregger **BEST DIRECTOR** * _**Hamnet** _- Chloé Zhao * ** _Marty Supreme_ **- Josh Safdie * ** _One Battle After Another_ **- Paul Thomas Anderson * ** _Sinners_** - Ryan Coogler * ** _Train Dreams_ **- Clint Bentley **BEST ACTOR IN A LEADING ROLE** * Timothée Chalamet - **_Marty Supreme_** * Leonardo DiCaprio - **_One Battle After Another_** * Joel Edgerton - **_Train Dreams_** * Ethan Hawke - **_Blue Moon_** * Michael B. Jordan -**_Sinners_** **BEST ACTRESS IN A LEADING ROLE** * Jessie Buckley - **_Hamnet_** * Rose Byrne - **_If I Had Legs I’d Kick You_** * Amanda Seyfried - **_The Testament of Ann Lee_** * Emma Stone - **_Bugonia_** * Eva Victor - **_Sorry, Baby_** **BEST ACTOR IN A SUPPORTING ROLE** * Benicio del Toro - **_One Battle After Another_** * Jacob Elordi - **_Frankenstein_** * David Jonsson - **_The Long Walk_** * William H. Macy - **_Train Dreams_** * Sean Penn -**_One Battle After Another_** **BEST ACTRESS IN A SUPPORTING ROLE** * Ariana Grande - **_Wicked: For Good_** * Inga Ibsdotter Lilleaas - **_Sentimental Value_** * Amy Madigan - **_Weapons_** * Wunmi Mosaku - **_Sinners_** * Teyana Taylor - **_One Battle After Another_** **BEST ENSEMBLE CAST** * ** _Eephus_** - Carson Lund * ** _Marty Supreme_** - Jennifer Venditti * ** _One Battle After Another_** - Cassandra Kulukundis * ** _Sinners_** - Francine Maisler * ** _Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Story_** - Bret Howe, Mary Vernieu **BEST YOUTH PERFORMANCE** * Cary Christopher - **_Weapons_** * Shannon Gorman - **_Rental Family_** * Jacobi Jupe - **_Hamnet_** * Jasper Thompson -**_The Mastermind_** * Alfie Williams - **_28 Years Later_** **BEST SCREENPLAY** * ** _Marty Supreme_** - Ronald Bronstein, Josh Safdie * ** _One Battle After Another_** - Paul Thomas Anderson * ** _Sinners_** - Ryan Coogler * ** _Sorry, Baby_** - Eva Victor * ** _Train Dreams_** - Clint Bentley, Greg Kwedar **BEST ANIMATED FILM** * ** _Arco_** - Ugo Bienvenu * ** _The Colors Within_** - Naoko Yamada * ** _KPop Demon Hunters_** - Maggie Kang, Chris Appelhans * ** _Little Amélie or the Character of Rain_** - Maïlys Vallade, Liane-Cho Han * ** _Zootopia 2_** - Jared Bush, Byron Howard **BEST DOCUMENTARY FILM** * ** _The Alabama Solution_** - Andrew Jarecki, Charlotte Kaufman * ** _Come See Me in the Good Light_** - Ryan White * ** _Pavements_** - Alex Ross Perry * ** _The Perfect Neighbor_** - Geeta Gandbhir * ** _WTO/99_** - Ian Bell **BEST INTERNATIONAL FILM** * ** _It Was Just an Accident_** - Jafar Panahi * ** _No Other Choice_** - Park Chan-wook * ** _The Secret Agent_** - Kleber Mendonça Filho * ** _Sentimental Value_** - Joachim Trier * ** _The Ugly Stepsister_** - Emilie Blichfeldt **BEST PACIFIC NORTHWEST FEATURE FILM** * ** _Not One Drop of Blood_** - Jackson Devereux, Lachlan Hinton * ** _To Kill a Wolf_** - Kelsey Taylor * ** _Train Dreams_** - Clint Bentley * ** _Twinless_** - James Sweeney * ** _Wolf Land (Director’s Cut)_** - Sarah Hoffman * ** _WTO/99_** - Ian Bell **BEST PACIFIC NORTHWEST SHORT FILM** * ** _Charlotte, 1994_ **- Brian Pittala * ** _A Fateful Weekend_** - Tony Doupe * ** _Shelly’s Leg_** - Wes Hurley * ** _Songs of Black Folk_** - Justin Emeka, Haley Watson * ** _Style: A Seattle Basketball Story_** - Bryan Tucker **BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY** * ** _Frankenstein_** - Dan Laustsen * ** _Hamnet_** - Łukasz Żal * ** _One Battle After Another_** - Michael Bauman * ** _Sinners_** - Autumn Durald Arkapaw * ** _Train Dreams_** - Adolpho Veloso **BEST COSTUME DESIGN** * ** _Frankenstein_** - Kate Hawley * ** _The Phoenician Scheme_** - Milena Canonero * ** _Sinners_** - Ruth E. Carter * ** _Train Dreams_** - Malgosia Turzanska * ** _Wicked: For Good_** - Paul Tazewell **BEST FILM EDITING** * ** _F1® The Movie_** - Stephen Mirrione, Patrick J. Smith * ** _Marty Supreme_** - Ronald Bronstein, Josh Safdie * ** _One Battle After Another_** - Andy Jurgensen * ** _Reflection in a Dead Diamond_** - Bernard Beets * ** _Sinners -_** Michael P. Shawver **BEST ORIGINAL SCORE** * ** _F1® The Movie_** - Hans Zimmer * ** _Frankenstein_** - Alexandre Desplat * ** _One Battle After Another_** - Jonny Greenwood * ** _Sinners_** - Ludwig Göransson * ** _Tron: Ares_** - Nine Inch Nails **BEST PRODUCTION DESIGN** * ** _Fantastic Four: First Steps_** - Kasra Farahani (Production Design); Jille Azis (Set Decoration) * **_Frankenstein_** - Tamara Deverell (Production Design); Shane Vieau (Set Decoration) * **_The Phoenician Scheme_** - Adam Stockhausen (Production Design); Anna Pinnock (Set Decoration) * **_Resurrection_** - Liu Qiang, Tu Nan * ** _Sinners_** - Hannah Beachler (Production Design); Monique Champagne (Set Decoration) **BEST ACTION CHOREOGRAPHY** * ** _Avatar: Fire and Ash_** - Garrett Warren, Steve Brown, Stuart Thorp * ** _From the World of John Wick: Ballerina_** - Stephen Dunlevy, Jackson Spindell * ** _Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning_** - Wade Eastwood * ** _Predator: Badlands_** - Jacob Tomuri * ** _Sinners_** - Andy Gill **BEST VISUAL EFFECTS** * ** _Avatar: Fire and Ash_ **- Joe Letteri, Richard Baneham, Eric Saindon, Daniel Barrett * ** _F1® The Movie_** - Ryan Tudhope, Nicolas Chevallier, Robert Harrington * ** _Frankenstein_** - Dennis Berardi, Ayo Burgess, Ivan Busquets, José Granell * ** _Predator: Badlands_** - Olivier Dumont, Alec Gillis, Sheldon Stopsack, Karl Rapley * ** _Sinners_** - Michael Ralla, Espen Nordahl, Guido Wolter, Donnie Dean **VILLAIN OF THE YEAR** * Aunt Gladys - **_Weapons_**(as portrayed by Amy Madigan) * Col. Steven J. Lockjaw - **_One Battle After Another_**(as portrayed by Sean Penn) * Laura - **_Bring Her Back_** (as portrayed by Sally Hawkins) * Lex Luthor - **_Superman_** (as portrayed by Nicholas Hoult) * Remmick - **_Sinners_**(as portrayed by Jack O’Connell)

Josh Safdie's films largely traffic in the wake of the American dream, or about the way that the promise of this country eventually sands us all down into aberrant messes adrift in a sea of post-capitalist chaos. Over time, the focus has shifted and narrowed to be directed at America's grimiest scumbags, the men at the fringes of American exceptionalism, ruthless ideologues who refuse to accept a reality within which they have a capacity to fail, so long as they believe enough in their ability to make it through every obstacle on their way to the top. The extant anxiety of a Safdie film is rooted in the overwhelming sense of desperation; a rancid, pungent atmosphere that bleeds through the screen, the texture of New York City streets providing both an innate sense of promise and a threatening sense of imminent collapse. Much like _Good Time_ 's shaggy, ultraviolet LSD-laced maniac Connie Nikas or _Uncut Gems'_ blood diamond peddling gambling addict Howard Ratner, _Marty Supreme_ 's Marty Mauser (Timothée Chalamet) is a shrewd, feverish dreamer who will stop at nothing to achieve what he believes to be his destiny. Marty is far more unassuming than Connie or Howard, at first existing under the familiar auspices of the traditional sports film narrative arc, an upstart with a dream and the determination to make it happen. The first Safdie period piece still takes place in the grimy streets of New York City but has been transposed back to post-war America, a landscape marred by a blend of tactile trauma and galvanizing nationalism. Pitching the protagonist of a thrilling sports drama as the world's next great ping pong player certainly holds an inherent comedic weight to it, but by setting the stage in an era where the sport was still rising to prominence in America and largely existed in dusty pool halls or on the outskirts of a bowling alley, it starts feeling closer to _The Color of Money_ , where the real sport is the hustle of leveraging skill into a quick buck. Really, the traditional sports narrative arc is exhausted in the film's opening, where a determined Marty hustles part time at his uncle's shoe store just until he can make enough cash to buy a plane ticket to the table tennis world championship. After not getting paid out by his uncle on his last day of work, Marty holds up his coworker for the cash in the store's safe, fully confident in his ability to fly across the Atlantic, win the championship, and return home with more than enough prize money to smooth everything over with his uncle, who desperately wants Marty to take on more responsibility at his store rather than keep pursuing this foolish dream. Of course, anyone familiar enough with the arc of a Safdie film knows well enough that this is only the first bad decision in a neverending spiral that will in all likelihood obliterate the protagonist in due time, but Marty doesn't have a bone of doubt in his body. Traveling to England with the steadfast determination of every American who has ever believed in their ability to seize their destiny, Marty arrives as the self-proclaimed future of table tennis, the man who will bring about the next step in the evolution of the sport and popularize it across the United States. The tournament's provided housing isn't acceptable for someone of his perceived stature, so he puts himself up at the Ritz, starts flirting with visiting actress and socialite Kay Stone (Gwenyth Paltrow), and tries to get in the good graces of her wealthy business magnate husband Milton Rockwell (Kevin O'Leary). Despite his seemingly bottomless well of arrogance and taste for brutally dark humor that seems to offend everyone in his vicinity, a combination of the pure power of cinema and Chalamet's commanding screen presence make a strong case that Marty's belief is still rooted in a reality where he wins it all and becomes America's favorite son. Such is the power of American exceptionalism, of the facade of manifest destiny. The gravitational pull of determination and drive creates an unwavering air of faith in ability, that through sheer willpower nothing could stop us from achieving our predestined claim on this earth. When Marty loses in the finals to rising Japanese table tennis star Koto Endo (Koto Kawaguchi), it doesn't even cross his mind that he could lose purely on the basis of ability. The match was unfair, Endo was cheating, the Japanese players shouldn't have been there at all because of the post-war travel ban. While most sports dramas would center a monumental loss like this as the fulcrum for a sweat-laden training montage or as the climax to punctuate a hero's journey into gracefully accepting loss, Safdie merely uses it as the establishment for a spiral into utter chaos that frequently puts the maddening tension of _Uncut Gems_ to shame. Returning home without the prize money or glory he anticipated having to send himself into the stratosphere of household table tennis names across America, his prior actions immediately begin to gnaw at his heels, and suddenly the film is mired in the sweaty, desperate anxiety of Howard Ratner betting on an absurd parlay or Connie Nikas drowning a security guard in LSD-laced Sprite. Marty's journey to self-actualization quickly becomes an odyssey of collateral damage, his pure faith adrenaline-ride built on the back of his own self-made mythology colliding with everyone in his surrounding and slowly destroying them. The persistent strength of Safdie's films is the roaring cacophony of their ensemble casts, and _Marty Supreme_ is no different, an endless collection of brilliantly placed character actors who breathe life into the destructive and chaotic spiral of Marty Mauser as he searches for absolution. Everyone Marty encounters, no matter how rich, poor, powerful, or insignificant, is a means to an end, a potential way out of his slowly building debt to everyone in his life. His longtime friend Rachel (Odessa A'zion) might be carrying his child as a result of her affair with him, but she's only a useful tool to Marty as an escape route or as leverage to rip off mysterious gangster Ezra (Abel Ferrara, completely embodying the filth and grime of his own cinema as a powder keg of violent energy). His cabbie friend Wally (Tyler, the Creator, who maintains the perfect level of Safdie energy enough with his own personal brand that he settles in seamlessly with his surroundings) is only as much of a friend as he can help fill Marty's pockets by way of conning ping pong casuals out of their hard-earned cash. The elegant class of Kay Stone might be an attractive notion to Marty, but he's more attracted to what she represents, a woman he might just be able to fleece for a meal ticket by exploiting her desire to feel like a star again. Her husband sits at the top of this fragile tower of wealth and exploitation that Marty so desperately wants to weasel his way into, but the pen industry titan is the only one who can meet Marty at his level. Kevin O'Leary playing Milton Rockwell is such brilliant meta-casting that it's almost a shock that someone like him would accept the role at all – though the fact that he did creates its own self-parody layer of meta-commentary on the kind of completely disconnected person you become at that level of wealth. While he parades around angrily in real life complaining about New York's newest mayor not making concerted efforts to give billionaires special treatment, his counterpart in the film is a petulant child whose self-interest starts and ends at humiliating others in an effort to enrich himself. There is no such thing as negotiating with him because he knows the needy will come crawling back at their most desperate hour, willing to accept any terms necessary to get what they need. It's never more true than it is for Marty, whose nightmarish whirlwind of aggressive individualism has led him on a roller coaster of highs and lows almost more volatile than that of Howard Ratner's litany of won and lost bets, flooded with blood and sweat and tears as he slowly alienates or destroys everyone around him. It's exceptionally exhilarating filmmaking, not just thanks to the hypnotic directorial fervor of Josh Safdie but to the entire team he's constructed. Ronald Bronstein's whip smart script keeps the verbal cacophony and dialectic madness of previous Safdie films while never compromising on coherence, Darius Khondji's cinematography manages to blend the dazzling glamour and feverish gravitational pull of _Uncut Gems_ with the grimy grit of _Se7en_ , and Daniel Lopatin's droning, pulsating synth score puts the elation of _Uncut Gems_ to shame, particularly next to the brilliantly anachronistic selection of '80s new wave bangers that underline the film's most impactful moments of kinetic levitation. By the time the film winds down from its climax, a sequence of thrilling intensity that reaches the blood-pumping adrenaline rush of _Challengers'_ final tennis match, the dust settles on a very different world surrounding Marty Mauser, who more than any other Safdie character is actually granted space to reflect on the seemingly endless deluge of reckless individualism that does little more than destroy us all and leave us hopelessly empty. Eventually we come to realize that we might just be more than ourselves, and that the sum of our experiences are not counted in wins or losses. It doesn't mean we aren't all born with a little bit of destiny in our hearts, hoping to be the next one on top.

The immediacy of Paul Thomas Anderson's _One Battle After Another_ is met only by its steadfast refusal to place itself on any specific timeline, instead existing in an anachronistic permanent space of modernity where very little has changed over the course of sixteen years. It is both reflective of an America trapped in stasis and of one where failure to act leaves us helpless, as the most hateful bad actors in our government slowly seize control over an already fragile system. For a filmmaker who hasn't made a contemporary set film in over twenty years, it's fitting to make one that has no interest in dating itself at all, instead choosing to address a deeply rooted sickness planted deep in the heart of our culture, one that has always existed, and one that will always require revolutionary action to reject. Loosely based on a book written in the '90s about characters living through the Reagan era and reflecting on the Nixon era, every part of the narrative is refracted through a lens of American corruption, militarism, and fascism. The film's title is certainly indicative of its structure, an aggressively paced thrill ride that opens on the explosive liberation of a detention center and rarely takes a moment to breathe from that moment on, a relentless series of cascading actions swirling around domestic turmoil and the machinations of an administration steeped in far-right white supremacy and Christian nationalism. This, however, feels like Anderson's grand subversion, that this endless series of battles are less about the actions of DiCaprio's burned out former revolutionary Pat Calhoun and more about the revolution that must be fought at all times, generationally, to protect the oppressed from the likes of Steven Lockjaw. Critically, Anderson recognizes all of the digressions and challenges of revolutionary activism, exercising the tangible exhaustion of radical action in the face of excessive force and militaristic escalation as a response to protest. Anderson's work has always been at its best when he leans into the ensemble, shining a light not on the individual but the collective; whether it's the sprawling, intertwining narrative threads of _Magnolia_ coalescing into the resonance of the impossible or the dazzling heights and dizzying grime of _Boogie Nights_ and the intersection of both through the throes of intimacy, the intoxicating pull of Paul Thomas Anderson is the tiny narratives spun in each and every corner of his frames. Here it is not just the pull but the narrative drive – revolution is not just one man against a brutal, fascist Colonel in search of his daughter. Revolution is Sergio's underground railroad providing safe passage to undocumented immigrants as the facade of a military operation threatens the streets of Baktan Cross. Revolution is the Sisters of the Brave Beaver providing a haven to train and protect a resistance. Revolution is collective action, direct relief provided every day and on a regular basis by those who are empathetic enough to fight the good fight under the monotonous auspices of routine. Anderson goes out of his way to show that nothing here functions without the cooperation of everyday people, and that not everything needs to be a grand political statement to be effective. If anything, he proves the inverse – the French 75 as radical activists are not necessarily shown to be effective at moving a political needle outside of the very opening scene, which is a point of direct action. Freeing unjustly imprisoned immigrants with a statement of free borders and free bodies is meaningful action, but the increased violence of the French 75 beyond this is not shown as an effective tool, only one that generates a cycle of violence leading to the brutal deaths of many of its members. The violence of the French 75 culminates in the bank robbery, with Perfidia shooting an armed guard as a means of self-defense, regret filling her lungs as she realizes she's enacted a spiral that she likely can't recover from. It's this sudden infusion of muddy morality that punctuates the first act, after leading with the platonic ideal of Anderson as a montage artist, capable of conveying the immense swaths of emotion that flow through the energetic and sexually charged furor of revolutionary action. A bit of cinematic larceny, this ability to wrap you up so feverishly in all of the chaos, to get you in on the high of the action only to pull the rug out and force you to reconcile with the consequences. It is crucial that this first act is so intoxicatingly infused with intimacy, drawing a necessary dichotomy that the revolution is fueled by love and that the opposition's rage is partially fueled by their desperate desire for something they don't possess the capacity for. The necessity of this wake-up moment is in part to prove that Pat (Bob by the time he enters the second act, going into hiding deep in the California woods) is not necessarily the critical actor that his positioning as a protagonist might imply him to be. Bob's character arc is largely about him coming to grips with the fact that the revolution has passed him by, that he's become a washed-out paranoid stoner with nothing to show for the past 16 years of inaction. While he languished in the woods, spending his time getting high and watching movies about other revolutionaries getting things done, his former colleagues have kept fighting these battles despite the risks to their safety. Anderson draws comedy out of Bob's aloof frustration, painting him as a mostly inept loser who only realizes the criticality of the various countersigns, rules, passwords, and secrecy of the underground movement once the past comes back to break down his door. This is what works about the ensemble approach, opening the film to allow for a complex network of perspectives and musings on how the exhausting work of rebellion and activism reverberates through different people, ultimately making the point that we can't shield the younger generation from the realities of our world, we can only equip them with the means to keep fighting back. Perfidia being at the center of it all as such a deeply enigmatic character makes it all tick, someone who harbors a passion for revolution so fiery that it ultimately clouds her judgement, self-serving in a way that forefronts her own perceived importance as a rejection of her place in the collective. It is a refusal to be forced into structure that takes precedence above all else – she will not be a prisoner, and witness protection is nothing more than a different kind of prison that subjects her to the whims of Lockjaw being in a position of power over her. Lockjaw is the embodiment of alt-right power structures and insecurities, a lonely and profoundly pathetic man who can only view the world through a lens of control and ownership, poisoned by a toxic masculinity that offers no space for vulnerability. The complexity of such a plainly evil character is offered in the depth of Sean Penn's performance, as a stream of conflicting ideologies and desires constantly flicker across his face. The conflict is largely born out of his fetishization of Perfidia, creating a power dynamic that catalyzes the film's central violence. This relationship played off of the ones between those in the French 75 proves the inherent brokenness of conservative ideology, because to them, any kind of attraction that escapes the rigidity of white supremacist ideology and traditionalism creates an inescapable guilt, one that can only be responded to with violence. It's compounded by Perfidia's refusal to succumb to power – Lockjaw thinks that his position of authority and ability to wield the government as leverage against her will create the subservience he desires, while she knows that she can use his naivety against him. The backdrop of the uniformly disgusting yet banal Christmas Adventurers Club offers further insight into the machinations of the right, how these power structures and perceived superiority feed the egos of fragile white men, and how those egos feed back into the systemic failures of our government. It's played up to an absurd degree in a way that sharply acknowledges the tacit absurdity of reality, that at its core all of this stuff is just deeply and resolutely weird. The ability to laugh at how monumentally stupid it is to hold the abstract concept of Saint Nick as a figurehead of fascism is its own effective method of resistance, as their ability to consolidate power is rooted in getting people to take them seriously. Just showing the completely disaffected evil that circles around their discussions is its own way to strip back the layers of it all, that their violence is all self-interest, detached narcissism percolating in the labyrinthine basement of a mansion isolated from the rest of the world. Their isolation is key; meeting in vast, empty hotel halls or a clinically sanitized corporate office space that serves seemingly no purpose other than to be occupiable real estate. This contrasted against the constant claustrophobia of the real world makes for an effective vision of why it's so easy for these people to view the rest of the world as something to be wiped clean for their own benefit, a purely ideological violence that serves no purpose in reality but feeds an ability to feel greater than. It's a similar isolation that disconnects Bob from the revolution, a hermit too cooped up in his shack in the woods to remember the people he once fought for. It all circles back to the film's tactile sense of community, that every sequence where the frame is filled with people feels vibrant and alive, full of the verve of revolution. To the right audience, much of _One Battle After Another_ may be reflexively obvious, at least to the kind of people whose revolutionary ideals already understand the virulent depravity of modern conservatism – but this is also why it is exactly the kind of cinema we desperately need. The kind of cinema that is constructed out of empathy for everyone with the desire to resist, the kind of cinema that is built with the framework that not only do the people outnumber their oppressors, but that it's exactly what they're afraid of. Insecurities built on a fragile house that relies on keeping everyone fighting each other instead of them, because once people begin to believe in an ability to work together for a better future, the revolution can be ignited. The beauty of _One Battle After Another_ is that it isn't about a father going through hell to rescue his daughter – it's about a father who reaches the end of a fevered, hellish journey only to realize that he didn't affect anything at all, and that his daughter was more than capable of fighting back against the reality of her world all the same. Viva la revolución.

Obsidian Entertainment made a name for themselves as an RPG sequel developer, the most notable titles being Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords (2004) and Fallout: New Vegas (2010). With the original The Outer Worlds, Obsidian had a chance to do their own version of the game's that put them in the spotlight: an original science fiction RPG where they could indulge in their brand of role playing on their own terms. Appropriately for Obsidian, the sequel folk, it is only with The Outer Worlds 2 where they have come into their own. They may be building on their own template this time but The Outer Worlds 2 is the Obsidian playbook through and through: an expanded, deeper version of what came before with more satisfying systems and interesting reputation dynamics. If there is an overriding issue with The Outer Worlds 2, it is the same issue that this year's Avowed – also from Obsidian and also, arguably, a sequel to their own work – had in that, for all its strengths, it never rises above being 'another one of those'. By this I mean The Outer Worlds 2 exists in a clear subgenre-template in which it shines but pushes nothing forwards. To briefly compare the year's two Obsidian RPGs (not to mention that Obsidian also put out Grounded 2 this year, yet another Obsidian sequel), though Avowed has a much stronger narrative, and a more interesting central combat system, The Outer Worlds 2 isn't prey to the same copy and paste design – and has more interesting role playing systems, as well as better companions. Though the game takes place across a number of contained locations (mini open worlds), there isn't the feeling that you are just doing the same gameplay loop each time, as each location feels distinct and focused around giving you unique quests that define your playtime there. The Outer Worlds comes from the Fallout mode of roleplaying systems where you always have a lot of expressive options (facilitated by the setting). To an extent, it is this to a fault, falling into predictable rhythms where your knowledge of this subgenre will bleed into your time with this game. It is a satisfying loop of making your way through well designed locations full of things you can lockpick or hack, finding terminals and loot, then folding this into dialogue interactions (where uncovered information can alter things) or just giving you the option to reframe a combat encounter. Enjoyable stuff but nothing you haven't done before. The rhythms are all there and the game is only playing the hits. It's a science fiction RPG so your first companions are a robot and 'just some guy', later you're going to get a cybernetic character (or this world's version of that) and then some folks who nicely link to in game factions. You'll either shoot or stealth your way through zones, then see a person standing in the middle of an area waiting for you and you know it will be a dialogue encounter. In that dialogue encounter you will be able to pick options informed by your skills that can give you the upper hand. You will open up vents and crawl through them; you will be able to pickpocket people if you have the perk; hell, you'll have a perk system but also be able to put points into key stats. Your hub is a spaceship where you can catch up with your crew; each planet will either be linked to a faction from the game or be a warzone between those factions. Your positioning will be that you are from some separate authority and therefore able to be a third party, with a choice to ally yourself how you want along the way. To be blunt, everything is from the authorised textbook of this kind of RPG. This is no bad thing but it does make for a relatively unambitious experience. It's certainly a more polished and expansive game than this year's (actually terrific) Atomfall but that game at least tried to rethink core systems and structures. In Atomfall, what missions you chose to take defined the narrative path of the game, giving you ownership over the structure and making the progression far less rote. Though The Outer Worlds has a lot of divergent points it is divergent in a way that promotes replaying to see the other options rather than divergent in a way that feels like you carving out your own experience. Still, within these (admittedly lightly disappointing) constraints, The Outer Worlds 2 is quite excellent. The first strength is the world itself. This is a sequel to the first game but it's standalone and primarily includes new major factions – and entirely new locations. There is some carry over of tone, The Outer Worlds being a broadly satirical and irreverent series, but the strongest point here (unsurprising for an Obsidian game) is the factions. The game is always humorous but not everything is a joke, this is most evident with the factions who – even when farcical – are well thought out and have a sincere heft that matches their satirical nature. For example, a scientific order that worship mathematics and believe that there is a grand equation that can solve the universe is all very silly. The game knows this is very silly but the game also knows that most ideologically driven groups are very silly, and therefore takes them as seriously as those groups. The joke always works, with great tongue in cheek dialogue about predicted percentages all the time, but the power and influence this faction have – combined with how ridiculous they are – is a threatening combination and makes for real stakes. This is how each faction is designed, the ultra-capitalists are a joke but the harmful nature of ultra-capitalism is still considered with sincerity. The authoritarian dictatorship with the brainwashing regimen are a caricature but it is this caricatured nature that makes them scary, and that allows the game to cut from comedy to pathos on numerous occasions with surprising skill. In general, each faction is very well thought out and this is true even on an aesthetic level. The way they interact is even more fascinating and makes the game more compelling as it goes. This is the real strength of The Outer Worlds 2: its design philosophy means it keeps getting better. On a narrative stakes level, as factions start to overlap and compete, things get far more interesting and you get more autonomy. The first game really lacked friction but, though as a wider gameplay experience you could say the same here, the narrative design here really fronts conflict in a textured way. Plates keep spinning and then start to overlap and this is very investing, culminating in a well realised world with engaging stakes in which you feel you have real autonomy. It all just gets better. The gameplay is the same, also. There isn't a revolutionary approach to roleplaying systems but there is a really interesting and well executed approach to them. Every system is improved from the first game, paring things down in a way that means you have to specialise. Skills are more general and you have fewer points to spend in them (there is only one speech skill (it's speech) for example, and you can only spend up to 20 points in it). Each skill is tempting with a clear utility, things like Science and Explosives – but also Leadership. Each skill also has a clear combat or wider game utility, Observation will obviously aid you in dialogue checks, and helps you to pick up on things in investigation based quests, but it also gives you better damage against weak points. It is a well designed skill system where things speak to each and therefore decisions matter. There's also no ability to respec, which really works here: you build a character as you go and the game reacts to this. This is because of a perk system, where new traits (you can pick one every other level with a level cap of 30) are offered due to the skill base you have. Some of them exist because one skill is high, some of them exist because your improved skills talk to each other. Importantly, they are all interesting and have an obvious impact. Even better still is the Flaws system, which reveals that the game is tracking all kinds of things. At certain points, a pop-up will appear to ask if you if you want to accept a flaw, this means a new positive and negative trait. A great example was that because I kept picking 'lie' options in dialogue, I could accept a compulsive liar flaw which meant that I could then no longer avoid lie options, if a dialogue tree included a lie then suddenly that dialogue tree is empty apart from that lie. The positive side is that lies no longer had any other skill requirement, meaning you would have access to some potentially very interesting and powerful lies your build wouldn't allow – but that you would be forced into them. Even without this arguable positive, the effect was already brilliant, creating interesting circumstances where I couldn't just optimise my way through. You can feel the game pushing back here and it pushes you into failure scenarios in a game where failures can produce more interesting results. This whole system is great, it makes everything you do feel like it matter s and makes the whole experience far more reactive and expressive. You don't have to accept flaws – though there's a flaw you can accept that means you have to accept flaws – but they are mostly really great to roll with. It truly showcases how open ended the game can be and how different approaches make for different experiences (and legitimises the approach in which respeccing isn't an option). Regarding roleplaying systems, dialogue is excellent. Though it can be a bit too jokey – and there is a perennial problem where the game caricaturizes everything at the expense of making an interesting stance. The writing mostly shines though in terms of the options you have to reply. Skills factor into dialogue nicely, as does information you've picked up elsewhere. The game shows you when you've got an unlocked option (and what unlocked it) as well as showing other things locked off (usually saying that a certain skill would give an option here but not showing what that option is). The limitation is interesting, as you are faced with your choices. It's actually great to know that you don't have another path through sometimes but that you could have done if you had built things differently. Choice feels like it matters and navigating conversations is often more focused on being strategic and logical rather than just brute forcing through by having high speech. Sure, a high speech skill will give you persuasive options but these might not be as strong as the science options or the leadership options you ended up speccing away from – and having found the right information that convinces your interlocutor will give you an upper hand still. Picking dialogue is thoughtful and engaging, with loads of interesting options, not just bland optimisation. Conversation is also where companions shine. You can take up to two people with you on your travels – from a bench of six you pick up throughout the game. Recruitment feels very natural, with side quests ending up with allegiances that don't at all feel contrived. This is one aspect where the game escapes its otherwise formulaic trappings. In combat, companions are useless. You can put points into leadership, which makes them supposedly better. However, this being a shooter, you don't need them. Your offensive options through weaponry alone (and a few ability-esque options like limited slow-mo or an energy shield) make you very self-sufficient. There's an array of weapons that you can also modify to make more powerful. Weapons have elemental affinities that work better on certain enemy types. Though, from my experience, having one specific rapid fire electricity gun (one of numerous legendary weapons I found) just destroyed everything. Ammo is scarce as a resource to find but you can get perks to work against this and you can just buy ammo. Notably, money is not scarce. This meant I almost always had vast ammo reserves and later had a perk that gave me health regeneration in combat that scaled to my ammo reserves. I also had a perk that gave me another whole health bar at the start of combat, and half of an extra health bar if a companion died. I spent a lot of the game with full health and the same electricity gun – its effect bounces off foes and amplifies damage over time – and just destroyed everything. Companions have abilities but they aren't very interesting and, for a long time, you can't use them that often. For me, companions were a resource due to dying, part way through an encounter they would die and give me more health. Occasionally I would look at what they were doing in battle and, unsurprisingly, they were terrifically gifted at being useless (staring at walls, being in exactly the wrong place, etc.). Luckily, outside of combat they're great. Their role in dialogue is brilliant, they will chime in interestingly and, at points, you can defer to them. Overall, the companions are great (with some exceptions), though less as people and more as catalysts. This isn't a game where you have a squad you will care about; in this instance it is that they are independently interesting figures that tie to the game's lore nicely and that you will want to see how the game reacts to them. I kept one companion around most of the time because they were chaotic – and from a chaotic faction – and the game kept reacting to this in fun ways. This is why The Outer Worlds 2 is ultimately great: it lets you poke at it and it reacts interestingly. It is only ever working in constraints you know but does such cool things within them. Quest design is open and, at several points, I was really rewarded for 'I wonder if...' moments. I could avoid things really cleverly, do something that I didn't think the game would allow (this was often just killing an NPC) and things persistently impressed. Though, there are numerous instances of overly restrictive quest design, primarily when you have to find a specific thing and the game is terrible at telling you where to go. Far too many quests are 'search this area for blah', giving you a wide zone to go in and then you just poke around until you find the one thing that works (and occasionally it is bugged). These are balanced out by quests that allow you to creatively divert and subvert them and, in the end, it is these moments that elevate the whole game. All in all, it's a great experience that snowballs together nicely. Yes, I felt like I broke the combat but I broke it in a gleeful way where intertwining circumstances all paid off. It felt like I had autonomy and that through a combination of me making choices and the game reacting, I had ended up in this place. It all comes down to conversation, that's the best part of the game. Whether it's the well written conversations that give you great options or how many of the mechanics feel like they are in conversation with each other, this makes the game a better conversation piece. It is very much the game you expect but it is a really great version of that with some of the better implemented systems in the subgenre.

Beginning on Xbox Live Arcade with Bastion (2011), Supergiant Games have delivered a slew of original games united by an indelible style. To an extent, though, it felt like their design sensibilities were building up to 2020’s Hades, a roguelite that separated itself from its genre contemporaries by turning the roguelite structure into a narrative structure. Hades II, releasing a full five years later, is the studio’s first sequel. A step away from innovation and a step towards iteration and refinement. It is easy to critique this as a safe move but the game speaks for itself: a truly remarkable follow-up to an already excellent game. The release of Hades II follows the game spending just over a year in early access, the same process that the original game went through (though on a different timeline). This is an interesting approach to design, where the game has been robustly tested and iterated upon over an extended period of time, speaking to a philosophy that values the creative input of the audience, and that wants to move towards that audience rather than have them move towards it. It is notably that what are perhaps the two biggest indie darlings of the year adopt opposite design ideologies. Team Cherry’s superb Silksong (2025) is the culmination of a very private development process, the result being a game tuned exactly to the interests of the developer, and one that the audience must acclimatise. This makes for a game built around friction. Hades II, on the other hand, feels built entirely around reducing friction and on empowering the player. The rewards of this are obvious, most immediately obvious in how the game exists as a reply to the first game. The narrative innovations of the first game were the focus and, to an extent, dictated the scope. In terms of being a pure run based game, the original Hades wasn’t best in class. It had smart and satisfying systems but also felt quite limited. Variety came from picking between drastically different weapons and through the boon system, where you pick up upgrades from gods as you go (these games are based in Greek mythology) and craft your build as you progress. There was variation in here but also a lot of constants. Hades II immediately responds to this not only by adding greater divergence and variety to its main path (the same basic structure of fight through four areas and then face off against the final boss), a whole second route is added that is unlocked relatively early on in your playthrough. The second path encapsulates all that is best about Hades II. It has unique enemies, unique areas and unique bosses. It feels like Hades III put into Hades II when talking on the terms of the original game. This new route is more challenging and builds off of what you’ve learnt from the original route. The first route is heading down, the new route is heading up; ultimately, the down route feels like a training ground for the upward path. You can really rely on upgrades when heading down, and can therefore experiment with builds. Going up is about applying what you’ve learned and making sure sure that not only your build crafting is on point, that you execution is also. This surface route has a compelling mix of circumstances that test your versatility. You can mainline DPS and win heading downwards with relative ease; going up top with that focus may help against bosses but you’ll also need reliable crowd control and there are specific enemies that will reveal key weaknesses. You need to know the game and play better, and this elevates the experience. Overall, the game is much tighter. New protagonist, Melinoë, controls differently to Zagreus from the first game — though they are similar. Every weapon in this game is new, all are really interesting, and Zagreus’ cast ability (where he fired out a projectile you could modify with upgrades) is now a binding circle: place it on the ground and enemies are slowed, and this can be upgraded to do more. Combat flow is changed greatly with new possibilities for crowd control that also facilitate more interesting encounter design. Mel also has a mana system, where you can hold down each attack button to do an 'omega' version of that attack that uses this resource. Mana resets per encounter, and you can find ways to replenish it. The modified attacks can be hugely different and will totally change a play style; they are also just another great variable to complicate build crafting. You can carve out approaches that give you ways to keep getting mana back, or you can sacrifice chunks of your mana bar for potent upgrades. The game just brims with well balanced possibilities that make it really tactical as well as immediate. There’s more than enough now to give runs inherent variety in a way the first game lacked. Another stumbling block with the original was how the narrative structure could feel at odds with the roguelite template. The early to mid game of Hades just felt like waiting, as progress was very linear. Truly skilled players may finish the game early but really you’re on a progression path where you will eventually buy all the upgrades and then just win. You may win before this but you’re still on the treadmill. After that point, you just have to win several times to keep story happening which relied too much on external reward rather than internal satisfaction. Two paths alter this but the early game is just much more varied in general. The upgrade system is now based around you balancing a deck of arcana cards. You can’t just apply every upgrade, you have to select which ones you bring. You’ll be able to bring more with upgrades but it always remains a choice and the conditions for some outlaw others. Your play style feels more individual and the feeling of a treadmill is gone. There are also a number of upgrade currencies now, that give you the persistent feeling of multiple things to focus on. There’s a great synergy between above and below where you will need to make above progress to get some resources that will unlock upgrades that will help you below. The path to progression keeps you doing different things in such a well paced way. Here, the early access process evidently pays off. The game retains challenge but always empowers you and allows you to have compelling short term goals. All of these aspects feel like a perfection of what came before. A solid roguelite with a well implemented progression curve has now become a superb roguelite with a far less prescribed path to success — or a better maintained illusion of such. The only issue, and it is an important one, is that the narrative is notably weaker here. The personal stakes of Hades are replaced with grand, world saving ones — sequel stuff. You are now battling to save time, basically, and the theming is great. Your new hub has the feel of a wartime encampment, the narrative atmosphere works and the new character fits nicely here. As the story progresses, though, it goes off a cliff. This culminates in a deeply unsatisfying ending that makes everything that comes before it feel weaker. Throughout, the writing is lightly marred by a forced positivity and a homogeneity of voice that flattens divergent characters. There are notable exceptions but the ending works against this. Overall, the game is outstanding, though. Hades, the first game, mattered because of the narrative. That innovation made it special. This is just special in general and matters in spite of how it is narrativised. The story is now just a facilitation for a superb combat loop and a stellar run based game. You’ll keep playing because of the improved systems and the mechanical possibilities. Where the last game didn’t flourish with repetition, this excels. The bosses are a real highlight — great every time — and every aspect feels fine tuned to how it should be played. Perhaps a touch more friction would be nice, a design with independent vision, but this egalitarian approach has really led to well polished gem.

It was in one of the harder boss fights where Silksong finally clicked. Before this point, it was evident the game was great but – at this moment – everything fell into place in masterful fashion. It was a boss I really struggled with, hit my head against many many times but never reached a point of frustration. To lay the table a bit, Silksong is a 2D action platformer that takes after the 2D Metroid and Castlevania games (often called Metroidvanias, or search action). It also has elements that link it to From Software's Souls series: an upgrade currency that you lose upon death and a focus on challenging combat encounters. The bosses are the apex of this and the lesson that was finally pushed on this specific encounter was that the game demands mastery but that also the game is built in a way where mastery is both possible and deeply satisfying. It's also worth noting that this particular boss followed maybe my lowest point in the game. They are the closing fixture of a difficult area that's very platforming heavy. It is this impressive climb upward but a key part of this game is a lack of guidance. You are placed into a world of interconnected areas and, though there is a critical path you can work out, you do have to divine what to really do and in what order. A large overhanging goal will put a waypoint on an uncovered part of your map, far away, and you just need to get to that. You do not even get area maps until you find an NPC that is in a unique place in each area, and then you have to buy a map from them. That's with a currency that you lose upon death and that you only get from defeating certain enemies (a big change from Hollow Knight where every enemy dropped the same resource). In the context of the area I'm talking about, this meant that me going through it meant uncovering an optional boss, getting stuck on a platform challenge to get what it turns out was an optional ability upgrade and then, by sheer force of repetition, finally getting to the top of this darn climb. An incredibly satisfying achievement that was rewarded with: a checkpoint and a fast travel station that I had to pay to unlock. Of course, you lose currency on death. You get a chance to get it back if you can get to where you died, and then attack a cocoon that drops your stuff (an improvement over the first game where you had to kill your ghost and your ghost would attack you). Because of the degree of challenge, though, you are going to fail to complete this run when retrying difficult segments and, surprise surprise, I reached the top of that climb flat broke. I had no choice but to just go back down. It was utterly demoralising but that is because we are used to a certain reward cycle in games. You did the thing and therefore you get a treat for it, or you are given progress. Silksong doesn't reward you in such ways, the reward is doing the thing but the overall tenor of the game is that you just keep going until it is over. It is not going to hand you things or congratulate you. Progress is progress and it is earned. Once again, it demands mastery. Getting to the top of the climb is not enough because you could have done it perfectly and, if you did so, you would have all the currency you needed to just unlock the things you need to carry on. Admittedly, you could just carry on but that would mean an even longer, and absolutely ridiculous, repeatable section to do as, around the next corner, is some more tricky jumping and then the aforementioned boss. I could have prepared, though. The game gives you many tools for situations like this and one is that you can, in specific places, cash in your currency to secure it. For example, you can turn the 80 rosary beads (the money equivalent) that are in your wallet and turn them into a string of 60 that lives in your inventory. You would need to use that item to move the 60 to you wallet – and they would be lost if you died – but until that point they are safe. So, why not always have some of these in reserve? After this point, I always did so. Here is the one actual issue I have with the game, though, even after meeting it on its own terms made me an apologist for all of its other rough edges. The currency system just is not well implemented. Only getting them from some enemies makes it unreliable and makes certain areas unfit. Other enemies, you see, drop a different resource that you can use for tools. Tools are an added feature to Silksong (they can be as basic as throwing knives and as complex as sending out little robot bugs to fight for you) that open up your possibilities throughout the game. Hollow Knight had a pin system, where items called pins gave you bonuses that let you create unique builds. Silksong isn't as obvious in this way, taking on a variety of upgrade items (tools being one) you can attach to whatever crest you are using. Crests are also new, this central item dictates your moveset and gives you a unique ability or feature. You find these throughout the game, usually after tough challenges, and then you have to use resources to unlock the upgrade slots on them. This is part of the central issue with resources in the game, as the crests are really different in how they alter how you play the game – and give a degree of flexibility that far surpasses the first game. But you upgrade them one at a time with a rare(ish) consumable, so you are disincentivised from creative or expressive play. I ultimately really liked the crest I used for most of the game but I also felt I was using it because I had sunk resources into it. Tools reflect this issue, also. They can transform the game but they rely on a currency that runs out and also have usage limits. It is a hat on a hat. Using something ten times per respawn is enough, it does not need to also pull from a pool of resources that you will then need to to farm. Again, this meant that I rarely took advantages of tools – and never really used them in bosses. You have to learn bosses, study their patterns and work out a strategy, I couldn't let my approach rely on using tools because I could run out and then I'd have to farm resources. So I ignored them. This is the same with the other currency; learning the mastery lesson was important but the answer was also repeatedly going to one area and doing a farming loop so that I could just have rosary strings on me. A rather boring solution that became an integral part of my playtime. It is all worth it when it comes together, though, and in that boss it all came together. I pick this point because it is indicative of why the game is superb. I'll tackle a contentious point, first, though: the boss has a runback. Having to get back to a boss, rather than just fighting it again, can be an absolute pain. This goes back to expectation, and why I was shocked by not being rewarded or my climb earlier. In most games, progress is progress, you don't have to prove yourself again. In Silksong, progress is on the developer's terms and very defined. You do need to prove it, every time, that you can get to that boss – and this is true of most bosses. To mount a defence of this, this phase does become part of the boss and also gets you into the zone. If you are playing sloppily, and rushing, you won't be doing well on the boss. You have to lock in again, in a different way, to nail the runback and then tackle the boss. It actually gives you some nice breathing room that's not just bash against something repeatedly and thoughtlessly. You also will find ways to perfect the runback. I had the runback to this boss down to a T, and I knew that if I was messing up on the runback at all, I needed to properly concentrate: I wasn't in the zone. In this instance, I had a reprieve where I could focus on movement and get a bit of space between me and the fight and, when I got there, I would be ready. This is also the game reminding you that you have options. Almost all of the time you can go elsewhere so, checkpointing you further away, makes just leaving always a clear option. The penultimate boss of the standard ending doesn't have a real runback because, at that point, that's the only real way to go and if you've got to it you are ready for it. However, in that instance, I missed the runback and felt I was messing up more at the start of the fight because I didn't have that small space to breathe, that opportunity to think and reflect. The boss where it clicked, though, was mainly that moment because of the fight itself. It is a visually impressive moment that is the conventional end of the game's first act (there are other ways around this) and it is a skill check for a reason. The narrative supports the moment being a challenge and, in general, the boss is a perfect distillation of the game's strength with these encounters. Your foe has a defined set of moves, they will do these in certain circumstances and you have to turn this to your advantage. You learn how you can manoeuvre around to force certain behaviours and you also learn a clear reply to everything the boss can do. In Silksong, you do feel lethal. You are very capable, the new protagonist (a boss from the first game), Hornet, is more agile and – to be honest – more savage. Encounters really push this, as you can make things roll over really quickly if you execute well, it's just that the room for error is so small. The threat has risen up to your capabilities and you need to prove yourself. In this fight, I was (after a few tries) at the point where I had a reply to everything, where if I got things right the boss couldn't touch me. I just had to execute. Each foe has clear telegraphs, the whole game is really readable, it is just that you have to show mastery. And that is why I kept playing, and why I didn't get frustrated. I knew I could do it and that if I messed up it was my fault. Because the game really punishes you for messing up, bosses (and a lot of enemies) deal double damage. This means even getting the first health upgrade of an extra heart won't help you against a boss encounter; it also means that you can end up dead very quickly. But you can also heal more easily now, your heal doesn't just renew one heart at a time, one heal renews three hearts (which is significant). You can also heal mid air and the animation holds you in place. Being hit during it interrupts it (but you can equip items that can change this); however, clever healing decisions allow you to dodge and heal at the same time. In Silksong, there are more opportunities for you to take damage than before but there are far more opportunities for you to get health back. It is this delightful dance of being on the cusp of death or at full power and it feels awesome, making extended encounters so dynamic. Outside of high intensity encounters, the game also shines. The world design is just superb. It is such a detailed and well realised game, with this amazing variety of environments that also feel like they cohere. The game is in stages – with a defined first and second act, and then a third act that set up the optional ending – and each part of the game has a unique identity. The whole game feels hostile but the lower sections of the map are hostile in this dank, hopeless way – while the upper elements have this sense of awe and sublimity. There are exceptions to this but there are no exceptions to how impressive the design is throughout. The game is just full of discovery and mystery that inherently rewards the whole way through. It is compulsive due to intrinsic feedback where finding anything new pushes you constantly forward. The way areas connect to each other is incredibly intelligent and, as you keep going, you keep being shown how intricate and smart the design is. It really is a treat to play in this space. Control wise, it is a tight as Hollow Knight but the movement options and new upgrades make it even better. Just moving around the space feels superb. There are two light downsides, though. One is that the game over relies on arena rooms: stages where the doors lock and you have to fight waves of enemies in a single screen. These are part of the mastery philosophy and are really engaging in that way, in that you will eventually just breeze your way through them because you've learned them. It just feels a touch like uninspired design. A lot of the enemies are fundamentally interesting because of how they relate to the level design around them, they become intentional obstacles in curated ways. Just chucking a bunch of them in a room and saying fight feels less intentional and more like artificial challenge, even when it is satisfying. Everything else also feels deeply motivated by story and lore whereas arena rooms just feel innately video gamey. Another element that feels like this is the added quest system. Now you can complete little tasks for people, taking up quests from bulletin boards. Outside of this, every mechanic feels very earned and thought through – even basic game stuff like having a map and marking where you are – is narrativised and given a unique spin. A bunch of collection side quests feels unimaginative and overly gamey in an otherwise very fluid and transportive experience. The problem is, the postgame is ultimately tied to these missions, and a couple of points in the main game are also. This isn't well communicated and just feels like busywork. After a while, I only did the quests that seemed overly interesting or had clear rewards, and ignored a lot that were evidently filler. The problem is, if you want to see the actual ending, you have to do all the filler. Many of them aren't as bad as they same, it's just an inelegant implementation in a game that does everything else better, it's an approach that feels below it. That being said, the game is still superlative. It is a real feat of design that delivers this uncompromising thrill that demands you meet it on its terms. Silksong isn't going to come towards you but if you are able to go to it, you will have a peerless experience. When you understand why things are the way they are, it blossoms and exists as a persistent object of awe. Hyperbolic stuff, certainly, but the impressively intentional design invites this kind of praise.

It's happening right beneath our feet. A nascent, permeating reality, a fog of unease drifting through a desolate suburbia. Seeking answers in an irrational world, desperate for a salve for the grief but refusing to acknowledge the world around you. Pulling weeds without removing the roots. Violence spills through the streets, an undercurrent of brutality waiting to be awakened, searching for the right target to blame for the suffering, as long as it creates a whisper of safety. Zach Cregger's _Weapons_ is all aftermath, a portrait of the ways society splinters and isolates in the wake of tragedy. Everything is a snap, reactionary and cold, more interested in how to make things better in the moment through the path of least resistance than how to unearth and build a genuine response. There are a lot of easy ways to define the central thematic allegories of _Weapons_ but searching for specifics seems as unhelpful as anything its characters do in response to the central tragedy. Imagery preys on parental anxieties and its shifting perspective proves that the appearance of action is more important than action itself. There is comfort in the pretense of due diligence, that all options have been exhausted in an attempt to exhume reality. The bliss of ignorance settles like a cold morning mist, eventually forming a layer of grieving acceptance where continued denial coupled with the placation of law enforcement creates a mindset that nothing more can be done. This is splintered by Justine and Archer, but their feverish desire to seek truth is dredged from their own forms of dissonance and trauma. The film reflects a world where everything is only seen retroactively – and how the self forms around the ways we interpret the past and the way we project these existing images, rather than the ways we could intuit the present and use it to inform a better future. This reactionary worldview, led by tunnel vision directed towards the past, echoes through the film. A world ostensibly shaped by conservative mindsets that are more interested in bludgeoning symptoms rather than moving towards a cure. It's most widely reflected in Paul, a corrupt alcoholic cop with an anger problem (read: a cop), representative of a skewed faith in a system that ultimately perpetuates more problems than it solves. This reverberates and affects; like the film's mercurially shifting perspective, ideologies flow between the characters. There is a contrast between Paul's ineffectual brutality and Archer's sense of machismo vigilantism, but these attitudes are both born from a sense of misplaced masculinity – just because Archer's gruff, all-American heroism is directed at an actual solution doesn't absolve him of his own role in this retroactive reactionism. It's clear his sense of masculinity has trickled down, his son a rough bully part of the systemic silencing that ultimately makes Alex a vulnerable target for Gladys. Despite the film's positioning of ideology and its weaponization of galvanizing imagery that lends itself to these kinds of readings, it is hard to surmise if Cregger's aim is to create something politically incisive or if he's simply stumbled onto an effective reflection of the contemporary state of America. If _Barbarian_ is any indication, he is image forward to a fault in a way that often disregards the implications he conjures, and while _Weapons_ is far less egregious in this regard it remains frequently messy in its messaging – it's not difficult to imagine why parts of it could be construed as capitalizing on conservative fearmongering. But the ways in which it tilts towards reflecting a conservative worldview are also reflective of how conservativism, by design, creates a broken system that traps people in cycles of destruction and self-destruction, weaponizing them against each other. Nothing in this world is functioning as it should, each branch of the system exploited by bad actors and easily manipulated into failure. What _Weapons_ has going for it is that at its core is an incredibly effective horror film. Sure, Cregger's imagery is messy – spotty but potentially critical motifs appear or aren't revisited, and characterization is a mixed bag that often tips too heavily into simplicity or caricature, but these things rarely feel damaging in the moment. After the film escapes its rocky opening monologue, it moves with swift fury, establishing an effective timeline that it then knows how to play with to great dramatic intent. The mercurial perspective plays a game of periphery, slowly revealing the haunting ideas it plants at the corners of its narrative until it explodes into just the right degree of grindhouse splatter and violence. Whether it's intentional or not might be hard to say but here Cregger's horror imagery is actually in sync with the allegoric narrative ideas, control and abuse ring through the desolate suburban streets. Everyone sort of exists as a shell, stripped of humanity, whether by way of the tragedy they've endured or by way of the system that defines them. The children become literal shells, hollow vessels whose absence becomes political capital as they rot, hidden away, exploited as a resource. Satirization of suburbia's decaying facade for a world that's moved beyond the imagery of picket fence idyll. What was once depicted as a sort of suffocating, insular landscape of sprawling malaise has been replaced by something far more sinister. The chilling and isolating state of modern existence has eroded community, replacing it with a baseline contempt that latches onto anger and impulse. Isolation breeds vulnerability, one that Gladys leverages like a tumbling series of dominoes snaking through the town. It's appropriately dreamy, washed in what feels like an endless night, as if the town had been suspended in stasis at 2:17 A.M. Characters drift through their own dreams and then become swept away by the spiraling array of tragedy and its consequences, time an elastic and woozy overlaid sequence that culminates in a terrific, blood-drenched climax. There is a moment where the film unhinges its jaw and engulfs itself in violence, each domino now striking with brutal force, and Cregger does a remarkable job of leveraging the haziness into this kind of culminating clarity of blood and viscera. Maybe it isn't meant to mean anything – but it seems potent enough to imagine that the lingering image of America to be projected onto any film about the state of growing up here is one that feels intrinsically steeped in the anxieties of school shootings, and the culture of toxicity and isolation that has bred those anxieties. It forms _Weapons_ into an oddly essential piece of contemporaneous imagery.

The Mafia series is nothing if not interesting. The first game released in 2002, a year after the release of the medium defining Grand Theft Auto 3, and presented a new model for what the open world crime game could be. Where GTA gave you a world as a playground, Mafia gave you a world as texture: a backdrop to add atmosphere, a grounding for narrative. The fictionalised Chicago, Lost Heaven, was interested in verisimilitude: a well realised location that facilitated some simulation elements. You had to obey the speed limit, or the police would fine you – outside of that, the wanted system was what you'd expect – and attention was given to the handling model to make it seem realistic. The world didn't exist for you, it was the world you lived in and it was the vessel for a mostly linear game. You don't go out and explore, you drive between missions but doing so gave the story heft. Ahead of its time, in a way, as walking simulators and beyond now rely on the benefit a narrative gets by just letting you interact with a space. In 2010, Mafia 2 released into a gaming landscape of normalised open world games. The genre had codified and it had moved into the GTA direction, and was just crystalising further as defined by Ubisoft's open world template. Mafia 2 once again adopted an open world as a backdrop, effectively so. It aided the purposefully prosaic missions of the early game where you really felt placed in the city. This wasn't a game where you would go out and do activities but you now could visit shops, fill your car up with petrol, grab a bite to eat. Just a light interactive layer where the goal is still to enrich what the Mafia games do: immerse you in a narrative. You may not have a world full of stuff to do but you will remember that drive across the bridge from your house in the final act, a journey that conveys how far you've come from the start. The third game (Mafia 3), though, is an outlier. The series caved and became traditional open world. Mafia 3 is a fascinating, systems heavy game that, yes, is plagued by repetition but actually does more with its open world than most games. The open world mechanics tie nicely into the themes and the story and, though it garnered a mixed reception, it was a damn impressive game in spite of some structural concerns. Mafia: The Old Country is positioned as a return to roots. It's from Hanger 13, the team behind 3. but – most importantly – the team behind the 2020 Mafia 1 Definitive Edition (a remake of the original game with a dramatic visual overhaul). That remake certainly laid the path for The Old Country, another game set in a world but one where the world is a backdrop – more so than ever. This time, the series has left the USA and we find ourselves in Sicily, in a narrative that spans the early years of the 1900s. Sicily is stunningly realised, presented as an open map but demarcated out through linear missions. The game follows the Mafia 1 and 2 narrative template of down-on-their-luck individual who, due to a mix of skill and resourcefulness, finds their way into a mafia family. The resulting narrative is them rising through the ranks, somewhat, and learning the way of life. The Old Country isn't a rise and fall of a mobster story in the same way its predecessors were, though. The Old Country is a love story, which (as the primary focus) still feels quite refreshing as the narrative thrust of a mainstream, studio video game. You play as Enzo, who starts the game as an enslaved mine worker, before escaping into the mafia life and falling in love with the boss' daughter, Isabella. It's a spin on the 'you can get in but you can't get out' mafia trope, a narrative drive being how they are going to leave the life behind and head to the US to start anew. It all goes where you would expect, to a fault, but it is executed well at each point and the characters are strong. The deliberate pacing really stands out, and is truly additive. This is a smell the roses kind of game, ameliorated by a relatively short, around-10 hour runtime. Like Mafia 1 and 2, the opening missions are about menial tasks and place setting. It is going from place to place, having conversations and doing labour – be it mine labour or the actual day-to-day work of a mafia underling. There's a really interesting early narrative juxtaposition that frames your character nicely. You go from abused worked to strike breaker. In the first mission, you are almost dying in the mine – suffering alongside the other workers – but one of your first mafia jobs is to go and suppress a worker's strike. The mafia are still a bit romanticised here – or just in line with cinematic expectations – but the game does a good job of presenting what you actually do, and the moral discomfort here. The narrative has this tragic structure, satisfyingly so, and this class traitor arc at the start plants that seed very well. Though the overarching narrative is a touch rote, there is a strong presentation of power throughout the game. There are no police patrols here, that's because (in the Sicilian countryside) you basically are the police. You are enforcing law and protecting power, which is modern policing. The story that unfurls is about the military police's grasp on the game's only major town and smartly presents the police and the mafia as battling (yet overlapping) institutions. As you go through the game, the open world is a transitional space. You drive across it from mission to mission and that is its main role. There are a couple of shops but these are only open at very specific times. The world exists as a large level, not as a sandbox or play space. It is successful as this, another element that elevates what would be an otherwise quite simple story. The added immersion really helps and the beauty of the game world intertwines with the aching romance and tragedy of the narrative. Driving to a mission adds to the necessary verisimilitude, it makes it feel like you are living a life – going out and do something – rather than just funneled through levels. There is space to breathe that aids pacing and the game's story is about this place as much as its characters. There is a tactile relationship with place that separates this game. A select few mechanics lean into this. For example, you can loot bodies after you dispatch your foes. It makes you stop and an added interaction does really sell this tactility. You pick up bandages, ammo and maybe a resource that means you can sharpen your knife to open locked boxes. None of these are that meaningful but they are pace changing and lightly deliberate. This is matched by a shooting model where, though it' a cover based shooter, you aren't just stopping and popping. Guns take a second to steady and aim, the same is true for your foes, so there's this almost turn based, methodical rhythm to combat. To tie this all together, these mechanics all give The Old Country a purposeful feels. The slowed pace matches the narrative and aids it but giving you a few bits of realism that place you in the world just a bit more – but they are never much, kept light so that storytelling can still take the fore. That being said, the game isn't quite as good as its intent. Gunplay is satisfying, the rhythm of shooting is really enjoyable, but enemy AI is terrible. Actually shooting may feel great but gunfights disappoint due to enemy behaviour. Enemies wait to be shot, will walk straight at you and in general don't behave in very dynamic ways. The game really is at its best when it feels like a world in miniature, a diorama, these small but well realised mechanics that focus on realism. There are simulation edges to it and this slight touches go so far. Enemy encounters scupper this, somewhat. Especially true as you can often stealth your way round. It's the most rudimentary crouch-walking stuff (with loads of corpse baskets to throw bodies into). The uninspired AI makes stealth bland. It's always better to start shooting and you will just wish the game could feel more dynamic – especially considering Mafia 3 did really feel that way. There are also too many vestigial mechanics. You can buy new cars, horses and there is an upgrade system. You have a rosary that gives you stat buffs. Yes, God is real in The Old Country and he lets you reload rifles slightly faster. It's classic video game stuff of bland, marginal upgrades. The game would be better without it, as this system gestures towards a larger game that isn't within its scope. Buying cars and having these shops is the same. You keep collecting money but you can only spend it at a few points – which means the game is designed in a way that any upgrades aren't at all necessary. Mechanics like this also make the open world feel lacking, in a way it actually isn't. These are aspects that belong to an open game, one with player freedom as opposed to a curated experience. They are vestigial in a way that does negatively impact the whole, damaging the cohesion the game works so hard for. In the end, the game is a qualified success. The deliberate slowness is so well done, a game that makes you carefully spend time in a space and that focuses on liminal or transitory interactions – to great effect. But then there are just so many parts that get in the way. You just don't need a repeated knife-fighting minigame (with related upgrades and different knives you can buy) that just plays out the same way every time – half way through, there's a struggle, and you just employ the same tactics to get it over with. The gamey elements of The Old Country too often just feel lacking. It is a stripped back experience that needed to strip back even further. The final package still reaches towards something it isn't and lets down due to this. Enemy behaviours don't let combat sing; progression hooks are leant into too far and are totally pointless and it is all very predictable. When the game is immersing you in a warmly familiar narrative, being so much better just because you can interact with it, it's great. When it plays to its strengths, this is very impressive: well acted, wonderful music and stellar aesthetic design. It just doesn't play to its strengths enough and feels ultimately conflicted.

For all its overt strangeness and surreality, it is the tenderness of _OBEX_ that stands out. This a tactile yet ethereal film about a lonely man with a computer (not given a time period but evocative of an earlier era of computing, the time of floppy disks, etc.) who makes his living with ASCII art and, eventually, finds himself inside a computer game — trying to save his dog (but also leaning about himself). The whole film has this wonderful balance of dry wit and aching sadness. The pervasive strangeness feels earned, legitimately uncanny and bizarre — never strange just for the sake of it. Every affected inflection or surrealist touch feels like it has floated up from the depths of the subconscious, anchored with meaning even if it’s unclear to the viewer. This is aided by some indelible imagery all the way through. The film is arresting in spite of its simplicity. Black and white visuals help to ground the uncanny and sell the idea that the real world is peculiar, not just the world of fantasy. A slowness helps the film, committing to scenes of the lead typing out his painstaking portraits that have this mesmeric effect. It captures time gone and resonantly pictures a skill that now may be outmoded. This grounds the text as being intelligently about the relationship between people and technology. This film deepens, taking in ideas of media consumption, and the film ends in a ruminative, nuanced space — opening up thought rather than closing it down. The core appeal, though, is the palpable sense of difference. This is a unique voice tackling ideas in a way you haven’t seen done before. You can make parallels but would only do so to try and get a stronger grasp on the text — it is its own thing. Certainly a film that will alienate many but also one that will utterly fascinate those that truly get on board.

The best and worst thing about Sugar Rot is how punk rock it feels. If we are to be reductive for a bit, punk rock eschews technical expectations in place of energy and relentless shock value. Sugar Rot is certainly a stilted film, feeling rather rough around the edges – especially in terms of performances. However, this is all part of the energetic amateurishness: a film quite uninterested in technical or conventional expectations. This wants to be affronting and audacious, and though it's easy to critique a lot of it in typical ways, these aspects are part of how it positions itself – very effectively – as an outsider work. This is an exploitation film through and through, arguably with elements of the rape revenge film (or certainly in a, perhaps deconstructive, conversation with that genre). In an exaggerated, candy-coloured world, a girl called Candy (who works in an ice cream parlour) finds herself turning into some kind of literal candy following a sexual assault. It's a longform metaphor for the objectification of women, the commodification and the idea of consumption. It deals with all of this, and more, in spikey fashion. This can be incredibly off-putting and is certainly audacious. You could read very well thought out rejections of its content (and nod along) and read very well thought out defences of its content (and nod along). It is playing with fire and doing so interestingly. One could argue that it's just scattershot or not quite coherent but, more validly, it is provocative and wide reaching. It is good that a film about how women, specifically, end up consumed and dominated due to cultural systems and expectations doesn't cohere to clean expectations and isn't easily consumed. Though, this may come a the cost of deeper resonance. It is an interesting film worthy of conversation but this more comes from charged imagery and the shocking content than from any richer material. A film of abrasive gestures more than a film of ideas. But this is by design, a middle-finger of a movie that really cleverly straddles the line between sheer entertainment and absolute offensiveness. It is incredibly shocking when it needs to be, soberingly so, but then can swing back to being riotously fun. Importantly, it eschews conventional ideas of catharsis, not bending back to an expected narrative structure and always being a touch more affronting. The film fits nicely into conversation with John Waters and Troma – and even has an overt reference to Herschell Gordon Lewis. This is extreme, transgressive cinema by design but is taking it on through a specific lens that differentiates it in a rewarding way. It is routinely a film of contradictions: even when it's brutally realistic it includes the absurd and the ridiculous. A challenging watch, certainly, that earns its ability to shock and cause discomfort. Not all of it works but at every point it is compelling and fascinating. Sugar Rot is a lot of swings in every direction, supported by some really interesting looking gore effects that cement its central juxtaposition. What if _The Fly_(1986) but candy is a beguiling premise, and makes for really unique imagery that is both alluring and grotesque. This is the strength, the rot in the sugar. All that is tantalising is also disgusting, a codification of the struggles and contradictions – and of the rotten core of polite society. On a visual level, it works so well, and while the full filmic articulation of this has shoddy and arguably contradictory elements, it's hard to not just celebrate this on its own terms.

Tokusatsu as a genre feels like the last bastion of creative cinematic irreverence, a space where the rules can constantly be reinvented, where franchises are little more than loose guidelines to make weird, wacky chaos. Few filmmakers exemplify this guerilla approach like Keita Amemiya, whose prolific career in the tokustatsu space is filled with some of the greatest entries in the genre. A director who has always worn his influences with pride, his debut film _Cyber Ninja_ is a dreamy, delirious send-up of _Star Wars, Predator_ , and _Commando,_ a shoestring budget stretched onto a splatter of cyber-feudalism, wooden machines and galactic samurai making a bold statement for the first time director. His work only gets better with his '90s output, with films like _Zëiram_ cementing a love for practical madness, taking the DNA of a host of grotesque creature features and ripping them to shreds with a shapeshifting monster who belongs in the cinematic hall of fame. His entries into the _Kamen Rider_ franchise, _ZO_ and _J,_ are two of the greatest tokusatsu one shots ever produced, visual effects masterpieces flooded with next level design work. _Mechanical Violator Hakaider,_ a flip on the popular Kikaider toku and manga series, is gothic cyberpunk glory, a feverish mashup of influence from _Terminator, RoboCop,_ and _Judge Dredd_ that collides in a roaring metallic grindhouse vision of a false cyber utopia. Amemiya's GARO project has now been running 20 years, following his towering '90s output, and his latest entry _Taiga_ is so immediately ingrained in his visual space that it conjures that same electrical excitement of watching his best. Like many of the greatest toku films, _Taiga_ maintains the energy that the wider lore is little more than elaborate set dressing, creating a film that feels comfortably standalone despite being a critical timeline prequel to a long running franchise. Loosely, the film follows the progenitor of the Golden Knight Garo line, recalling his first adventures as the toku hero and his childhood spent training. Taiga is tasked with recovering and protecting the four elemental guardian spirits and fending off the Horror Jado, which is about as much as any prospective viewer needs to know to dive into this latest entry in the franchise. Amemiya does what he does best here by hitting the ground running, opening with a high octane action sequence where Taiga hunts down a rogue Horror (the Garo franchise's catch-all word for the extradimensional demons who have infiltrated Earth). While Amemiya's films began to rely increasingly more on the glossy, messy sheen of CGI following the turn of the century, it's immediately clear that he has returned to a more familiar and practical approach, the kind of costumed mania that shines through the greatest periods of tokusatsu and kaiju cinema (the same applies to the recent swath of franchise reboots, where the practical madness of something like _Shin Kamen Rider_ makes for unforgettable legacy entries). The action, neon lights, and flashy swordplay maintain the electrifying energy of _ZO_ or _Hakaider_ , only with a brighter and more youthful energy to them. Amemiya may have left behind the brutal, dark energy of his grimy '90s work in favor of something more Super Sentai adjacent but when Taiga's sword burns with verdant flame and the elaborate lupine suit of Golden Knight Garo constructs itself around him, the joy is palpable. As the film spins up into a rambunctious adventure flooded with guardian spirits and Taiga's past, it's often a mixed bag of low stakes narrative and kinetic, flashy action sequences, never reaching the thematic aspirations of _Hakaider_ 's cyberpunk attack on fanatical religious fascism and liberation through free will – but it's a delight to see a master of the genre flexing his filmmaking muscles on something so purely focused on genre spectacle. The nonstop adrenaline rush of it all leads into a series of dazzling animatics intercut between the action sequences, recalling visions of Amemiya's unrealized _G-9_ project, inky watercolors presenting visual madness to exemplify and bolster the practical action underneath. The tokusatsu renaissance continues to flourish.

When you think of the Cannes Film Festival, you probably think of a certain type of film, and of the event as one linked to competition. It's the arty place for art films to compete over which is the artiest of all. What you probably don't think about is the commercial side of the Cannes Film Festival, that this is an annual event that is very much about the business of movies. You also probably don’t associate Cannes with Troma movies. For those not in the know, Troma is an independent film studio that has long been a consummate purveyor of trash. Cult classic _The Toxic Avenger_ is their most notable and celebrated release but they’re still out there making scuzzy weirdness for a dedicated community of oddballs. The history of Troma, though, goes very much hand in hand with the history of distribution. The video rental boom was the boom period for Troma, the logical home for their weirdness. The unifying vision has always been weird stuff of the kind you usually wouldn’t see theatrically that would grab your attention in a video store and be a blast to watch with friends. With that market gone, what is the space for Troma? This documentary is concerned with this question, both about what Troma means in a very different cinematic landscape and, even more importantly, about the reduced space for independent film. The B movie bubble may have burst – or exists in a very different way – with straight to streaming feeling substantively different to straight to video. Troma had a place and a market, now they don't and their story is an interesting lens through which to view the changing state of the industry. The documentary is concerned with the Troma gang returning to Cannes after a long hiatus (effectively being banned for their antics) to try and sell their new (at the time) _Return to Nuke ‘Em High Vol. 1_. It's an engaging picture because of the incongruity between Troma and Cannes, and because the Troma gang are interesting. The crew take a guerrilla approach to marketing that nicely points out how commercialised Cannes is, and hypocrisy around art. Through this, the film also questions these antics which becomes another way of tracking changing attitudes — and whether the spirit of rebellion can persist in the film business. It is a reflection on Troma of the past and how that fits — or just doesn’t — in the present. There's certainly a degree of hagiography and the film isn't overly insightful. Still, it’s a compelling montage of stunts that really reveals something about the film industry and it is populated by fascinating figures. A more distanced lens would be additive, able to take in the whole view for a wider argument but the boots on the ground access is very fun. In the end, the doc captures the spirit and enthusiasm of Troma and is ultimately better at doing that than it is tackling wider concerns.

With well over a hundred films under the belt, Takashi Miike can only ever be described as prolific. He’s also a master, though. His filmography is most charitably called eclectic but can more reasonably be called mixed. However, with that, masterpieces can be found and the one thing tying it all together is evident skill behind the camera. Japan's hardest working director is also one of their best. His latest (a statement immediately out of date as of writing, I'm sure*) is a crowd-pleasing sports movie about redemption. The Miike twist, so to say, is a bit of quirkiness around the edges, some well-placed ambiguity and a real control over violent imagery. The film tugs at the heart strings, for sure, but it also goes for the throat. Ferocity is as much on show as heart, and the film is all the more effective for this. Our tale is one of disaffected youth, two young men who meet in a juvenile detention centre and — when paroled — see their second chance as being through combat sports. These are young adults forged in violence, who have only ever succeeded through violence, and thus the sport of fighting becomes a logical outlet. It gives purpose to their skills, it provides a place to channel their aggression and it allows them to succeed in a life that seemed stacked against them. This being the arc, there are fight scenes a plenty. A brutal prison skirmish opens things up, smartly directed in a way that differentiates the violence here from the controlled violence of the ring. Though, there are moments where Miike's hand cleverly lets this ferality leak through, storytelling and character building through choreography. In general, the fights are superbly blocked. The sound design is also very strong: the sound of a punch just swinging past the head is used to great effect and really immerses the viewer in the melee. The aforementioned balance between combat as sport and combat as pure violence compels throughout, functioning as a kind of dialectic. Though, coverage of the fights isn’t always great. The camera doesn’t quite feel in the right place, or like it moves the right way. Really, the focus is narrative. And there’s a lot of it. Our two leads are connected in a way that harbours a secret that could test them apart; in the outside world are gangs with grudges and dynamics that go back to high school; the father of one of our leads is in jail and is trying to prove his innocence. It's a lot of narrative weight attached to the already quite full plot template of the sports movie. It rushes though it all in two hours, in entertaining if scattershot fashion. This comes at the expense of some deeper resonance or the film having a better grasp on its ideas. There are ideas here, though, and they do compel. The film works best as a wide reaching work about the justice system. The case involving the father is textually about the disproportionately high conviction rate in Japan, and this part of the film is therefore well accompanied by our leads seeking justice through the ring. It all becomes part of a wider conversation on how justice is like a game and the film breaking into moments where acts of brutal violence enact change bends back into effective criticism on the justice system as a whole. This element is really strong and can be richly analysed. Alas, too much of the film is pushed in other directions and there's an overall lack of clarity. *Editor's note: Miike's new thriller _Sham_ also screened at Fantasia this year.