The Films of 2025: F1 (dir by Joseph Kosinski)

Posted on December 12, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

“Do they have the car?”

“We have the driver.”

Those two lines of dialogue, uttered towards the end of the film, pretty much sums up F1, a terrifically entertaining movie about Formula One racing.

Brad Pitt stars as Sonny Hayes, a former FI prodigy who, in the early 90s, suffered a traumatic crash at the Spanish Grand Prix. The crash nearly killed him and it temporarily ended his career as an F1 driver. Sonny has spent the past thirty years as a drifter, gambler, and as a race car driver for hire. He lives in a van and is haunted by nightmares of his crash. When he wakes up in the morning, he groans as he stretches his tattooed, beat-up, but still muscular body. He dunks his face in a sink full of ice. He’s aging but he hasn’t surrendered just yet. The film opens with Sonny helping to win the 24 Hours of Daytona race. After his victory, he’s approached by his former teammate, Ruben (Javier Bardem). Ruben is in charge of the APEXGP F1 team. He needs a driver to partner with the young and arrogant Joshua Pearce (Damson Idris). Sonny agrees, though only after Ruben asks if Sonny wants a chance to show that he’s the best in the world. Sonny may be one of the oldest guys on the track but he’s still got something to prove.

If F1 came out in 80s, the 90s, or even the Aughts, it would be viewed as a well-made but predictable racing film, one in which a fairly by-the-numbers script was held together by Brad Pitt’s overwhelming charisma and Joseph Kosiniski’s kinetic direction. And that certainly is a legitimate way to view the film in 2025. On the other hand, coming after both the scoldy Woke Era and the authoritarian COVID Era, a film that celebrates competing without guilt, that says that it’s more fun to win than to lose, and which doesn’t apologize for embracing a culture of driving fast and breaking the rules feels almost revolutionary. Just as he did with Top Gun: Maverick, director Joseph Kosinski reminds the audience that it’s okay to be entertained. Not everything has to be a struggle session. Not everything has to be a rejection of the things that once made you happy. F1 is a film that invites you to cheer without guilt or shame.

It’s a good film, one that is full of exciting racing scenes and gasp-inducing crashes. After both this film and Top Gun: Maverick, there’s little doubt that director Joseph Kosinski knows how to harness the power of Hollywood’s few true movie stars. That said, as good as Brad Pitt is, Damson Idris is equally impressive, playing Joshua, a young driver who learns that there’s more to being a great driver than just getting good press. When we first meet Joshua, he’s young and cocky and arrogant and one thing that I respect about the film is that, even after Joshua learns the importance of teamwork and trust, he’s still more than a little cocky. He never stops believing in himself. He doesn’t sacrifice his confidence on the way to becoming the best. Though the film is definitely on Sonny’s side when it comes to their early conflicts (one can practically here the film saying, “Put down your phone, you young whippersnapper!”), it’s smart enough to not make Joshua into a caricature. Instead, he’s just a young man trying to balance celebrity and talent. Kerry Condon also gives a good performance as APEX’s technical director, though her romance with Sonny does feel a bit tacked on. (Far too often, whenever a female character says that she’s not looking for a relationship, movies refuse to take her word for it.)

When I first heard about F1, I have to admit that I wondered if Kosinski was deliberately following up the Top Gun sequel with a remake of Days of Thunder.It is true that F1 does have a lot in common with other racing films but, in the end, it doesn’t matter. Brad Pitt’s star turn and Joseph Kosinski’s direction makes F1 into an absolutely thrill ride and one of the best of 2025.

On Strike for Christmas (Dir Robert Iscove), Review by Case Wright

Posted on December 12, 2025 by casewright

On Strike for Christmas was fun because I got to live tweet it with Lisa and that’s always a blast. The story is straight forward- Joy (Daphne Zuniga), a SAHM, is fed up with being unappreciated for her hard work in prepping for Christmas; so, she goes full-commie and strikes/organizes the other moms to fall into the perils of communism by unionizing the moms to stop all Christmas prep! Honestly, I could’ve reviewed this film for Horrorthon based upon the Marxist plot line!

I want to stay as positive as I can because it’s Christmastime but the film took a WEIRD left turn! First, the grandmother, the mom, the dad, AND the two sons were really close in age; so, you had serious teen mom vibe. Second, it was obvious that ALL of the actors had the hots for each other! It was like infamous Folgers ad (see below ).

If you are unfamiliar with the Folgers ad above, the plot is that a brother returns from Africa and the actors couldn’t help but show their attraction for one another. The same distracting event happened in this film too and not just once or twice – no no no – the sexual tension in this film was like Madmen season 1 levels and in nearly every scene.

There was one scene where the mom dressed up and the son gushed on how hot she was and it was very uncomfortable. I swear, find someone who looks at you like these actors looked at each other!!!

There were some funny parts to the film; such as, the obligatory trope that the boys and dad tried to make cookies and it’s a disaster. However, it really felt like the family had a lot of problems before this because the mom proceeded to not only go on strike, but to talk to journalists about all of her family were just POSs. I mean really if you’re already at the point where you feel comfortable going to the press about what garbage people your husband is and your son’s, the marriage is already over. And in her case, it certainly was awkward at Valentine’s Day when her dad and sons/boyfriends gave her chocolate all at the same time!!! I can only imagine what the hallmark card would look like!!!

Lisa noticed that the mom wasn’t just going on strike herself, but she proceeded to break up every family in the town. Joy needs to be stopped! I mean, it’s bad enough that she’s led all these poor people down the path of socialism and communism, which is just painful for me, but she’s also splitting up all these families!

Maybe that’s what happened in Russia? It was all just a big kerfuffle over cookies and icing and the next thing you know – nukes are pointed right at the good old US of A!!!

It should be noted that eventually the strike does end and the families try to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. I think that was very insensitive of Joy because she always had her son/boyfriend’s number to fall back on during those cold winter nights!!!

Guilty Pleasure No. 92: Brewster’s Millions (dir. by Walter Hill)

Posted on December 12, 2025 by Arleigh

Walter Hill’s Brewster’s Millions (1985) isn’t a perfect movie by any stretch, but it’s the kind of film that sneaks up on you. It may not be sharp enough to qualify as great satire or consistent enough to hit every comedic note, but it has an undeniable charm that pulls you in regardless. It’s loud, uneven, and often ridiculous, yet few comedies from the 1980s are as weirdly entertaining when they’re firing on all cylinders. For many movie fans, it’s that quintessential “guilty pleasure”—a film you know has problems, but that somehow feels impossible to turn off once it starts. And in many ways, that’s exactly where Brewster’s Millions finds its lasting appeal.

The setup alone is too fun to resist. Richard Pryor stars as Montgomery Brewster, a minor league baseball pitcher who unexpectedly inherits the opportunity of a lifetime—to claim a $300 million fortune from a distant relative. The catch? Before he can get it, he has to spend $30 million in 30 days under a bizarre set of conditions that make financial ruin easier said than done. He can’t give the money away, can’t destroy it, can’t buy assets or investments that retain value, and can’t tell anyone why he’s doing it. Fail, and he gets nothing. Succeed, and he becomes one of the richest men alive. It’s the sort of gleefully absurd premise that could only have come from Hollywood in the 1980s, and it’s immediately clear that the film wants audiences to sit back, grab some popcorn, and watch Pryor tear through cash in increasingly funny and desperate ways.

Richard Pryor is, without doubt, the heart and soul of the movie. He imbues Montgomery Brewster with equal parts manic energy and human frustration, giving the character a real emotional arc beneath all the comic spectacle. Pryor’s talent for blending humor with exasperation makes Brewster’s predicament believable, even when it’s insane. Watching him scramble to lose money while the world keeps rewarding him is strangely satisfying. Pryor understood how to play ordinary men caught in extraordinary circumstances, and that quality grounds the film when it could have easily spiraled into total silliness. In scenes where he loses his patience with accountants, schemes wild spending sprees, or watches his good intentions backfire, Pryor’s comic timing keeps the chaos enjoyable.

John Candy adds another layer of charm as Brewster’s best friend and teammate, Spike Nolan. Candy brings warmth, loyalty, and that unmistakable good-heartedness that made him one of the decade’s most beloved comedic actors. The chemistry between Pryor and Candy keeps the film buoyant even through its weaker stretches. Their friendship defines the film’s tone—it’s loose, goofy, and full of bro-ish camaraderie. Without Candy’s infectious energy, the movie’s more hollow comedic beats might have hit the floor with a thud. Together, they create a dynamic that feels real, even inside a premise that’s totally absurd.

As a director, Walter Hill feels like an odd fit for this kind of broad comedy, but that’s part of what makes Brewster’s Millions interesting. Hill, better known for tough, kinetic action films like The Warriors and 48 Hrs., approaches this farce with a surprising amount of structure and visual precision. The film looks slicker and sharper than most comedies of its kind, which gives the excess on-screen an unintentionally epic flair. Hill’s direction keeps the story moving, and though he’s not naturally a comedic filmmaker, his grounded style adds a peculiar edge to all the craziness. It’s chaos with discipline—an aesthetic that somehow works in the movie’s favor.

Still, Brewster’s Millions can’t quite escape its shortcomings. The pacing is uneven, especially in the middle, where the film loses some steam as Brewster cycles through increasingly repetitive spending gimmicks. The story flirts with satire but rarely commits, brushing up against deeper commentary on wealth, politics, and capitalism before retreating to the comfort of broad comedy. The “Vote None of the Above” subplot, where Brewster’s money-wasting political campaign taps into voter cynicism, is one of the smartest parts of the film—but it’s introduced and resolved too quickly to leave a mark. And while the movie is full of lively energy, not every gag lands; a few supporting performances veer into caricature, and some jokes feel very much of their time.

Yet these flaws are partly what make Brewster’s Millions such a delightful guilty pleasure. It’s the cinematic equivalent of junk food—high on calories, low on nutritional value, but deeply enjoyable all the same. Pryor’s constant exasperation, the sheer absurdity of trying to “waste” money legally, and the exaggerated set pieces (like the overblown parties or his failed attempts to lose at gambling) make for irresistible entertainment. Even when the humor dips into predictable territory, the concept keeps pulling you back in. There’s a giddy satisfaction in watching Brewster try—and fail—to lose money, especially because the universe just won’t let him.

The romance subplot with Lonette McKee’s character, Angela Drake, adds just enough heart to balance the absurdity. McKee gives a grounded, intelligent performance that prevents the love story from feeling tacked on, even if it never fully takes center stage. Her presence keeps Brewster tethered to some kind of reality, and the moral through-line—learning that not everything valuable can be bought—lands gently rather than preachily. It’s not profound, but it fits the breezy tone perfectly.

As a comedy of excess, Brewster’s Millions is very much a product of its time. The slick suits, the gaudy parties, the blind faith in wealth, and the Reagan-era optimism about money’s moral neutrality all ooze from every frame. That time-capsule quality is part of its modern appeal. Watching it today, you can’t help but smile at how on-the-nose it feels—a movie from the “greed is good” decade that accidentally ends up mocking the very mindset it sprang from. It’s self-aware only in flashes, but those flashes are enough to make you recognize the movie’s satirical edge hiding beneath its loud surface.

In the end, that’s what makes Brewster’s Millions endure as a lovable guilty pleasure. It has flaws you can’t ignore—uneven pacing, scattershot tone, underdeveloped ideas—but none of them outweigh its charm. Pryor’s comic genius makes even the weakest joke land better than it should. Candy’s warmth keeps the film light. And Hill’s straightforward direction infuses the lunacy with just enough realism to make it believable. The result is a movie that’s too silly to take seriously but too fun to dismiss. You watch it, laugh at its audacity, shake your head at the logic gaps, and yet somehow come away smiling.

Brewster’s Millions may not be a comedy classic, but it’s easy to see why people keep revisiting it. It’s comfort food cinema—lighthearted, clumsy, and endlessly watchable. And like all the best guilty pleasures, it doesn’t need to be perfect to make you happy. Sometimes, seeing Richard Pryor outsmart the meaning of money for two hours is more than enough.

Previous Guilty Pleasures

Holidays On The Lens: Beyond Tomorrow (dir by A. Edward Sutherland)

Posted on December 12, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

After three eccentric businessman arrange for a young couple to get together right before the holidays, a plane crash kills the three men. However, their ghosts remain on Earth to watch over the couple and to take care of some unexpected holiday business. The film is a holiday film and a comedy and a romance and a musical and a ghost story and a melodrama and finally an oddly sincere meditation on life and death.

From 1940, here’s Beyond Tomorrow!

Brad reviews THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER (1940), starring James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan!

Posted on December 11, 2025 by Bradley Crain

Set in Budapest, Hungary, we meet Alfred Kralik (James Stewart), the dependable head clerk at a retail establishment named Matuschek and Company. In walks Klara Novak (Margaret Sullavan), an attractive young lady who’s desperately in need of a job, so Mr. Matuschek (Frank Morgan) hires her as a new salesgirl. Alfred and Klara immediately take a disliking to each other and give each other quite a hard time at work. As we get to know Alfred and Klara, we find out that each of them is involved in a treasured “pen-pal” relationship with a mysterious someone who truly seems to understand their heart and soul. Wouldn’t you know it, even though they get on each other’s last nerves at the shop, Alfred and Klara are each other’s secret pen-pal! While navigating unexpected drama at work, mainly involving Mr. Matuschek, his wife, and a duplicitous employee, Alfred eventually discovers that Klara is his mystery correspondent without her knowing it. As he tries to reconcile the actions of the lady he knows from work with the heart of the person who wrote those letters, Alfred decides to show Klara who he really is to see if they can fall in love in real life!

THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER is one of my very favorite romantic comedies, and I’d guess the lead performance of James Stewart is probably the main reason. He’s just perfect in the role of Alfred Kralik… earnest, proud, awkward, vulnerable, and above all else, decent. Stewart’s ability to portray characters with believable decency separate him as one of the all-time greats and that quality is well on display here. Margaret Sullavan, as Klara Novak, matches him perfectly. Known to have a good relationship off screen as well, the chemistry between Stewart and Sullavan is off the charts and their scenes together are quite powerful. Mostly known by me for his performance as the Wizard of Oz, Frank Morgan is also incredible as Mr. Matuschek, at times jealous, volatile, and ultimately benevolent.

Director Ernst Lubitsch, known for his “Lubitsch touch,” has made a movie that has stood the test of time because of its core of emotional truth. Even though it was made well before the days of social media or online dating, THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER understands just how differently we present ourselves when writing (or online, or on social media), compared to how we actually behave in person. Maybe it’s because THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER was made in 1940, but I love the way its time-tested story idea is used for comedy and sweet romance, without becoming cynical. That lack of cynicism leaves room not only for comedy and romance but also a genuine compassion for its characters as they deal with the very real emotions of loneliness, pride, jealousy, and fear.

All in all, THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER may be 85 years old, but its tender and romantic payoff set on Christmas Eve still gets me every time. As far as I’m concerned, this is about as close to perfect as a romantic comedy can get!

(Author’s note: I’m also a fan of the 1998 remake, YOU’VE GOT MAIL, starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, but I rate it below Lubitsch’s film.)

Review: Doomsday (dir. by Neil Marshall)

Posted on December 11, 2025 by Arleigh

“Same shit, different era.” — Eden Sinclair

Doomsday tries to be a wild post-apocalyptic romp but ends up as such a profound disappointment, especially coming from Neil Marshall, whose previous two films, Dog Soldiers and The Descent, were much better entries in the horror genre where his attempts to inject new ideas landed the mark with precision and style. Here, Marshall shifts gears into a sprawling, uneven action-horror hybrid that feels like a highlight reel of better movies, bloated and unfocused where his earlier works thrived on tight scripting and fresh twists. While there are flashes of fun in the chaos, the film’s glaring flaws in plotting, tone, and originality outweigh any guilty-pleasure moments, leaving it as more of a curiosity than a recommendation.

The story kicks off with a decent hook: a deadly Reaper virus wipes out much of Scotland, prompting the government to seal it off behind a massive wall and leave the population to fend for itself. Years later, the virus resurfaces in London, and intel suggests survivors—and possibly a cure—lurk inside the quarantine zone. Major Eden Sinclair (Rhona Mitra) leads a ragtag military squad across the wall to hunt down a rogue scientist. It’s a setup that echoes classics like Escape from New York, but Doomsday quickly abandons any tension for a parade of borrowed set pieces that rarely gel, a far cry from the inventive werewolf siege of Dog Soldiers or the claustrophobic crawler terror in The Descent.

Once inside, the movie lurches from one aesthetic to the next without much logic or buildup. First comes a punk-anarchist wasteland with cannibals hosting gladiatorial freak shows amid flames and mohawks, then a sudden pivot to medieval knights in castles complete with jousts and sieges. These shifts feel arbitrary, like Marshall couldn’t decide on a vibe and just threw them all in—a scattershot approach that lacks the confident genre-blending of his prior successes. The worldbuilding is shallow—how did feudalism sprout up so neatly amid the apocalypse?—and the transitions are jarring, undermining any sense of immersion or stakes.

Rhona Mitra holds the center as Sinclair, a one-eyed badass who dispatches foes with grim efficiency, but even she can’t overcome the script’s limitations. Her character is a walking archetype: tough, quippy, and competent, with zero emotional depth or growth. The supporting players, including Malcolm McDowell as a scenery-chewing lord and Bob Hoskins as a gruff boss, are wasted on one-note roles. They’re recognizable enough to highlight how little the film does with its cast, turning potential strengths into reminders of squandered talent.

Visually, Doomsday has some grit thanks to practical effects and location shooting, especially in the grimy urban ruins and over-the-top chases that nod to Mad Max. The gore is plentiful and messy, which might appeal to splatter fans. But the action often devolves into incoherent shaky-cam slogs, and the pacing drags in spots despite the constant escalation. Worse, the film’s self-indulgent excess tips into silliness that undercuts its own grim premise, making it hard to buy the horror of the virus or the desperation of survival.

Tonally, Doomsday is all over the map, swinging from bleak quarantine dread to campy medieval farce without warning. This inconsistency is its biggest sin—serious moments clash with cartoon violence, and the humor lands flat or feels forced. Influences from 28 Days Later, The Road Warrior, and even Excalibur are blatant, but Marshall doesn’t elevate them; he just remixes them into something louder yet less impactful. The result feels like fan fiction for genre nerds rather than a fresh take, missing the spark that made his earlier horrors stand out.

Thematically, there are glimmers of commentary on government abandonment, class divides, and viral panic, but they’re buried under the bombast and never explored. Instead of probing the ethics of walling off a nation, the film prioritizes spectacle, leaving those ideas as window dressing. It’s a missed opportunity that makes the whole endeavor feel hollow, especially when real-world parallels to pandemics could have added bite.

Doomsday struggles to stand on its own amid a crowded genre field, weighed down by narrative sloppiness and tonal whiplash that overshadow its few strengths. The positives—like visceral kills and Mitra’s presence—fail to overcome the disjointed plotting and lack of fresh ideas. Ultimately, it feels like a missed chance for something more cohesive, leaving little reason to revisit beyond a one-off curiosity.

In the end, Doomsday is a swing-and-a-miss for Neil Marshall, ambitious in scope but sloppy in execution, a letdown after the highs of Dog Soldiers and The Descent. The negatives dominate: uneven pacing, logical gaps, borrowed aesthetics without innovation, and a tone that alienates more than it entertains. If you’re in the mood for undemanding B-movie chaos on a slow night, it might scratch a minor itch. Otherwise, skip it for the films it rips off—they deliver the thrills without the frustration. At around 105 minutes, it’s not a huge time sink, but better options abound in the post-apoc genre.

Holidays On The Lens: Christmas At The Amish Bakery (dir by Jeff Hare)

Posted on December 11, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

In 2023’s Christmas At The Amish Bakery, book editor Sarah (Alexandra Harris) returns to her Amish roots, hoping to put together an Amish cookbook. (“The Amish are famous for the baking!” Sarah’s boss says.) But what happens when Sarah discovers love and the true meaning of the holidays?

You can probably guess.

This is like the ultimate Hallmark Amish Christmas movie. If you know, you know.

The Films of 2025: The Lost Bus (dir by Paul Greengrass)

Posted on December 10, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

If you’re like me and you have not only asthma but also a huge phobia about getting caught in the middle of an out-of-control fire, you should definitely make sure you have your inhaler nearby while watching The Lost Bus.

Based on an actual California wildfire that killed over 80 people in 2018, The Lost Bus takes the viewer straight into the fire. We watch as one power line falls off of a poorly maintained tower. We see the sparks and then we see the fire that starts to burn almost immediately. Soon, the fire is moving down the mountain and through the forest. The camera zooms into the heart of the growing disaster and the viewer spends many horrifying minutes in the middle of the inferno, watching as trees burst into flames and the black smoke turns the sky dark as night. We hear the wind blowing the fire closer and closer to civilization and we realize, even before the majority of the characters in the film, that there’s no way to stop it. Tears came to my eyes as I watched the fire destroying everything that it touched and I did have to grab my inhaler at one point. The film’s visualization of the wildfire overwhelms you, to the extent that you might actually feel the heat radiating off of the screen.

When the film shifts away from the fire, it’s focuses on Kevin (Matthew McConaughey), a directionless man who has recently returned to his hometown and who works as a school bus driver. When he first realizes how bad the fire is, his first instinct is to rush back to his home but then he hears over the radio that there are over 20 children at an elementary school who need to be taken to safety. Kevin’s bus is the only one in the area. He picks up the children and their teacher, Mary (America Ferrara) and tries to drive them to another area so that they can be reunited with their parents. While Kevin is just trying to get his bus and the kids to safety, the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection fights a losing battle to try to contain the inferno.

Both Matthew McConaughey and America Ferrara are playing rather familiar characters. Kevin is the perennial screw-up, the guy who is on the verge of losing his job but who ultimately proves himself to be the type of hero that no one expected him to be. Mary is the dedicated teacher who tells the kids to walk in a straight line and who tries to keep them calm even when new fires are erupting around them. Kevin never wanted to come back to his hometown while Mary never wants to leave it. Though the characters may be familiar, McConaughey and Ferrara both give authentic and lived-in performances. That said, the most compelling character remains the fire itself, a creation of pure out-of-control chaos and a reminder of the heart-breaking randomness of life.

This is another one of Paul Greengrass’s shaky cam docudramas. As a filmmaker, Greengrass is one of the best when it comes to putting the viewer right in the middle of the action and, for once, not even Greengrass’s signature political posturing can stop the film’s momentum. The Lost Bus is a film that ultimately celebrates not only community but also how one individual can make a difference in a time of crisis. It’s a film that left me out-of-breath and with tears in my eyes.

Review: 48 Hrs. (dir. by Walter Hill)

Posted on December 10, 2025 by Arleigh

“This ain’t no god damn way to start a partnership.” – Reggie Hammond

48 Hrs. bursts onto the screen with a gritty prison breakout that sets the stage for chaos in the foggy streets of San Francisco, where a pair of ruthless killers slip away after gunning down a cop’s partner in cold blood. Jack Cates, the surviving detective, is left battered and furious, piecing together a case that points to a slick convict named Reggie Hammond holding the key to the crooks’ whereabouts—and a stash of stolen cash. With time ticking down, Jack pulls strings to get Reggie out on a 48-hour pass, thrusting these two polar opposites into a reluctant alliance that turns the city into their personal battlefield of bullets, banter, and bad blood.

From the jump, Jack comes across as the ultimate rough-around-the-edges cop, nursing a flask under his trench coat, snapping at colleagues, and charging headfirst into danger like a man who’s got nothing left to lose. His apartment is a mess of empty bottles and regret, and his rocky relationship with his girlfriend underscores how the job has chewed him up and spit him out, leaving him more beast than man. Reggie, by contrast, rolls in with street-honed swagger, his prison jumpsuit barely containing the energy of a guy who’s survived by being quicker on his feet and sharper with his mouth than anyone around him. He’s got a girlfriend waiting with that hidden money, and no intention of playing nice with a cop who’s eyeing him like fresh meat.

The beauty of their pairing lies in how the film lets their friction spark from the very first shared car ride, where Jack’s growled commands clash against Reggie’s nonstop ribbing, turning a simple stakeout into a verbal demolition derby. Picture them peeling out after a lead goes south, tires screeching through narrow alleys while Reggie gripes about the beat-up car and Jack slams the dash in frustration—it’s these raw, unscripted-feeling moments that make the movie breathe. As they hit up seedy bars, chase informants through strip joints, and dodge ambushes, the script peels back layers: Jack’s not just a bully, he’s haunted by close calls; Reggie’s bravado masks real fear of ending up dead or broke.

One standout sequence drops them into a hillbilly roadhouse packed with hostile locals, where Reggie grabs the mic for an impromptu takedown that flips the room from menace to mayhem, buying them time while Jack backs him up with sheer firepower. It’s tense, hilarious, and perfectly timed, showing how their skills complement each other—Jack’s brute force meeting Reggie’s silver tongue—in ways neither saw coming. The villains, led by a stone-cold Luther and his trigger-happy sidekick, keep the heat cranked high, popping up for savage hits that leave bodies in the gutter and force the duo to improvise on the fly, like hot-wiring rides or shaking down lowlifes for scraps of intel.

Walter Hill’s direction keeps it all taut and visceral, with handheld cameras capturing the sweat and grime of every punch thrown or shot fired, no glossy filters to soften the blows. The San Francisco backdrop shines through rain-slicked hills, neon-lit dives, and shadowy piers, giving the action a grounded, almost documentary edge that amps up the stakes. Sound design punches too—the roar of engines, the crack of gunfire, the thud of fists—layered over a pulsing ’80s score that shifts from funky grooves during chases to ominous drones in quieter beats, mirroring the push-pull between comedy and threat.

Diving deeper into the characters, Jack’s arc feels earned through small touches: a hesitant phone call to his ex, a flicker of respect when Reggie saves his skin, moments that humanize the hardass without forcing redemption. Reggie evolves too, his initial scam-artist vibe giving way to flashes of loyalty, like when he risks his neck to protect that cash not just for himself, but to build something real outside the walls. Supporting roles flesh out the world—the precinct captain barking orders, the sultry singer tangled with the bad guys, Reggie’s tough-as-nails woman who won’t take guff—but they never overshadow the core duo, serving as sparks for conflict or comic relief.

Pacing-wise, the film rarely pauses for breath, clocking in under two hours yet packing in a full meal of twists, from double-crosses at motels to a frantic foot chase across rooftops that leaves you winded. The 48-hour ticking clock adds urgency without gimmicks, every dead end ramping tension as dawn breaks on their deadline. Humor lands organically too, not from slapstick but from character-driven zingers—Reggie calling out Jack’s outdated tough-guy schtick, Jack grumbling about Reggie’s flashy clothes—keeping the tone light even as blood spills.

Of course, watching through modern eyes, the dialogue packs some era-specific punches, with raw language around race, cops, and crooks that reflects ’80s attitudes head-on, for better or worse. It’s unapologetic, mirroring the film’s macho pulse, but adds texture to the time capsule feel, making replays fascinating for how boldly it leaned into taboos. The women, while fierce in spots, often play second fiddle to the bromance brewing, a hallmark of the genre that 48 Hrs. helped cement before it evolved.

What elevates this beyond standard action fare is how it nails the buddy dynamic’s slow burn: no instant high-fives, just gradual thaw from shared survival, culminating in a dockside finale where alliances solidify amid explosions and last stands. The editing zips between high-octane set pieces and downtime breather scenes, like a roadside diner heart-to-heart that reveals backstories without halting momentum. Cinematography plays with shadows and neon to heighten paranoia, turning everyday spots into pressure cookers.

Influence-wise, you can trace lines straight to later hits—the grizzled vet and smooth-talking newbie formula got refined here, blending Lethal Weapon grit with Beverly Hills Cop wit years ahead of schedule. Performances anchor it all: the leads’ chemistry crackles, carrying weaker beats on sheer charisma, while Hill’s lean style ensures every frame earns its keep. Runtime flies because it’s efficient, no fat, just muscle.

Final stretch ramps to operatic violence on those windswept docks, bullets flying as personal scores settle, leaving our heroes bloodied but bonded in a way that feels hard-won. 48 Hrs. endures as a rowdy blueprint for the genre, blending laughs, thrills, and toughness into a package that’s addictive on first watch and rewarding on revisit. It’s got heart under the bruises, edge in the jokes, and a vibe that’s pure ’80s adrenaline—grab it for a night of no-holds-barred entertainment that still packs a wallop over four decades later.

Holidays on the Lens: It’s Christmas, Carol! (dir by Michael M. Scott)

Posted on December 10, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

In 2012’s It’s Christmas, Carol, Emmanuelle Vaugier plays Carol, a publishing executive who has lost sight of what the holidays should be all about. The ghost of her former boss (played by Carrie Fisher) appears to her and takes her on a journey through her past, present, and future….

Does this sound familiar?

Tis the season for a hundred variations on the classic Charles Dickens tale! This one’s cute, though. Carrie Fisher gives a good performance as the ghost who has to do the job of three because of “budget cutbacks.”