Avidavr: Media Reviews

Author: Avidavr

  • 8-Bit Christmas (2021) Review – A-Z Hidden Gem Film-a-thon Day 1

    Nothing says “I might actually enjoy this movie” like watching a Christmas movie in March.

    8-Bit Christmas (2021)

    I am an 8-bit kid. I don’t really play NES games anymore, but I do fall asleep most nights to YouTube videos of young people playing video games that came out before they were born. So when I saw the title 8-Bit Christmas, I brought a lot of hope with me. I could easily imagine a version of this movie I would have loved. That is not this movie.

    Instead, 8-Bit Christmas is basically a family-channel Christmas movie dressed up in Nintendo nostalgia. Neil Patrick Harris plays Jake Doyle, an adult reminiscing about how desperately he wanted an NES as a child in 1988. He tells the story to his daughter to explain why she cannot simply get everything she wants.

    That setup could have worked. The problem is that the movie never seems to understand what made Nintendo feel magical in the first place. When Jake finally shows his daughter a game from his childhood, he picks Paperboy on NES—not Super Mario Bros., not Contra, not Bubble Bobble, or anything a normal child would use to explain why the system mattered. It is such a strange choice that it almost feels revealing. The movie is not interested in what kids actually loved about Nintendo. It is interested in using Nintendo as a generic symbol for “back then.”

    And that leads to the movie’s real message, which turns out to be much drearier than the title suggests: You want a cell phone, kid? Get a job. For a Christmas movie about parents sharing the past with their children, that is a surprisingly joyless lesson. It is not even wrong, exactly. It is just hollow. The real issue with kids having cell phones was never simply that they were expensive.

    The movie is basically A Christmas Story rewritten around an NES, but without the same specificity. That older film understood how completely a child could fixate on one object and make it feel mythic. 8-Bit Christmas keeps reaching for that feeling, but it does not seem to trust the reality of its own subject. The period details are shaky, the game choices are odd, and the whole thing feels assembled rather than remembered. For instance, the parents are up in arms over violence in video games. This did not happen in the 1980s. All that did not happen until the Clinton Administration in 1993. This aspect about the movie felt particularly false to me.

    There are things I liked. I loved the costumes and casting all around. Everyone looked very stylish, though period appropriate. Jake winning an encyclopedia and then getting bookends for Christmas “because they have baseballs on them” is genuinely funny. Some of the parental details work too. But the spirit of the movie feels wrong. With a title like 8-Bit Christmas, this could have been several kinds of movie I would have happily embraced. The one it chose to be did not work for me.

    4.5/10

  • The A–Z Hidden Gem Film-a-thon Returns

    27 days, 27 movies—one for every letter of the alphabet, all chosen because they might secretly be great.

    Last year I attempted something maybe ridiculous: I watched 27 movies—one for every letter of the alphabet (with an extra number entry)—all pulled from my IMDb watchlist. The idea was simple: pick movies I had been meaning to see for years but probably wouldn’t get around to otherwise. These were all well reviewed movies, that had 80 or higher on Metacritic.

    This year I’m trying a different angle. Instead of clearing out the backlog, I’m hunting for hidden gems: movies that the world seemed to ignore, dismiss, or misunderstand, but that might actually speak to me. Some will be under-appreciated oddities. Some will be cult favorites. Some might be fascinating disasters (think Showgirls, or Joker: Foie a Deux, maybe. The only rule is that they are movies I suspect I might genuinely enjoy—even if almost nobody else did.

    For the next 27 days, I’ll watch one film for each letter of the alphabet and write about it here.

    We begin with not A, but a numeral. The # 8, specifically.

    The first film is one I know almost nothing about: 8-Bit Christmas. Yes, today is St. Patrick’s Day, and yes, it is definitely a Christmas movie. But the title alone is enough to intrigue me. I grew up in the NES era, and the idea of a movie about childhood Nintendo obsession has enormous potential.

    What I’m hoping for, honestly, is something stranger than the trailer probably promises—maybe a world where Neil Patrick Harris and June Diane Raphael somehow get rendered into chunky 8-bit sprites and have to fight their way out of a video game.

    Hopefully that’s what I am getting with this one. Fingers crossed. Wish me luck.

    The A–Z Hidden Gem Film-a-thon Returns

  • If I Had Legs I’d Kick You (2025)

    A minor masterpiece of stress, shame, and the feeling that reality is beginning to warp.

    The way Rose Byrne is shot and edited in If I Had Legs I’d Kick You makes her feel like an uncredited fifth character in Requiem for a Dream. If she were in that movie, audiences would be asking where her drugs are—but here, she needs none. Her mental illness behaves like a drug anyway, distorting time and flattening reality. She sees a therapist, though she is one herself. It makes you wonder: is this what my therapist is like when they’re not talking to me?

    Linda’s life collapses quite literally when a hole opens in her apartment ceiling—possibly from flooding, faulty plumbing, or maybe an alien in the walls. The film never clarifies, because Linda can’t. Her grip on cause and effect is slipping. At the same time, she is responsible for caring for her daughter, who can technically eat but refuses food because it feels “squishy,” and who is graded daily on how much she consumes. The entire household revolves around a single goal: getting her weight up to fifty pounds. Linda is never alone, yet utterly abandoned.

    Byrne carries the entire film, delivering a performance built on quiet humiliation and sustained dread. Linda isn’t heroic or admirable; she’s exhausted, brittle, and increasingly convinced she is failing at everything she is supposed to do well. Everyone else feels like a walk-on cameo. Conan O’Brien actually acts, briefly, and his presence reminded me of Dylan Baker in Requiem for a Dream: when someone is unraveling, the most others will do for them is ask a few questions and then discreetly step away.

    For a first feature, director Mary Bronstein shows impressive control. This could easily have been an amateurish mess—a pile of anxiety with no shape—but instead it becomes a low-budget, quietly devastating minor masterpiece. Byrne somehow landed a role most actresses would have killed for, had they known what Bronstein was after. Onscreen, it feels uncomfortably familiar.

    This is what I felt like during COVID.

    8/10

  • Bugonia (2025)

    The bees are dying, the executives are talking, and the joke may be on us.


    Is Bugonia a place? A character’s name? Apparently it has something to do with Greek mythology and bees. I’ve always thought that if the human race died out, it would have something to do with colony collapse disorder. I just never imagined it could happen—or look quite like this.

    Emma Stone plays Michelle, an executive at a vast, vaguely defined conglomerate—something like Amazon filtered through the pharmaceutical industry. She delivers corporate edicts that sound humane while being quietly coercive, the kind of language designed to make people work harder for less while thanking management for the privilege. Stress is treated as a given. Burnout is reframed as responsibility. Somewhere in the background, the bees are dying.

    There’s enough good in Bugonia to almost compensate for Yorgos Lanthimos’s increasingly questionable sense of humor. The film has the shape and texture of something very familiar—procedural, paranoid, vicious. With only minor adjustments, it could easily pass for a season of Fargo. The score and cinematography are immaculate, and the performances are absurd in ways that still feel recognizable. Everything seems carefully built. It might even feel like a masterpiece—right up until it decides not to be one. But what’s the fun in that?

    The Oscar buzz around Stone feels less about nuance than about her continued commitment to being Lanthimos’s most pliable collaborator. Yes, she really shaved her head for this. The film flirts with weighty ideas—mental illness, institutional power, corporate systems managing human behavior—in ways that feel unnerving and recognizable. But it keeps shifting, nudging, testing how much disbelief the audience is willing to suspend.

    The whole thing plays like a meticulously structured Upright Citizens Brigade sketch that refuses to announce where the joke is—or when it’s over. I understood what it was doing. I admired the confidence. This could have been No Country for Old Men or The Silence of the Lambs. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that it was laughing at a version of the movie I would have liked better.

    Bugonia is handsome and deeply committed to its own logic. In real life, we probably already know these characters. Whether we recognize them as such is another matter.

    7.5/10

  • Hamnet (2025)

    A thoughtful elegy that ends as a plea for significance.

    Hamnet is intermittently compelling while you’re watching it, but I don’t think the world will ultimately care very much. The first half works surprisingly well, unfolding with a meditative patience that recalls the style of Chloé Zhao—a comparison that will excite the half of the audience that tolerated Nomadland and bore everyone else senseless. There’s a quiet confidence early on, an observational calm that treats grief as a lived condition rather than a dramatic event. For a while, Hamnet feels like it knows exactly what kind of movie it wants to be.

    That confidence collapses by the end. Some have positioned Hamnet as the “real” Shakespeare in Love, but that comparison only highlights how much that film got right. Hamnet can’t decide how its characters are supposed to exist: they often speak like modern people who binge Outlander, then suddenly shift into scenes written in full Shakespearean verse. The tonal whiplash is baffling. Are we meant to believe the audience can’t handle period language—except when it’s convenient?

    The final act fails outright. Leaning on Adagio for Strings—arguably the most famously depressing piece of music ever written—to sell Shakespearean tragedy feels desperate, not profound. The camera lingers on Jessie Buckley’s face for so long that people around me literally fell asleep, and the staging of the finale makes entering the center of the Globe Theatre feel about as casual as finding a spot near the stage at a rock concert. I liked too much of Hamnet to recommend against seeing it, but I give a thumbs down to the very elements most people seem to admire.

    6/10

  • Zootopia 2 (2025)

    A Disney sequel with jokes, momentum, and—miracle of miracles—reason to exist.

    Zootopia 2 benefits enormously from revisiting Zootopia, which has aged surprisingly well—far better than Moana, which now feels small and oddly muted, like a would-be epic propped up by great songs. The problem with Moana as a franchise is structural: it barely has characters. There’s Moana, her stern father, her dead grandmother, Maui, a chicken, and the ocean. That’s not a world; it’s a fable. Moana 2 clearly had no idea where to take those pieces next, and the result felt pointless. (Also: why did no one ever eat the chicken?) Disney’s recent sequel strategy has been so uninspired that it briefly makes you wonder whether they should stay out of theatrical follow-ups altogether.

    Or maybe not. Zootopia 2 is fun, clever, and densely packed with jokes. The original film had a deceptively simple premise with plenty of room to grow, and this sequel smartly picks up only a week after the first movie ends. That initially sounds odd, but it works: the film plays like episode two of a disposable detective TV show that accidentally became excellent. Unlike Moana 2, which has four credited screenwriters, Zootopia 2 comes from a single writer, Jared Bush, who also co-directs. That cohesion matters. Even when the movie settles into procedural rhythms, it feels confident—like an artist cracking himself up, testing ideas, and trusting his own instincts. It’s lighter than the original, but refreshingly aware of what made the first one work.

    8/10

  • Sentimental Value (2025)

    Family ily estrangement, artistic legacy, and the limits of self-mythology.

    Sentimental Value (2025) review

    Sentimental Value is another deceptively slight movie about coping with tragic loss, but one that feels far more likely to linger. Stellan Skarsgård plays Gustav Borg, a Lars von Trier–like director who hasn’t made a film in over a decade and now feels pressure to deliver one final artistic statement before he dies. His daughters have long since stopped needing him, and the distance feels permanent. Gustav is the kind of man who only loves punishing, perverse cinema—to the extent that he thinks DVDs of Irreversible and The Piano Teacher would be appropriate gifts for a twelve-year-old’s birthday.

    Movies about filmmakers rarely thrill me—they tend to be self-congratulatory, and therefore less honest—but this one is handled with restraint and surprising humility. The central question cuts deep: how do you convince anyone your story is worth hearing when you’ve spent a lifetime showing no interest in listening to others? Elle Fanning plays one of his collaborators, and even she seems uncertain whether this man’s vision deserves her faith. And honestly: why isn’t she already regarded as one of the finest actors of her generation?

    Sentimental Value comes and goes for me a little. It says something real, and I don’t doubt that it matters, but it didn’t stay with me in quite the way The Worst Person in the World did, which felt like the movie I’d want all my friends to watch when I die. That film felt big—about terminal illness, infidelity, and the stories people tell themselves about their own lives. Sentimental Value feels smaller by comparison, more about famous people having problems that will probably never apply to me. My boyfriend loves it. I admired it. I’m just not sure how much I’ll think about it later.

    8.5/10

  • Song Sung Blue (2025)

    A gentle love story about music, missed chances, and making the most of the time we have.
    Song Sun Blue (2025) review

    Song Sung Blue feels like exactly the kind of movie that would play the Heartland Film Festival, doesn’t it? Let me check… okay, it didn’t. But they gave it some sort of award anyway. You can almost hear the thought process: “We’re not letting a movie this modest—and this transparently engineered to make audiences cry—go by without our name attached to it.”

    And yet.

    This is actually a very sweet love story about two people dealing with genuinely relatable problems—at least to me. Kate Hudson does her own singing, and she sounds great: exactly like an extremely talented performer who can’t quite turn that talent into a full career.

    The real pang here is that Hugh Jackman never played Neil Diamond in a biopic. He looks and sounds uncannily like him. That said, I can’t imagine there’s a story we urgently need to see about a 60-year-old Neil Diamond—and, truth be told, this story didn’t strictly need to be told either.

    But it was told, and it’s very sweet. The film gently reminds us of the importance of making the most of our lives while we still have time on Earth. I’m glad to have this one available for people grieving the loss of family members.

    7/10

  • Train Dreams (2025)

    A somber meditation on solitude, memory, and the slow passing of a life.

    Train Dreams

    Train Dreams may be one of the most somber movies ever made. For comparison, I thought of films like Bringing Out the Dead, Palindromes, and Synecdoche, New York—all famously bleak works that offer little to no emotional reprieve. This film is quieter, sadder, and somehow lonelier still.

    It captures the immensity of solitude: what it feels like to be briefly, modestly happy; to watch that happiness erode; and then to wake up one day and realize the world has kept moving without you—that you may be the only truly sad person left in it. The performances are restrained and affecting, communicating grief and endurance without overt dramatics.

    Still, the film’s devotion to mood comes at a cost. It often feels less like a story unfolding than an emotional state being sustained, and at times it nearly forgets to become a story at all.

    8/10