Monday Miniatures: Bugonia, Nouvelle Vague, and Cover-Up

Welcome to Monday Miniatures, where I tell you about some of the stuff I’ve been watching in the past week that I wouldn’t otherwise get to share.

The week of Nov. 3-Nov. 9, 2025:

Bugonia, directed by Yorgos Lanthimos

How I watched it: In theaters (AMC Americana)

As much of the world did, I fell in love with Lanthimos as a filmmaker after seeing 2010’s Dogtooth. I have greatly enjoyed watching his evolution as a filmmaker and the evolution of his films over the past 15 years. Bugonia represents the director as his most Dogtooth since Dogtooth, and it’s a breath of fresh air – or a sigh of relief if, like I was, you were feeling a little stultified after the one-two punch of Poor Things and Kinds of Kindness.

Bugonia is a tense, electrifying (pun intended, if you’ve seen the movie) thriller about humanity’s dual needs to find something or someone to blame for why things feel so bad right now and for that something or someone to be not our fault and out of our control. All conspiracy theories are born from the need to make order out of chaos, to find meaning in randomness. The proliferation of the internet and, in particular, social media has only made it easier for people selling answers to find a ravenous audience of buyers. Of course, just because you bought it doesn’t make it real, another key fact of the internet age.

I have not seen the 2003 South Korean film Save the Green Planet!, on which this is based. I would like to, and my understanding is that Bugonia writer Will Tracy (The Menu) hews pretty close to the original text. That said, there are elements that feel very 2020s. A few examples: 22 years ago, internet rabbit holes didn’t exist the same way they do now; conspiracies in 2003 existed at the fringes of society, not as an essential thread of our political fabric; the pharma CEO played by Emma Stone, girl-bossing and leaning in, could only have come from the past decade.

All of which is to say this feels like an essential film for our moment. Jesse Plemons’ conspiracy-obsessed kidnapper feels real and tragic in the same way it feels to watch anyone construct the architecture of his own demise. You have brought this upon yourself, but that doesn’t make it any less sad that we live in a world in which your brain can break in this way. It is in fact a world that profits and feeds off your brokenness.

There are some missteps in the third act that I have been grappling with since seeing this movie, but the final images are so haunting and poetic, and not just a little prophetic, that I’m willing to forgive a lot. I guess what I’m saying is: It’s good to have Lanthimos back in his wheelhouse. At his best, no one is doing it like him.

Nouvelle Vague, directed by Richard Linklater

How I watched it: In theaters (Landmark Playhouse, Pasadena)

A movie about one of the most iconoclastic filmmakers of all time making one of the most influential films of all time shouldn’t be this darn conventional, but here we are. I was trepidatious based on the trailer that Linklater, in directing this movie about Jean-Luc Godard directing Breathless, would attempt to ape the master’s style. The trailer is cut in such a way to remind one of later-period Godard. At least Linklater does not do that. Unfortunately, he failed to substitute in any style of his own.

Loaded with a Marvel level of Easter eggs, film history buffs will enjoy the dopamine hit of recognition when they see French New Wave figures paraded around for little reason other than to acknowledge that they were there, too. ‘Look! It’s Agnes Varda and Jacques Demy! Did you know they were married?’ The movie even helpfully puts a little chiron on the screen telling you who each person is as they flash by on screen, just so the audience knows the movie knows what it’s doing.

The worst sin this kind of movie can commit, to my mind, is to have the characters be humorously unaware of the future, those moments when the filmmakers try to have a little wink-wink, nudge-nudge metatextual fun with the audience. I call it Pirates of Silicon Valley syndrome, a made-for-TV movie from 1999 in which Steve Jobs berates Bill Gates while questioning, “Windows? What the heck is Windows?” Even as a kid, I knew that was silly.

A lot of this movie, however, falls into that trap, with Jean Seberg (Zoey Deutch) and Jean-Paul Belmondo (Aubry Dullin) remarking early and often on how glad they are no one will ever see this stinker of a film they’re making. The moneymen on screen doubt the film will ever make a dime, which I’m sure was true, but you can feel the movie winking.

Kudos to Guillaume Marbeck, who plays Godard, for infusing some of the real man’s anarchic spirit into the film, even if the rest of the movie lacks that same soul. Marbeck captures perfectly what one imagines the young, cocky, but unproven Godard to be like as he made his cinematic debut. As a whole, the movie is fun if you absolutely, positively love the French New Wave, and even then, only just fun enough.

Cover-Up, directed by Laura Poitras and Mark Obenhaus

How I watched it: In theaters (Aero Theatre)

Poitras originally wanted to make a documentary about investigative journalist Seymour Hersh back in 2005. He declined, and in the ensuing 20 years, Poitras herself has proven to be one of the great investigative documentarians of her time. More than that, she is one of the great chroniclers of individuals standing up for truth (or their interpretation of truth) in the face of overwhelming power and pressure.

Her Oscar-winning Citizenfour, about whistleblower Edward Snowden, is the defining document of the post-9/11 surveillance era. She followed that up with portraits of Julian Assange and WikiLeaks (Risk) and Nan Goldin’s battle against the Sackler family (All the Beauty and the Bloodshed, for my money, her masterpiece). Now, she returns to the subject of Hersh at a critical time for truth in politics, guts in media, and the journalist’s own legacy.

Poitras appeared at the Aero Theater on Saturday for an advanced screening of the film and a wide-ranging and thoughtful, if not terribly hopeful, Q&A afterward. I can’t say for certain what Poitras’ approach would have been in 2005, but it is clear two decades of involvement in the geopolitical happenings in this country have informed the filmmaker’s approach to the material.

It would be easy enough to make this film a hagiography of Hersh, whose accomplishments as a journalist include breaking the My Lai massacre, furthering the Watergate investigation, and uncovering evidence of torture at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq. Poitras, however, is smarter than that and well aware that the past 15 years or so have not been kind to Hersh’s legacy, whether because of shoddy reporting, poor instincts, or single-sourcing some of his pieces. These are all fair criticisms that do nothing to diminish Hersh’s accomplishments, but it takes just one stain to tarnish a brand built on truth.

Instead, Poitras and co-director Obenhaus use Hersh’s reporting to craft a timeline that lays out 60 years of government lies, scandals, and (lending the film its title) cover-ups. From Vietnam to Iraq to today, the machinery of power has operated in much the same fashion. And even in the time of Watergate, it took a monumental amount of effort across a vast network of journalists even to begin to dismantle that machinery. Today, for so many reasons, it feels less possible than ever.

From the perpetuation of conspiracies to the consolidation and conglomeration of media, the debasement of journalism, and the undermining of the very concept of facts, it has never been more difficult to speak truth to power. Poitras has built a career depicting people who preach openness, honesty, and accountability, but at the end of the day, the filmmaker herself may be the greatest practitioner of that which they preach.

Goodfellas, directed by Martin Scorsese

How I watched it: Blu-ray I own

Sometimes, it’s just good to remind yourself why the great ones are great. I threw this on while working the other day and found myself glued to the screen, even still for a movie I’ve seen 40 or 50 times. It never gets old, and the filmmaking remains as vital today as the day it was released. If you haven’t seen this in a while, do yourself a favor and pop it on.

Monday Miniatures: Addictions, Accidents, and Actors

Welcome to Monday Miniatures, where I tell you about some of the stuff I’ve been watching in the past week that I wouldn’t otherwise get to share.

The week of Oct. 27-Nov. 2, 2025:

Ballad of a Small Player, directed by Edward Berger

How I watched it: In theaters (Landmark Pasadena)

After the back-to-back hits of All Quiet on the Western Front and Conclave, not to mention TV success with Your Honor and Patrick Melrose, Berger is playing with house money. So, he took all that capital and wagered it on a seedy little story about an addict who believes he can out-play his addictions. These stories are as old as time, cautionary tales about people who just need one more go at whatever it is that has trapped them. 

In this case, we are following Colin Farrell as Lord Doyle. His game of choice: baccarat. The city: Macao. If you’re not part of the gambling world, you may not know the associations with Macao, which I have read described by professional poker players as a literal hell on earth. Note that these poker players still willingly and often joyously travel to Macao, the lure of the payday worth risking damnation. It’s a wonderful setting for a movie about losing oneself, losing one’s soul, and the long road to redemption.

I like this movie. It is gorgeously shot, Farrell delivers a tremendous performance, and there is something morbidly fascinating in watching the slow-motion car wreck that is this character’s life. That said, I wanted more. The further I get from All Quiet, the greater it grows in my estimation. Conclave was an airport page-turner elevated to high art. Berger has greatness in him, but this movie – apart from a couple sequences, including a scene on a dock at low tide – falls short of its potential.

It Was Just an Accident, directed by Jafar Panahi

How I watched it: In theaters (Alamo DTLA)

This year’s Palme d’Or winner, I will have much more to say about this in the coming days, weeks, and months. This is a major work from a master filmmaker. It is both emotionally involving and intellectually challenging. It presents a number of ideas, then trusts the audience to come along as it explores each of those ideas in depth. It doesn’t condescend to the audience or offer any easy answers. Rather, it dives deep into the unknowable, the unwinnable, and the irredeemable. Love this movie.

John Candy: I Like Me, directed by Colin Hanks

How I watched it: Amazon Prime

I never really considered myself a John Candy fan. He’s in a number of movies I like and a number of movies I dislike. I find the “I like me” speech in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, which gives this doc its title, quite powerful while finding that film intensely irritating. From everything I have seen, Candy is best in small doses, lest his particular schtick grow tiresome. I am in the minority in this opinion, and John Candy: I Like Me makes a strong case for me to revisit the late actor’s work or dive deeper into some movies I have not seen.

This is a nice movie about a nice man, but it gets repetitive quickly. There are only so many ways to say that Candy was a charming, gregarious man who was comedically gifted but had a hole in his heart due to the death of his father at a young age. He tried to fill that hole with the love of the masses but found that love fickle, unsustainable, and unsatisfying. It’s a fairly classic Hollywood story. There are some good interviews here, and if you love Candy, you’ll love this movie. 

My five favorite John Candy movies, in alphabetical order: Brewster’s Millions, in which he plays Richard Pryor’s best friend who can’t fathom what Brewster is doing or thinking (he’s also a catcher, which was my position, so points for that); Cool Runnings, which is probably my favorite lead or semi-lead performance of Candy’s; Home Alone, in which Candy has two brief but pivotal and hilarious scenes; JFK, in which Candy matches the over-the-top nature of the film around him to a T;  Rookie of the Year, in which Candy takes the Bob Uecker role of sportscaster tasked with providing the play by play to absurd circumstances.

Haunters: The Art of the Scare, directed by John Schnitzer

How I watched it: Amazon Prime

Haunted houses terrified me as a kid. As much as I have always loved horror movies, it has never occurred to me that I might enjoy being the victim in one. I’m still not a fan of haunted houses, but I’m a big fan of people “puttin’ on a show!” so to speak. Half of Haunters is a wonderful documentary about the people who dedicate much of their lives to building the biggest and best haunts that they can, as well as the trials and tribulations they encounter.

It is undeniably endearing to watch people in their home garage, putting together plywood, paint, and a dream to bring joy through terror. Are they weirdos? Frankly, anyone who wears it as a badge of honor to make someone piss herself or pass out is a little bit of a weirdo. I’m not here to judge. People sign up for these experiences, and it’s not unreasonable to think that even in those cases, the customer goes home happy.

Now, that’s half the movie. The other half is about extreme haunts – one in particular – run by people the weirdos of the normal haunts might call doggone freaks. Hilariously, the people who run the extreme haunts think the other extreme haunters also are freaks. If you’re unfamiliar, extreme “haunts” (hard to call them haunted houses really; there’s nothing ghostly or spooky about them) often feature actual torture like waterboarding and electrocution, as well as sexual humiliation and all manner of psychological torment. Not my idea of a Saturday night, but again, no judgment.

Except for the folks at McKamey Manor. The movie offers the plurality of its screentime to proprietor Russ McKamey. McKamey Manor is considered the most extreme “haunt” in the nation. People come from all over the world to be brutalized by its wicked ways. The movie plays both sides a little bit, giving McKamey ample time to answer his critics, but McKamey’s own words are the most damning. People obviously want his services, but that doesn’t make the manner in which he provides them okay.

Overall, I like prefer the half of the doc that’s about mostly good-natured people (although, there’s still some troubling stuff in there, too) sharing their love of Halloween, rather than the half about borderline sociopaths who really don’t have a connection to anything except their own depravity.

Sisu, directed by Jalmari Helander

How I watched it: Disney+

I was aware of Sisu. I had heard it was a bloody good time, emphasis on bloody, from some action movie fans I trust. I just never felt a real push to prioritize it over anything else, but I caught the trailer for Sisu 2 (aka Sisu: Road to Revenge) before another movie in theaters and figured: If the sequel’s coming, I might as well catch up with the first one.

It is precisely the movie I assumed it would be, which is to say it is the Hobo with a Shotgun of World War II movies. I see why people had fun, I see what is supposed to be fun, but I can’t say I had much fun. It is perfectly competent at being the movie Helander wants to make. That’s not a type of movie that really appeals to me, except in as much as it might be fun to elbow your buddies, point at the screen, and say, ‘Woah, did you see that?’

The story follows a Finnish soldier turned prospector who discovers gold, then encounters Nazis going scorched earth on his country in their retreat. The Nazis try to steal the gold, and the man, Aatami (Jorma Tommila) goes full John Wick on them. We’ve seen it before, blowing up Nazis obviously never gets old, but the movie doesn’t have anything else to offer. Maybe that’s fine.

Goodnight Mommy, directed by Severin Fiala and Veronika Franz

How I watched it: Amazon Prime

As I mentioned last week, I figured I would pretty quickly catch up with The Devil’s Bath directors Fiala and Franz’s critically acclaimed Goodnight Mommy. It took me just a couple days, and here we are. This is an excellent film, supremely creepy, and I highly recommend it. If you have not seen it, I recommend skipping the rest of this piece until you have seen it because I intend to get a little spoilery, and the film is best seen blind.

Okay, warning over, now it’s on you. I generally try to avoid spoilers in my writing because I think people should have the opportunity to discover a film’s mysteries in the way the film intends. I am talking about spoilers with this film because I had the film’s twist spoiled for me before I saw it, and it is an interesting case study in how thrillers with big twists work and are constructed.

First off, the film is over a decade old, so I can’t be too mad about having it spoiled. I had 11 years to watch it. I didn’t. That’s my fault. However, I watched the movie with the twist in mind the whole time, and when you have it in mind, it’s impossible not to filter everything through that lens. It’s like the second time you watch The Sixth Sense. You’re looking for the clues. You’re trying to spot what you missed. Some things become incredibly obvious. Now, imagine that’s your first viewing of a film.

There is a debate online around spoiler culture and whether it has gone too far. And, there are people who believe that virtually any discussion of a movie beyond and sometimes including its mere existence constitutes a spoiler. Honestly, those folks just need to get off the internet. On the other hand, I am sympathetic to the desire to discover a movie while watching a movie. I prefer to know as little as possible going in, and I think we can all agree trailers are giving away too much these days.

Some folks argue that a movie should work whether you know the twist or not and that if it relies on a twist for its success, it is an inherently bad movie. I disagree. Is The Sixth Sense still a good movie on the 10th viewing? Absolutely, because it is an expertly crafted piece of cinema. However, it is a fundamentally different movie than the one the filmmaker intended.

That was how I felt watching Goodnight Mommy with the foreknowledge I had. It is fundamentally different. Character motivations are different. Story beats are different. Acting choices mean something else entirely. It is no longer the movie the filmmakers made, and that’s a bummer.