- An Invitation to a Film Party: The 13th Annual Chicago Critics Film Festival (April 29, 2026)
The 13th Annual Chicago Critics Film Festival, an event for which I am the co-producer and several other RogerEbert.com contributors are programmers, launches this week at the Music Box Theatre, where over two dozen Chicago premieres will unfold to the biggest audiences the festival has seen to date.
As headlines screech about the divide between critics and moviegoers, CCFF serves as a counterargument, bringing together people who write about movies, those who make them, and those who love them. In just the last few years, CCFF ticket buyers have been treated to the Chicago premieres of “Ghostlight,” “I Saw the TV Glow,” “Sing Sing,” “Past Lives,” “Sorry, Baby,” “Benediction,” “Twinless,” “A Little Prayer,” and so many more.
This year’s crop promises a diverse range of screenings, from the sold-out opening-night comedy “The Invite” by Olivia Wilde to the return of an iconic Chicago filmmaker on closing night with “The Sun Never Sets” by Joe Swanberg. In between, Dawn Porter (“When a Witness Recants”), Zach Schnitzer & Nate Simon (“Loafers”), Edd Benda & Stephen Helstad & Judy Greer (“Chili Finger”), and several short film directors will stop by for conversations, alongside major new premieres from Sundance, Toronto, SXSW, Venice, and Cannes.
John Early’s “Maddie’s Secret” and Gregg Araki’s “I Want Your Sex” are going to be major Chicago events that will likely sell out, so we’ll let those screenings do their thing and highlight six other sections of the program that you should consider, too.
Find the full schedule with links to buy tickets here.
The Anniversary Screenings: “The Fly” (May 1), “A.I.: Artificial Intelligence” (May 3), “Something Wild” (May 6)
While the festival is largely about new indie films, we save some space for anniversary screenings of films we love, almost always on film. All three this year are on 35mm and should provoke further conversation about their place in film history. With the dominance of A.I. in the headlines, it seemed a perfect time to revisit Steven Spielberg’s 2001 masterpiece “A.I.: Artificial Intelligence,” and the fact that “The Fly” is turning 40 this year made that prophetic piece about playing God a perfect fit. Finally, we just love Jonathan Demme and jumped at the chance to showcase one of his best films.
“Power Ballad” (May 2)
John Carney earnestly believes in the power of music. The writer/director of “Once” and “Sing Street” is back with one of his biggest movies, a comedy about a family man (Paul Rudd) who ends up co-writing a song with a giant pop star (Nick Jonas) only to watch that tune get stolen. Releasing nationwide later this year, CCFF is your chance to see this crowd-pleaser before everyone else recommends it to you.
“Loafers” (May 6) & “The Sun Never Sets” (May 7)
Joe Swanberg returns to the site of the Chicago premiere of his 2015 dramedy “Digging for Fire” with his first film in six years, the SXSW hit “The Sun Never Sets,” starring Dakota Fanning, Jake Johnson, and Cory Michael Smith, who will join Swanberg for a Q&A after the closing night screening. The night before, Swanberg cameos in a wonderful quarter-life crisis dramedy that’s clearly inspired by the Chicagoan’s early works. “Loafers” was a production of DePaul’s Indie Studio and won the Grand Jury Prize at the Slamdance Film Festival. Writer/director/star Zach Schnitzer will be at the fest for a conversation about his micro-budget production with producer Nate Simon.
“Chili Finger” (May 5)
Hot off rocking screenings at SXSW and Ebertfest, writer/directors Edd Benda & Stephen Helstad bring one of the best dark comedies you’ll see this year to CCFF, and star Judy Greer is coming with them! An incredible character actress for years, Greer does the best work of her career in this Coen-esque comedy about an ordinary Midwestern couple who find a finger in their chili. Or do they? John Goodman, Sean Astin, and Bryan Cranston co-star in a film that is going to have the Music Box rocking in the middle of the fest. Be there.
Four Incredible Docs: “You Had to Be There” (May 3), “When a Witness Recants” (May 4), “Black Zombie” (May 5), “Broken English” (May 7)
It is a very strong season for non-fiction filmmaking, as evidenced by one of the strongest documentary sections in CCFF history. All four are worth a look (and horror fans shouldn’t miss “Black Zombie,” pictured above), but the Centerpiece screening of the latest from Dawn Porter is the one you definitely can’t miss. The multi-talented director of “John Lewis: Good Trouble,” “Rise Again: Tulsa and the Red Summer,” and “Luther: Never Too Much” will bring her latest, a project made in collaboration with Ta-Nehisi Coates about a case that unfolded in his middle school.
All the Rest
Willem Dafoe and Greta Lee are remarkable in “Late Fame”; “Tuner” is one of the most consistently admired films of the fest circuit; “Carolina Caroline” reveals that Kyle Gallner & Samara Weaving have perfect chemistry; Neon returns to the fest with their latest soon-to-be horror hit “Leviticus”; and so many more. There’s truly something for everyone this year. See you there.
- Chicago Latino Film Festival 2026: Highlights of Real Resilience & Collective Care (April 29, 2026)
In its 42nd year, the Chicago Latino Film Festival succeeds in bringing an international array of films that showcase the complexity, diversity, and passion of the diaspora’s stories and the excellence in which they are told through the cinematic medium. Returning to the Landmark Century Cinema this year, the festival is concentrated in a single multiplex from Opening to Closing Night. As I ascend the escalators to the theater, the lobby is adorned with flags from featured nations, and there is a palpable passion in the air.
Pepe Vargas, the Founder and Executive Director of the International Latino Cultural Center of Chicago, which produces the film festival, did not shy away from acknowledging the excessive hardship imposed on the entire creative and cultural industry under the current economic and political regime. Naturally, such restrictions resulted in fewer filmmakers attending than in previous years, but several still made the trek to speak with festivalgoers. However, the stories shared expose the injustice of those absent. This resilience reverberates in ways that many audiences relate to; a testimony to this year’s excellent lineup, yet an unfortunate, unnecessary adversary of accessing and sharing art across the world.
Across 11 days, the festival programmed 51 feature and 31 short films. With films from over 20 countries, it’s incredible how the festival’s curation is unified by one central thread: the desire for home and belonging. In selecting my festival films, I tried to virtually visit as many places as possible.
From the comfort of my seat at the cinema, I was transported to Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, El Salvador, Mexico, Puerto Rico, Spain, Venezuela, and more. Similar to my viewing experience at the 2025 Chicago Latino Film Festival, the curators do not uniquely organize dedicated shorts blocks. Rather, short films are paired with a feature film; although they are often from different countries, there are thematic similarities.
Similar to the vast variety of countries presenting films, the Chicago Latino Film Festival also showcases all genres and styles. This year’s opening night film, “It Would Be Night in Caracas,” from Venezuela and Mexico by directors Mariana Rondón and Marité Ugás, is an intense drama centered on a grieving woman navigating the escalating violence and revolution. While grief is a universal byproduct of the human experience, the film speaks directly to the lived experiences of many people who fled their home nation by any means necessary to simply survive. At a time when censorship of hard truths is increasingly prevalent, this film, like many others in the festival lineup, finds ways to reveal realities that many Americans should listen to and learn from. Luckily, the film is now widely available on Netflix.
“Isla Negra,” a Chilean film by director Jore Riquelme Serrano, also touches on what it means to be connected to a place and how gentrification can manifest as a deeply personal violence while operating on a systemic level. As we see a couple infiltrate the home of the real estate developer, who is a key player in revoking their land and displacing them, it’s as if we are prompted to question which form of violence is worse. The movie is haunting, with no true resolution, but that’s what resonates.
In a similar slow-thriller style, “Zafari,” by opening-night director Mariana Rondón, also explores what it means when communities are forced to perpetuate inequities and navigate problems greater than the power they hold. Prior to “Zafari,” the fictional short “White Crows” by director Sofia Samour created a similar concept with a more comedic tone. A couple seeking a better life is scamming other couples, hoping to get lucky for a chance at one; we laugh at its silliness while shaking our heads at the characters’ lack of shame.
Puerto Rican filmmaker William D. Caballero screened his experimental, animated documentary, “TheyDream,” which also played and was awarded at the Sundance Film Festival. The reflective feature that focuses on Caballero’s sense of self and his relationship with his family is a standout at the Chicago Latino Film Festival because of its artistic style, which blends archival footage and audio. In a post-screening Q&A, Caballero proudly shared that the film will soon screen on PBS. Remarkably, as I began to recognize this recurring theme of home and identity, he says how he “can’t stop coming home in his films.”
A couple of films that brought a bit of levity and laughter to my personal viewing were two women-centered rom-coms. The Costa Rican feature “Abril” is about a mother who is trying to rediscover her sense of self while also nurturing her relationship with her tween daughter. To my surprise, “Heated Rivalry,” star François Arnaud played the adrift artistic love interest.
“Life Is,” a feature film by Mexican director Lorena Villarreal, is a complex story that weaves together generations of women. While each character navigates some form of grief, there is a reckoning with what it means to unearth and go after our true desires, or lack thereof.
As the festival came to a close, I remain hopeful for the years and films to come. While the industry at large is in flux, it’s inspiring to see what’s possible when countries invest in the cinematic arts, fostering compassion that is so desperately needed.
To learn more about the Chicago Latino Film Festival and its satellite programming, read more about the International Latino Cultural Center of Chicago.
- Criterion Venerates Three Essential Works of ’90s Black Cinema with “John Singleton’s Hood Trilogy” (April 29, 2026)
This is what The Criterion Collection does best: They take a venerated (or sometimes less-known) director, assemble their work in a gorgeously conceived box set, and use archival material, interviews, documentaries, and essays to put that person’s celebrated work in a detailed context. It’s mindboggling, therefore, that it took so long for John Singleton to receive that signature treatment. Spike Lee, Singleton’s contemporary, for instance, has four films in the collection (“Bamboozled,” “David Byrne’s American Utopia,” “Do The Right Thing,” and “Malcolm X”). The Hughes Brothers have “Menace II Society.” These releases, of course, always come down to rights, and I’m sure it must’ve been a tall order to gather Singleton’s historic Hood trilogy of “Boyz n the Hood,” “Poetic Justice,” and “Baby Boy” into a single release. Well, the wait was worth it.
This pristine box set is an imperative tribute to one of cinema’s great, paradigm-shifting directors. Its memorializing begins with the resonant cover designed by visual artist Ngabo “El’Cesart” Desire Cesar, whose past work has been praised by Michael B. Jordan, Lupita Nyong’o, Anderson Paak, and more. The vivid cover depicts a South Central Los Angeles street, set against an orange-smeared sky whose hue could describe either a dawning or a sunset. In the foreground is a cinderblock wall with two spray-painted sketches of Singleton: one showing his visage with his trademark South Central Cinema baseball cap, while the other is a medium view of him in a t-shirt from the waist up.
All of the films are 4K restorations on 4K UHD discs presented in Dolby Vision HDR, with each film featuring its own special features: auditions, deleted scenes, documentaries, featurettes, and more. There’s also a conversation between Regina King and Ryan Coogler and interviews with Taraji P. Henson and Tyrese Gibson. Binding these components together is an essay by critic Julian Kimble.
Taken together, the films in the comprehensive box set attempt to explain Singleton’s creative ethos. One documentary, “How to Make a John Singleton Film,” talks to casting director Kimberly Hardin, producer Peter Hall, and publicist Cassandra Butcher about what made the director so unique. They share his love of hip-hop and R&B artists, like Tupac, Ice Cube, Snoop Dogg, and Tyrese Gibson—those who’d go on to star in his films—his desire to shoot locally in South Central and to employ Black talent, and his persistent pursuit of realism. We learn that for one “Boyz n the Hood” scene, the shooting on Crenshaw, Singleton fired a real gun by surprise to elicit a natural reaction from his actors. He would also screen movies he’d hoped would inform his newest movies, like Héctor Babenco’s Brazilian masterpiece “Pixote” for “Boyz n the Hood.”
When Singleton became the youngest Best Director nominee in history for “Boyz,” thereby altering what stories could be told, he didn’t then grasp for mainstream success. He continued telling his own stories. In a conversation between Regina King and Ryan Coogler in the box set, Coogler, who first met Singleton at a Los Angeles gym, marvels at the director’s desire to represent the heart and movements of Black life with staunch sincerity. King, similarly, recalls how supportive Singleton was in inspiring her to become a director.
Poetic Justice
Through copious deleted scenes, we also get a sense of how Singleton stitched his films together. A subplot that’s nearly totally erased from “Poetic Justice,” involving Justice’s salon co-worker taking their own road trip, shows up in its entirety here. More than prompting the viewer to lament their exclusion, their prominence here should inspire many to consider which decisions require knowing the how and the why of a scene and an arc in relation to the larger picture. Each deleted scene, therefore, is deeply revealing of this artist’s process and rewarding for any aspiring director to witness.
What’s most surprising about the Hood Trilogy is the inclusion of “Baby Boy.” The film, of course, was always part of Singleton’s cohesive vision of a cinematic South Central. But unlike “Boyz n the Hood” and “Poetic Justice,” its popularity and importance remain populist. That is, not many critics would include it on a ‘best of’ list or accord it the same rigor as its predecessors. It doesn’t have the all-caps importance of “Boyz” or the star power of Tupac and Janet Jackson (though, to be clear, Taraji P. Henson and Tyrese are high-watt talents). You’d be more likely to catch “Baby Boy” on BET (which I don’t mean in any backhanded way) than at your local art house.
So much of great 1990s Black filmmaking, like “The Five Heartbeats,” “The Best Man,” “Juice,” “Waiting to Exhale,” and more, falls in that range: it’s instructive entertainment and art, much like the now-celebrated Blaxploitation films. Having “Baby Boy” on this release isn’t imperative for Criterion’s acknowledgment—this film would continue to hold great meaning for those who love it. Rather, it completes the vision of a director like Singleton, who made his films for the people and by the people. This release embodies that spirit and the man behind it.
- Prime Video’s Lush, Ambitious “The House of the Spirits” Does Right By Isabel Allende’s Masterpiece (April 28, 2026)
It’s a truth universally acknowledged that some literary projects are simply not meant to be reimagined as feature films or television series. Or, at least, it used to be. Now, with successful adaptations of previously deemed “unfilmable” classics like Gabriel García Márquez’s “One Hundred Years of Solitude” and Frank Herbert’s “Dune” finding their way to screens both large and small, what was once termed impossible is suddenly both thrilling and necessary.
Like García Márquez’s Nobel Prize-winning novel, Isabel Allende’s “The House of the Spirits” is considered one of the foundational texts of magical realism, mixing both fantastical and quotidian elements to tell the story of four generations in the lives of a single family and those who weave in and out of their world. The novel was adapted as a feature film in 1993, but its star-studded cast of bizarrely miscast Anglo actors and limited run time didn’t do the depth of the book’s story any favors. But with the release of Prime Video’s lavish eight-part streaming adaptation, Allende’s classic is finally given the prestige treatment it has long deserved.
Told in Spanish and featuring a cast from across both Latin America and Spain, the series feels authentic, lived-in, and, yes, magical from its first moments. Its lush sets, sweeping landscapes, and colorful interiors are both visually striking and narratively significant, interspersed with depictions of the post-colonial political upheaval at work across South America. Showrunners Francisca Alegría, Fernanda Urrejola, and Andrés Wood eagerly embrace Allende’s themes of love, memory, and justice, even as they delve into some of the novel’s darkest subplots without flinching. It’s not a perfect adaptation by any stretch, but this “The House of the Spirits” is a remarkably tenacious and ambitious attempt.
Set in an unnamed Latin American country that bears multiple unsubtle parallels to early 20th-century Chile, the events of “The House of the Spirits” unfold across the better part of a hundred years, mixing fiction and allegorized events from Allende’s own family history.
Fernanda Urrejola y Rochi Hernández
The story begins with the Del Valle clan, whose youngest daughter, Clara (portrayed by Francesca Turco, Nicole Wallace, and Dolores Fonzi at various points), has clairvoyant abilities that allow her to communicate with spirits and predict the future. When her beloved older sister, Rosa the Beautiful (Chiara Parravicini), tragically dies from poison meant for their politician father (Eduard Fernández), Clara retreats into silence, refusing to speak for the better part of the next decade. She reclaims her voice in time to meet and wed Rosa’s former fiancé, Esteban Trueba (Alfonso Herrera), a poor miner turned wealthy hacienda owner whose ambition, materialism, and penchant for violence will fuel much of the story to come.
As the years pass, the series not only follows Clara’s story but also those of her daughter, Blanca (Sara Becker and Urrejola), and granddaughter, Alba (Rochi Hernández), whose lives are continually shaped and affected by the choices of the generations that have preceded them. Meanwhile, Esteban continues his climb up the ranks of the Conservative Party, and the family is continually drawn into the (occasionally violent) political upheaval unfolding across the country, with several members finding themselves on opposite sides of the debate.
Book fans will undoubtedly be perturbed that “The House of the Spirits” makes some fairly significant changes to the source material, fully excising a fairly major member of the Trueba family, softening some of the story’s more overt political elements in its earliest episodes, and altering several key details of the novel’s ending. Yet the Prime Video drama remains remarkably faithful to the spirit of Allende’s work, leaning into themes of fate, class, memory, resilience, and hope as it weaves a tale of political and personal turmoil across generations.
But while the series incorporates many of the more charming supernatural and fantastical elements of magical realism that Allende helped to pioneer, this is not a story for the faint of heart. “The House of the Spirits” contains multiple instances of sexual assault, torture, psychological abuse, domestic violence, and murder. (There’s even a grisly animal death fairly early on.) Some of these scenes, particularly in the show’s later episodes, are downright brutal to watch, and the story is clear-eyed about the damage that cycles of generational trauma wreak on the Trueba family and those around them.
Alfonso Herrera (Esteban Trueba)
This “House of the Spirits” is also unabashedly feminist in its politics—perhaps even more overtly than the novel at times—as its female characters, across class lines, push back against aspects of the patriarchy that oppress them. The cast is excellent across the board: Wallace boasts an ethereal glow as the young adult Clara, whose kind and often otherworldly nature offers a stark contrast to Esteban’s overt and unapologetic cruelty. Fonzi’s older version, by contrast, is demonstrably stranger, but more at peace with herself and her unique way of existing in the world. Elsewhere, Hernandez’s Alba perfectly balances the girl’s more modern youthful idealism and strident stubbornness, while Fernanda Castillo is furious and heartbreaking by turns as Treuba’s spinster sister, Férula.
But it is Hernandez, the only actor to appear in all eight episodes, who is perhaps most impressive, playing a character shaped by a lifetime of brutality and anger who turns that pain outward onto everyone around him. It is easy to imagine a version of Esteban Trueba that is little more than a caricature, a bad man and selfish politician who gleefully revels in his power for its own sake. Instead, Hernandez manages to find glimpses of humanity in the story’s most monstrous figure, even as his love for Clara and, later, for Alba, is often not enough to temper his worst and/or most violent impulses.
Like the book it is based on, “The House of the Spirits” is not always an easy or particularly accessible tale, especially for those unfamiliar with the complex geopolitical history of the region in which it is set. But it remains a deeply moving and satisfying story in its own right, and a strong example of the ambitious content the streaming era once promised us. It’s nice to know it still can.
All eight episodes screened for review. Premieres April 29 on Prime Video.
- Male Directors Can’t Stop Making Movies About Female Pop Stars (April 28, 2026)
Coachella recently wrapped up its 25th edition, and the main takeaway was that women ruled. Superstars such as Sabrina Carpenter and Addison Rae reaffirmed their global dominance, offering energetic sets highlighted by expert choreography, arresting songs, and a compelling sense of scale and drama. Very cinematic, too.
Pop music is the culture’s soundtrack, and while there is no shortage of blockbuster male artists—Bruno Mars, Justin Bieber, Harry Styles, Ed Sheeran—to my ears, their female peers have proved to be more thrilling. Taylor Swift remains the queen of the music industry, but acts like Beyoncé, Billie Eilish, Charli XCX, Lady Gaga, Olivia Rodrigo, Dua Lipa, and Chappell Roan are all royalty as well. At a moment when women’s rights are severely threatened in this country, the mere presence of so many bold, sexually assertive, sometimes politically outspoken female artists would alone be worth cheering. That they’re also among music’s most electrifying and innovative acts is inspiring.
But it’s not just on stage and on Spotify where female pop stars reign supreme. Over the last few years, they’ve also been regularly featured in theaters—and I’m not talking about Swift’s, Beyoncé’s, and (coming soon) Eilish’s big-screen concert films. Fictional female superstars have been the focus of several movies, the latest of which features Anne Hathaway as the titular troubled superstar in “Mother Mary.” The movie joins a disparate trio of recent films about women pop stars: “Vox Lux,” “Trap,” and “Smile 2.”
But there’s another thing these movies have in common: They’re all directed by men. Thankfully, though, you won’t see a lick of misogyny in these stories. The male filmmakers may view their female pop stars through various prisms—artist, cultural symbol, enigma—but there’s a clear respect and even awe for their characters’ real-life counterparts, who are so captivating in part because they’re so unknowable. Like many fans, these directors are obsessed with these women and their exalted, occasionally precarious standing in the world.
Marie Falconetti in Carl Theodor Dreyer’s “The Passion of Joan of Arc.” (Janus Films)
Men have been making movies about iconic women since cinema’s earliest days. Carl Theodor Dreyer’s “The Passion of Joan of Arc,” perhaps the greatest of all silent films, starred Renée Jeanne Falconetti as the 15th-century French teenager in her final hours as she is put on trial. A hero of the people who believed she was acting on divine orders, Joan of Arc is depicted as saintly, otherworldly, a warrior wrongfully persecuted by the cruel, unthinking masses. Joan meets a bad end in Dreyer’s classic, but she never loses her dignity or fiery spirit.
That dynamic—an imperiled public woman seen through the eyes of a male filmmaker—is expressed in different ways in “Vox Lux,” “Trap,” “Smile 2,” and “Mother Mary.” Brady Corbet’s “Vox Lux” stars Natalie Portman as Celeste, a veteran superstar with a traumatic past—she was one of a handful of survivors of a childhood school shooting—and an uncertain future. M. Night Shyamalan’s “Trap” is unique in this quartet of films for two reasons: His pop star, Lady Raven, is not the main character, and she’s played by the director’s pop-star daughter, Saleka. (The thriller concerns a serial killer, portrayed by Josh Hartnett, who takes his daughter to Lady Raven’s sold-out show, unaware that the concert is an elaborate sting operation to catch him.)
Parker Finn’s sequel to his hit 2022 horror film “Smile” shifts to a new victim, Skye Riley (Naomi Scott), who is mourning the death of her boyfriend and recovering from addiction when she starts seeing visions of people with menacing grins. And David Lowery’s “Mother Mary” casts Anne Hathaway as a legendary performer who, like Skye, is in the middle of a comeback, visiting costume designer and former friend Sam (Michaela Coel) to create a killer outfit for her (hopefully) triumphant return.
Each of these fictional pop stars is put on a pedestal, their ecosystem of fame, money, and privilege an alien environment. But there’s nothing snide or dismissive in these portrayals; the filmmakers never treat pop music as synthetic or superficial. The clearest indication of this is how lavish each fictional pop star’s concert performances are. All four films contain at least one seismic number that demonstrates the singer’s sizable talent on stage.
Anne Hathaway in “Mother Mary.” (A24)
The effect is especially palpable in “Mother Mary,” for which Lowery tapped veteran choreographer Dani Vitale (who has worked with Rihanna and Katy Perry) to nail Mary’s moves and enlisted Charli XCX, Jack Antonoff, and FKA Twigs to craft bangers worthy of a star of her stature. “Mother Mary’s” concert scenes convey the staggering ambition that real-life pop icons bring to their mammoth stadium shows, and the same is true in “Vox Lux,” “Trap,” and “Smile 2,” all of which emulate the energy and grandeur of a modern pop show.
Although Mary was not based on any one musician, Lowery has talked about being inspired by Swift’s epic “Reputation” tour. “The scale of it was something I’d never seen before,” he recently enthused about Swift’s shows. “I couldn’t wrap my head around how she and her team put that together. It truly felt monumental.” In the years before poptimism, it was hard for pop stars—especially female pop stars—to be taken seriously. Those days are now long over.
This admiration for the scope and spectacle of a pop concert is matched by an appreciation of the modern female pop star’s sexual confidence. Female singers flaunting their sex appeal is nothing new—Carpenter was honoring her spiritual foremother by bringing out Madonna during Coachella’s second weekend—but so many contemporary performers parade their femininity not to be shocking but, rather, to express a natural aspect of everyday life. The modern pop star’s dance moves may be titillating, but they’re also celebratory and playful, less concerned with getting a rise out of moral watchdogs than in proudly reflecting the joy and challenges of being a sexual person.
Indeed, although it might be a slightly paternal instinct, a recurring theme in these movies is that these women, despite being at the top of the pop world, are struggling. Lady Raven is doing fine, but Celeste, Skye, and Mary are either at a crossroads or rebuilding after professional or personal setbacks. In “Mother Mary,” Hathaway’s aging singer is fighting against strange supernatural occurrences—most notably, the four films possess horror/thriller elements —and viewing celebrity as a potentially fraught proposition, while simultaneously seeking to reclaim her iconic status alongside younger, hotter pop stars.
Natalie Portman in “Vox Lux.” (NEON)
Whether it’s the background swirl of deadly gun violence in “Vox Lux” or the terror engulfing Skye in “Smile 2,” looming danger surrounds these singers. (Even poor Lady Raven has no idea she’s about to meet a mass murderer.) It’s almost as if these female superstars are being punished by a patriarchal society that wishes to tear them down, connecting female beauty to suffering and tragedy.
The tendency goes back to “The Passion of Joan of Arc,” but it also extends to the funereal works of Edgar Allan Poe, who once observed, “the death, then, of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.” Only one of these fictional singers actually experiences an untimely demise, but both in the 19th century and today, men do love telling stories of gorgeous women going through hell.
And just like Joan of Arc or Poe’s Annabel Lee, these pop stars agonize from a distance, just out of reach. In “Mother Mary,” Mary may be the main attraction, but it’s telling that we actually experience the film from Sam’s perspective, with Mary always a remote figure, even when the scenes put her in the foreground. As much as these movies are enthralled by their singers, the directors know they’ll never fully grasp these icons—not because they’re women, but because they’re insanely famous, the person behind the well-honed persona an eternal riddle.
As a result, these movies frequently conceive their pop stars as symbols of something larger than themselves. Before “Vox Lux,” Portman won an Oscar for playing another performer in a downward spiral—the dancer Nina in “Black Swan”—but Celeste is less a metaphor for an artist’s drive to be extraordinary than an avatar for our complicated relationship with celebrity.
“The movie is about the desire to be iconic,” Corbet told The Guardian at the time, later commenting, “[W]e expect celebrities to be our representatives. … [T]here’s a strange expectation of Taylor Swift to take a political stance and support the female Democratic nominees. Even if that’s who I support, why should she have [to have] an opinion about it?”
Naomi Scott in “Smile 2.” (Paramount)
That fascination/perplexment is echoed in Finn’s conception of Skye, saying in a “Smile 2” interview that he was curious about “what it’s like to be one of the stars who get sort of elevated to godlike status. I think we put so much pressure on some of these women to always be playing this persona in public and always be performing even when they’re not onstage. I think that takes a major toll. It’s a toll that is hard for them to show to the world. … [T]here’s something really intriguing about the parasocial relationship we have with celebrities.”
In “Vox Lux,” “Trap,” “Smile 2,” and “Mother Mary,” these women come to represent the mysteries of fame to those of us on the outside. The galvanic concert scenes, the allure of celebrity, the currency of young female beauty, the ineffable tractor-beam pull of the pure star: These actresses embody the seductive magnetism that impels fans to worship their favorite performers.
The specific pop icon who comes up most often when male directors discuss the model for their fictional musicians is Taylor Swift, a sign not just of her popularity but also of her role in defining our cultural moment. No artistic lightweight, no Kewpie doll puppet controlled by others, she’s a savvy businesswoman who runs a global empire, long ago making her name by refusing to take any guff from a man, whether it be Jake Gyllenhaal or Scooter Braun. It’s only fitting, then, that Corbet, Shyamalan, Finn, and Lowery would be so entranced by the cinematic sweep of Swift and others’ stadium shows, which are the most visible display of their creative and professional mastery. And the bigger these stars get, the more beguiling and inscrutable they become, reaching levels of success and wealth never before imagined.
No wonder “Mother Mary” ends with a dreamlike image of Hathaway, playing this perfect pop star as a nearly celestial figure, still beyond the understanding of Sam or the audience. For male filmmakers, female pop stars are the closest thing we have to angels in our midst. And angels aren’t meant to be possessed, merely venerated.
