2015 is wrapping up and looking back on the year there have been a fair amount of films that have been emotionally provoking, but The Big Short is in many ways at least equal to Mad Max in blood-pressure-raising cogency. The nearness of so recent a catastrophe combined with Adam McKay’s blended fact-driven drama and absurd-because-it’s-true comedy, ensures a righteous resentment. The film moves quickly introducing a lot of people and breaking the fourth wall often to explain terminology and provide a high level of self-awareness as characters explain when the film is being truthful and when it’s taking liberties for the sake of moviemaking. This candid storytelling builds a level of trust that feels akin to watching a documentary. The roller coaster ride of not being sure when to laugh at the preposterousness and scope of the events unfolding, or when to cry whenever the realization of their truthfulness sinks in, by far makes for one of the most peerless filmgoing experiences of the year.

Based on Michael Lewis’s bestselling nonfiction book of the same name, the focus of this expose is on the unlikely people who not only predicted the collapse (or bursting, if you will) of the credit and housing bubble that led to the crisis of 2008 and contributed greatly to the longest recession in U.S. history, but who also profited greatly when it happened. There’s the awkward Asperger’s-savant hedge fund investor, Dr. Michael Burry played by Christian Bale, who crunches the numbers and predicts the future, pretty much to the month the collapse will happen. He starts investing his clients’ money, betting against the banks, who happily take it thinking such a thing could never happen. His clients are understandably unhappy with the risk.

Word spreads of his crazy actions and soon Wall Street banker Jared Vennett (Ryan Gosling doing what he does best, faking a New York accent and being as shmarmy as can be) catches wind and wants in on the potentially huge earnings involved, he manages to enlist outspoken hedge fund manager Mark Baum (Steve Carell) and his team. Baum operates under the umbrella of Morgan Stanley but actively despises the practices of big banks. After doing his research—part of which hilariously involves interviewing strippers on their financial practices in Florida—Baum realizes the truth of the housing bubble and invests. The remaining morally ambiguous underdogs are small timers Jamie Shipley (Finn Wittrock) and Charlie Geller (John Magaro) who started an investment firm out of their garage and are looking to get into the big leagues, without any clout they have to get retired investor Ben Rickert (Brad Pitt) to do the deals for them. He also agrees out of spite for corporate America and the rest of the film is watching the wool unravel as the banking world parties and denies that anything bad—at least, related to mortgages—could ever happen to them.

It would be easy to focus on the moral ambiguity of the individual men who gained from America’s huge downfall, but the spotlight of The Big Short can’t help but fall on the banks and governmental entities who tried (and in almost every way succeeded) to deny their fraud and negligence. McKay highlights the deceptive nature of the industry even as he pokes fun at it. For instance, the complicated lingo of the banking industry, while possibly useful to those on the inside, is beyond confusing to the layperson, especially when reduced to acronyms. McKay brings in celebrities playing themselves to break down these terms and provide visual explanations. Anthony Bourdain, Selena Gomez, and a naked Margot Robbie explaining terms like “CDO” and “subprime mortgage rates” is as entertaining as it is informative. That said, a film like this would require multiple viewings to fully grasp the full extent of the economic and fiscal theory playing out and the sheer mathematics that explain all that happened. But this isn’t a documentary, and it’s not meant to be viewed as such.

McKay seems to respect that viewers know how this story ends and that as wrapped up as we get in the characters’ schemes to make it rich off of the evil banks, rooting for them is, in fact, rooting for the failure, financial ruin and catastrophic misfortune of the American people. Any criticism of the film would have to be that very little time is spent focusing on what that misfortune looked like for people. Only one shot depicts a family, met earlier in the film, now homeless and living out of a van. But this seems a smart move as the point isn’t to focus on the sadness invoked by such imagery, but instead to hang on to the infuriation that bubbles up as the full extent of awareness and collusion of the banks and the government is revealed. It’s an unprecedented circumstance in American history and the film spells out just how few consequences there were for those responsible.

The star power of the film is overwhelming, even with Pitt providing the least amount of screen time. Carell is the most impressive, proving once again he has depths barely yet tapped. He brings to Baum all the social disregard of The Office’s Michael Scott with the intensity of Foxcatcher’s John du Pont and adding a moral anger that ties it all together amazingly. Christian Bale—never one to go halfway on any character—combines aloofness with the burden of genius to make his detached character perhaps the most sympathy-inspiring. But the real star is by far the director, who almost retroactively makes his comedies like Talladega Nights and Step Brothers seem even more astute now that we’ve been given such a clear example of how deftly he can comically reflect on true-life drama.

It’s easy to dismiss the complicated mess of the housing crises and collapse, shaking our heads at the math and economic intricacy, and McKay seems to know that his film isn’t going to incite retroactive punishment or propel a revolution. The significance of a film like The Big Short isn’t just a much-needed reminder that we the people should always take the time to understand and reflect on how hardships like this occur, but that comedy is a sharp weapon in shaming those who deserve to be called out.

The allure of a dystopian-set film usually seems to lie in its many opportunities for action, cutthroat survival, zombies/talking monkeys/other evolutionary developments, and the always popular spectacle of seeing well-known cultural landmarks in ruin. I will admit that’s not why I keep coming back for them. I’m a junkie for relational dynamics in extreme duress and social psychology experimentation isn’t a career path I’m all that cut out for, so apocalyptic films it is.

Judging by its poster—which mostly consists of the faces of Chiwetel Ejiofor, Margot Robbie, and Chris Pine in blue-tinted, love-triangle infused expressions of seriousness–it’s easy not to pick up on the genre of Z For Zachariah. With nary an upturned Statue of Liberty, decaying zombie, or even a single action scene to speak of, it is actually post-apocalyptic. And while, yes, there is a love triangle at the center of the conflict, that these may just be the last three people on earth, that they are essentially strangers to one another, and that survival instincts turn people into manipulative creatures, all make for a nuanced psychological drama.

This is no Katniss, Peeta, Gale situation. Where Z For Zachariah excels is in its lack of outright drama. A lot like his 2012 film Compliance, Craig Zobel has fashioned another film where, when the credits roll, you realize you’d been holding your breath a great long while.

The film begins with Ann, played in an ambiguous state of early adulthood by Margot Robbie. Clad in a plastic suit with a portable oxygen tank, she searches for supplies and peruses books in the now dilapidated library. A few obligatory tableaus of dusty school rooms, empty grocery stores, etc. set the stage of the abandoned world Ann lives in. She makes her way home on a dirt road, removing her mask only once she’s gotten far enough away from the town. For whatever reason, the valley where her family farm, deep water well, and family church are all located is a safe place to breathe and live. And as a farm-raised girl, Ann has the know-how to stay alive despite being on her own.

Between Katniss and Ann, I’m starting to think the South may be the place to head in the case of impending worldwide destruction.

Ann’s contained and lonesome world expands considerably when she comes across a person in a hazmat suit. This scientist (Ejiofor) tests the air and plant life as Ann watches on in wonder. When he deems it safe, he rips off his suit, gulps the clean air and then rather over-exuberantly plunges into a nearby waterfall. Not realizing the water in this particular stream isn’t safe for jumping around in, Ann ends up having to nurse him back to health after he gets sick from radiation poisoning, taking him back to her farm to recoup.

Ann and the scientist named Loomis form a friendship, her demeanor one of sweet God-fearing Southerner, savvy in agricultural arts, he a science-fearing intrepid intellectual good at building. Once his strength returns he pitches in, helping Ann get farm equipment up and running and concocting a plan to utilize the waterfall to power the defunct generator. Ann is grateful, but overall more interested in there being another person alive in her world. Her family all left, apparently unsatisfied with sitting tight, feeling it their duty to search for survivors.

It doesn’t take long for Ann to try and use her unpracticed skills of seduction on Loomis. He admits to an attraction, but slows her down. After all they have forever to get to know one another uninterrupted, right? Enter an interruption. Covered in soot and a horrible haircut, Chris Pine’s Caleb appears. His familiarity with the area and good Christian manners immediately appeal to Ann’s sense of Southern hospitality. And with his charm, masculinity, and subtle passive aggression he becomes an instant threat to Loomis’s short-lived utopian fairytale.

Nissar Modi’s script, based on the novel by Robert C. O’Brien, doesn’t catapult into territorial insecurity or any form of violence, allowing a tentative and flimsy sort of trust to slowly build between the characters. Even as Loomis identifies that there is an obvious affinity forming between Ann and Caleb, his distrust lies within his inherent understanding of the way men behave in this new world. Ann has avoided some of the more psychologically disturbing aspects of what appears to be a nuclear holocaust, and Loomis has avoided telling her much of the outside world. When he tries to open up to her about this in order to prove his credulity toward Caleb, it only backfires by making her question what she knows of the man she thinks she loves.

Ejiofor plays Loomis’s descent from hopeful to threatened, capturing a primal and more subdued sort of survival mode. Survival against the possibility of threat in a world where one needs to be two steps ahead. As he and Caleb and Ann build the watermill that will ensure they survive the winter, Loomis and Caleb test each other, trying to decide what sort of threat the other is. Ann is relatively naive to the danger felt whenever Loomis and Caleb are onscreen together, but Robbie does a good job of conveying both Ann’s innocence to romantic entanglement and her skillful aptitude for survival. Caleb remains a mostly unexplored character, playing his role as the unknown quantity, the masked threat more frightening because of all he doesn’t say. Pine’s playful smile and knowing eyes perfectly convey the creepy seduction Caleb uses to woo Ann and to disarm Loomis.

The racial dynamics of the threesome isn’t overtly explored in any real depth, but Zobel does some diligence, such as a scene where Loomis gives Ann permission to “go be white people” together with Caleb. It’s funny, if not profound, and Ann’s innocent response of confusion doesn’t do much to continue the conversation. In the end the film sticks to themes around compatibility vs. attraction, religion vs. science, and the moral implications of following one’s instincts to circumvent a threat. The film’s climax is both tense and ambiguous, leaving a severe discomfort from its refusal to point to anything clear. But that’s another staple of any good dystopia: the paths aren’t clear and the compasses don’t work.

As the first panel on the third day of Comic-Con, Warner Brothers Productions had some big acts to follow – and try to overshadow, in a room full of 6500 zombie-like attendees just waiting to be impressed.

And overshadow they did.

In the war between DC and Marvel movies, Marvel has been the main act lately; churning out action packed superhero blockbusters like they were going out of style. And even amid talks that they may have been, Warner Brothers brought to the table a new set of heroes they’ve been holding in their back pockets. Waiting for when the time was right. And apparently the time is now.

They began the morning with some decent looking but not so heavy hitting upcoming films.

Guy Ritchie sent a video clip from a mystery film set to announce a new trailer for The Man From U.N.C.L.E. starring Armie Hammer and Henry Cavill as Cold War era special agents from opposite sides reluctantly teaming up to save the world. Though not as anticipated as some of the bigger films, we will see Hammer undertaking a heavy Russian accent for which he studied over many months with a dialect coach.

Director Joe Wright, Levi Miller, Garrett Hedland (Tron), and Hugh Jackman showed up for the Pan panel. It’s a reframing of the origin story of how Peter became Pan. Wright stated he wanted to make the film as dark as he could to show every kid that no matter how dark it got, they can overcome. And it certainly promises to be dark. Wright insisted the move back from green screen and CGI promising that every Neverland set was built, the biggest practical set being the forest, and with more than 150 extras on the set every day, we can expect more than an immersive experience.

Hugh Jackman declared, “This is one of the most fun movies I’ve ever made, by the way we had 4 pirate ships fully built.”

They shared exclusive new footage from the film of the introduction of Blackbeard, who is basically the original leader and recruiter of the Lost Boys. A Fagin type who brings down and out orphans to Neverland with promises of freedom and sweets, so long as they obey his every order with no hesitation. Joe Wright was mainly inspired by the sense of strangeness in the original J.M. Barrie book in which the children’s characters were never underestimated, and the  complexity of every single persona present was distinct, diverse, and equally duplicitous.

After these two stand-alone films, Warner Brothers brought out the big guns in machine style with a non-stop series of huge announcements.

Beginning with Suicide Squad, director David Ayer announced they would be all about canon and faithful to the source material proclaiming, “You are going to freaking get it with this show; it’s time for bad vs. evil. And who’s got the best bad guys ever? DC Comics.” Also showing up was the entire cast of Suicide Squad, minus Jared Leto (the Joker), including Margot Robbie and Will Smith.

Everyone showed up for Batman vs. Superman including Henry Cavill, Gal Gadot (the new Wonder Woman) and a morose looking Ben Affleck (no conjecture about the reason here). Though pitting heroes against heroes is all over comic culture, this particular clash is not in any current canon, especially to this extent. Director Zack Snyder declared there was one big rule bent in putting Gotham and Metropolis as sister cities geographically, sitting opposite from each other across a bay.

Ben Affleck shared a story of going to a costume store with his son who wanted a Batman costume for Halloween and happened to run into Christian Bale who was there for the same purpose. When seeking advice as to playing the Batman, Bale responded with “Make sure you can piss in that suit.” Noted.

Opening March 25th, 2016, here is the new trailer:

Martin Scorsese went cold after surprising everybody with his 2006 Best Picture winning The Departed. Years of toiling for Oscar with big-scale period epics like Gangs of New York and The Aviator reaped little reward. Instead, it was a violent, rapidly-paced gangster picture with its loose roaming camera that finally gave a great director his due. In the seven years since, he’s made a slick thriller from a popcorn crime page-turner (Shutter Island), a couple of music documentaries (Shine a Light and George Harrison: Living in the Material World), a love-letter to his art disguised as a family movie (Hugo), but nothing to match the equal parts existential tragedy and offhanded comedy of the aforementioned Oscar champ; his best film since setting the mold with Goodfellas. Cue The Wolf of Wall Street, the 5-times nominated gonzo Jordan Belfort biopic that, while hardly ‘indie,’ is more against-grain than you’d think.

Working from a script by his Boardwalk Empire collaborator and show runner Terrence Winter, with The Wolf of Wall Street  Scorsese sets a feverish pace and never lets up, as if defying anyone to get bored across its epic, 180-minute runtime. A quick scene-setting with a wide-eyed graduate Belfort and his mentor, Mark Hanna (Matthew McConaughey, who can currently do no wrong) thrusts us right into the mindset of the wolfish stockbrokers that guide the audience through this twisted version of that elusive dream: pump some people up, screw some people over, then subject mind and body to enough excess to forget the amorality of it all. The film doesn’t waste it’s time getting into the specifics of the acts of swindling executed by Belfort and his merry pack of deranged bandits. Scorsese is more focused on the life they lived as a result of it: the seductive extravagance of it, the excitable glee we feel toward it as we live vicariously through the actions unfolding. It’s a hardline stance against giving the film a moral compass to relate to (and Academy members love their moral compasses) that has equally found detractors decrying Scorsese’s glorification of the depravity, and champions praising the artistic verve in his aligning the camera with the repugnant pricks, so that we experience the same empty, uncaring attitude they hold for their victims; the same selfishly indulgent attention for only their possessions, their own highs, their own comedowns and sexual coups.

It’s brash, bold filmmaking, but those qualities are worn like a face tattoo: overtly apparent and even attention-seeking, as if Scorsese wanted to subtly remind us he made Goodfellas by taking a megaphone into an echo chamber and blaring “Remember when I made Goodfellas?!?” Leonardo DiCaprio gives a brilliantly committed performance as a classically deluded Scorsesian protagonist, blind to his steadily advancing comeuppance because his brain renders ideas quicker than his rearview can reveal the speed bumps. But when he breaks the fourth wall to remind us we don’t really care about the technicalities of what he did, it’s his best Henry Hill conceding to the artifice of the work of art. And when he’s doing his best His Left Foot, in a magnificent expired quaaludes sequence that’s both a peak and nadir in Belfort’s story, it’s with the kind of satisfying, outwardly showy performing that makes you miss the frustrated, inwardly-focused anguish that so marked his unawarded career-best work in The Departed.

Still, add in the comic chops of Jonah Hill, as deranged caporegime Donnie, and a relatively unknown Margot Robbie (as Belfort’s second wife, Naomi) — who, for better or worse, has nailed the sort of role that will make her a lot better known — as well as bit parts from Hollywood’s finest just-shy-of-A-Listers (McConaughey, Kyle Chandler, Jean Dujardin, to name a few), and The Wolf of Wall Street offers more than enough to satisfy at the cineplex. It’s an explicitly funny, absolutely entertaining three hours that nonetheless leaves us with a distinctive sense of emptiness, despite the fullness of aesthetic experience to which we’ve just been subject. Scorsese means precisely to close the film with his camera turned back to the audience, with a moment that — in perhaps another nod to The Departed — is almost cheekily literal. In spite of its length, it’s been said that The Wolf of Wall Street barely scratches the surface, hardly covering half of the story contained in the book. It may have just been a running time thing. Maybe I look too hard for poetics. But I like the idea that Scorsese wanted his audience to close the loop by design.

The Wolf of Wall Street trailer: