From scrappy indie microcosms centered on transience and the quiet realities of unhoused life, to heightened genre chaos involving cults and survival, to glossy, IP-driven spectacle built off one of gaming’s most beloved characters—this recent slate of films is a reminder of just how wide the cinematic spectrum can stretch. Whether intimate or explosive, absurd or grounded, each of these films exists in its own distinct lane, yet all contribute to the same ongoing conversation about what stories are being told, who gets to tell them, and how audiences are meant to engage with them.
More than anything, this grouping feels like a snapshot—less of a unified theme and more of a reflection of where cinema currently sits. There’s a push and pull between originality and familiarity, between risk and accessibility, between stories that demand patience and those designed for immediate gratification. Some of these films linger in discomfort, others embrace chaos, and a few lean into the comfort of recognition, but all of them, in their own way, speak to the elasticity of the medium.
In playing a bit of catch-up, these are five films—ranging in scale, tone, and ambition—that each left their own impression, whether through performance, concept, or sheer entertainment value. Not all of them aim for the same impact, and not all of them need to, but each offers something worth sitting with, even if only for a moment.
Tow (2025)
Director: Stephanie Laing
Writers: Jonathan Keasey, Brant Boivin & Annie Weisman
Cast: Rose Byrne, Dominic Sessa, Demi Lovato, Simon Rex, Octavia Spencer, Ariana DeBose, Elsie Fisher, Lea DeLaria, Corbin Bernsen
Fresh off a strong awards-season run, Rose Byrne takes on materially heavier subject matter with Tow, stepping into the role of Amanda Ogle—an unhoused woman living out of her car while desperately trying to regain stability through employment and routine. What begins as a contained portrait of survival gradually spirals into a series of escalating setbacks, illustrating just how fragile that sense of stability can be when the system itself feels designed to work against you.
The film is at its most effective when it lingers in those smaller, human moments—how identity becomes entangled with circumstance, and how society often reduces individuals to labels rather than stories. Byrne carries the film with a grounded, emotionally attuned performance that does much of the heavy lifting, even when the narrative begins to drift. While the film occasionally veers into vague or unresolved territory, and its ensemble—despite being stacked with recognizable names—feels underutilized, Tow still lands as a compelling, empathetic look at a reality too often ignored or simplified.
André is an Idiot (2025)
Director: Tony Benna
Writers: Tony Benna (co-conceived with André Ricciardi)
Cast: André Ricciardi, Janice Ricciardi, Tallula Ricciardi, Delilah Ricciardi, Nick Ricciardi, Lee Einhorn, Peter Carcnochan, Tommy Chong
Few films manage to balance humor and mortality as seamlessly—and as disarmingly—as André is an Idiot. It opens with a deliberately crude, almost absurd anecdote about painful masturbation involving exposed wood, framing it as a “mistake”—a tonal swing that immediately sets the stage for what the film is doing: confronting discomfort head-on, then reframing it with humor. That same logic is later applied to something far more serious—neglecting to get screened for colon cancer.
From there, André Ricciardi guides us through his life with a candidness that feels both chaotic and deeply intentional, culminating in his present-day battle with cancer. The film constantly oscillates between the existential and the mundane, forcing you to sit with the reality of death one moment, only to catch yourself laughing at something unexpectedly intimate the next.
What makes the documentary so effective is André himself—his willingness to be vulnerable, irreverent, and brutally honest creates a space for reflection that never feels forced. It’s a film about dying, yes, but more importantly, it’s about living with awareness, about the consequences of small oversights, and about the strange, often contradictory ways we process our own mortality. It’s equal parts cautionary tale and celebration of presence.
They Will Kill You (2026)
Director: Kirill Sokolov
Writers: Kirill Sokolov & Alex Litvak
Cast: Zazie Beetz, Myha’la, Paterson Joseph, Tom Felton, Heather Graham, Patricia Arquette
Leaning fully into its genre sensibilities, They Will Kill You delivers a chaotic, blood-soaked spectacle that thrives on its energy. Packed with slow-motion violence, stylized gore, and satanic cult imagery, the film invites easy comparisons to recent horror-comedy hybrids, particularly the tone and structure popularized by films like Ready or Not. Still, it manages to carve out its own identity through its pacing and commitment to escalation.
At the center is Zazie Beetz, who once again proves her capability in physically demanding roles, grounding the film as a determined, resourceful final girl. Her mission—to rescue her sister Maria (Myha’la), who has been consumed and exploited by a sinister system—adds an emotional throughline that keeps the chaos from feeling hollow.
While the premise itself isn’t entirely novel, the film’s technical execution elevates it. Cinematographer Isaac Bauman injects the visuals with a slick, almost hypnotic quality, ensuring that even familiar beats feel engaging. It’s a film that understands exactly what it is—fast, violent, and darkly comedic—and rarely lets up long enough to become dull.
Forbidden Fruits (2026)
Director: Meredith Alloway
Writers: Meredith Alloway & Lily Houghton
Cast: Lili Reinhart, Lola Tung, Victoria Pedretti, Alexandra Shipp, Emma Chamberlain, Gabrielle Union, Devery Jacobs, Jacqueline Byers
The easiest shorthand for Forbidden Fruits—and one that’s already been widely used—is a blend of Mean Girls and The Craft, but Meredith Alloway’s directorial debut ultimately carves out something more distinct beneath that comparison. Set within the increasingly obsolete backdrop of a shopping mall, the film follows a trio of retail workers—Apple (Lili Reinhart), Cherry (Victoria Pedretti), and Fig (Alexandra Shipp)—whose bond begins to shift with the arrival of newcomer Pumpkin (Lola Tung).
From the outset, the film embraces a heightened, almost chaotic tone—leaning into camp, absurdity, and stylization—while quietly threading in commentary on female friendship, power dynamics, and the fragility of belonging. The mall setting itself becomes more than just a backdrop; it mirrors the instability of the characters’ identities and relationships, a space both communal and decaying.
It’s not a film that will resonate with everyone in the same way—it thrives on a very specific wavelength—but that very specificity is what gives it longevity. Forbidden Fruits feels destined for cult status, the kind of film that finds its audience over time rather than all at once.
The Super Mario Galaxy Movie (2026)
Directors: Aaron Horvath & Michael Jelenic
Writer: Matthew Fogel
Cast: Chris Pratt, Anya Taylor-Joy, Charlie Day, Jack Black, Benny Safdie, Donald Glover, Brie Larson, Keegan-Michael Key, Glen Powell, Issa Rae, Luis Guzmán
Easily the largest production on this list, The Super Mario Galaxy Movie operates on an entirely different scale—one defined by franchise power, built-in nostalgia, and global appeal. As a follow-up within an already massively successful cinematic universe, the film is poised to dominate commercially, bolstered by its cross-generational reach and the near-limitless potential of the Mario world.
Visually, the film delivers. The animation is vibrant, kinetic, and consistently engaging, expanding on the aesthetic foundation established in its predecessor. There’s a clear sense of ambition in how it builds out its universe, planting seeds for future installments while introducing new characters and environments.
However, where the film falters is in its narrative weight. The story often feels secondary to its references, callbacks, and franchise-building priorities. For longtime fans—especially those who grew up with the games—this approach largely works, tapping into a deep well of familiarity and affection. But for newcomers, or those looking for a more self-contained and emotionally resonant story, the experience may feel more fragmented.
Still, as a piece of blockbuster entertainment, it succeeds in delivering spectacle, humor, and momentum—even if its substance doesn’t always match its scale.
Taken together, these films highlight the range of what cinema currently has to offer—from deeply personal storytelling to maximalist franchise filmmaking. Some lean into introspection, others into spectacle, and some attempt to balance both, with varying degrees of success. There’s no singular takeaway here, no clean throughline that neatly ties them all together—and that’s part of the appeal.
If anything, this lineup reinforces that no single mode of storytelling dominates the landscape. There’s room for the messy, the experimental, the commercial, and the intimate—all coexisting, sometimes clashing, but always contributing to a broader, evolving medium. Films like these don’t necessarily need to agree with each other; they just need to exist alongside one another.
And even in playing catch-up, there’s something satisfying about sitting with that variety—about moving from one world to the next, adjusting to different tones, expectations, and emotional registers. It’s a reminder that engaging with film isn’t always about finding the “best” of the bunch, but about experiencing the range of what’s out there, and recognizing the smaller moments, performances, or ideas that stay with you long after the credits roll.