In traipsing Old-Hollywood comedy Hail, Caesar!, sibling duo Joel and Ethan Coen reflect on the cyclonic nature of showbiz, much like its spiritual predecessor, Barton Fink. That movie (which, my god, is now 25 years old) is nastier and more idiosyncratic, skewering the film industry with voracious (and incredibly funny) disdain. The Coens’ 2016 offering is more relaxed and lighthearted, but what it lacks in crackling energy and forward momentum it makes up for with finely tuned, detail-oriented jokes and an overabundance of charm.

The charm factor is in effect no more than during one of the film’s several movie-within-the-movie, genre-parody scenes, in which Channing Tatum (playing Burt Gurney, a Gene Kelly-like hoofer) performs a jaunty tap number in a sailor suit. (Few current screen actors can move like this man, and the Coens don’t squander the chance to let him tear up a song-and-dance routine.) The movie’s set in 1951, predominantly unfolding on the grounds of Capitol studios (the same fictional studio from Barton Fink), and Gurney’s ditty is one of the many movies being filmed on the sunny studio grounds, including a glittery synchronized-swimming production (starring an Esther Williams-channeling Scarlett Johansson) and “Hail, Caesar!,” a Ben Hur-style epic starring self-involved, strong-chinned leading man named Baird Whitlock (played by George Clooney in the vein of Charlton Heston).

While most of the characters we see are cleverly-packaged homages to the stars of Dream Factory heyday, one is taken straight from the Hollywood history books. Capitol is absolutely bustling with chaotic activity on a daily basis, and one man is responsible for holding the whole operation together: Eddie Mannix, a real-life, legendary studio exec who put out fires at MGM for years. He’s embodied by Josh Brolin, who leads the charge as the main focus and anchor of the otherwise scattered story. Mannix is a bulldozing man on a mission, zooming around the lot and around town making unblinking threats and using cool-headed negotiation tactics to keep all of his pictures running on schedule and in harmony. There’s no one better, and a lucrative job offer from Lockheed has him considering leaving the loopy microcosm of Capitol to make a bigger buck, albeit for dirtier work.

Much is made of Mannix’s soul searching; the film opens with him repenting in a confessional, a place we see him return to twice more as he considers the Lockheed offer and reflects on the more questionable facets of his moral make-up and career choices. Brolin and the Coens have always had a fruitful partnership, and while Mannix isn’t as monumental a creation as Llewelyn Moss, for instance, he’s still interesting enough to stand out amid the crowd of larger-than-life personalities running around the rest of the film.

One such personality (my favorite, in fact) is Hobie Doyle (Alden Ehrenreich), a singing cowboy star who can perform eye-popping, impossible feats on horseback and has a gift for lasso acrobatics, but can’t read proper dialogue for squat. When he’s shoehorned into a production that calls for him to wear a tuxedo and walk into a room full of aristocrats speaking in Mid-Atlantic accents, it makes for one of the funniest scenes I’ve seen in recent memory (watching the baby-faced buckaroo do his involuntary cowboy strut in a tuxedo nearly killed me). The comedy’s all in the details, like how the stuffy production is under the hilariously named “Laurence Laurentz Presents” banner. Hobie isn’t a mere caricature, though; later on, he plays a key role in the film’s plot that shows us that he’s a true hero (which explains why he’s so awkward on a proper movie set; he’s too genuine to fake anything).

The dilemma at the center of the story that keeps the movie from being a randomly arranged series of unrelated scenes involves the kidnapping of Baird Whitlock by a stable of scorned communist screenwriters. As Mannix tries his best to handle the situation, he’s bombarded by a litany of on-set issues: Johansson’s starlet is looking to avoid a pregnancy scandal; the great Laurence Laurentz (Ralph Fiennes) refuses to tolerate Hobie’s atrocious line-reading skills. On top of that, he’s stalked by the film’s resident Hedda Hopper-esque columnists, persistent twin sisters played by a fantastic Tilda Swinton.

Mannix’s plate-spinning is involving enough, but I couldn’t help but yearn for more time with the rest of the cast. Johansson, Swinton and Tatum are super entertaining and part of me thinks it would have been nice to make Hail, Caesar a true ensemble piece, downsizing Mannix’s screen time a bit to give the others more room to do their thing. The Coens seem to be having a lot of fun stepping into the shoes of filmmakers from classical Hollywood and drinking in its grandiosity all while skewering the absurdity and silliness of its inherent artifice. They’ve become such assured storytellers and filmmakers that, even when they take it easy, we’re on the edge of our seats, grinning from ear to ear.

Spectre, Sam Mendes‘ latest riff on the classic James Bond formula, comes with all the trimmings fans have come to expect from the undying international superspy series: Daniel Craig‘s 007 kicks henchman ass, kisses gorgeous women, sips on his famous martinis, stares death square in the face more than once, and causes some serious property damage as he visits some of the most ridiculously picturesque places on earth in search of a European big bad hellbent on world domination. It’s the same old schtick, but it’s a schtick millions have come to embrace as a moviegoing staple, one we can count on to deliver insanely expensive-looking action and a fair amount of clean-cut operatic drama. It’s a good Bond film, though there’s nothing remarkable enough about it that it’ll be a standout in the series.

As he’s liable to do, Christoph Waltz plays the film’s central villain, Oberhauser, a worldwide crime boss and tech terrorist who plans to hold humanity in his clutches via some kind of big brother surveillance system. Bond’s path to finding Oberhauser starts in Mexico City, where he causes an explosive international incident involving a helicopter spinning out of control above the city’s annual Dia de los Muertos celebration. It’s an eye-popping opener with clever staging (Bond’s life is saved by a couch) and a sky-high fight scene that’s sure to have those afraid of heights hanging onto their armrests for dear life.

Following his mid-air dance of death, Bond’s journey takes him to Rome, then back home to London, then to Austria, then to Tangier, and back to London again. Mendes doesn’t stray from the series’ touristic traditions one bit, throwing up jaw-dropping locales onto the screen rapid-fire. From the snowy peaks of Austria to the serene desert sprawl of Tangier, mother earth looks her beauty-pageant best, and she’s rocking some shiny jewelry to boot: the baddies’ fortresses look like marvels of modern architecture and the stunning cars Bond rockets around in will make you drool. Bond movies have become increasingly obsessed with suit-modeling and vista-ogling in recent years, but that’s not a bad thing. At least not yet.

Bond’s allies aren’t in short supply in his latest romp: M (Ralph Fiennes), Moneypenny (Naomie Harris), and gadget maven Q (Ben Wishaw) have all got 007’s back, though the bad guys’ eyes-everywhere tech prevents them from aiding Bond remotely. Spending the most time with him is newbie Madeleine Swann (Lea Seydoux), the latest addition to his ever-growing list of doomed lovers. She’s the daughter of an old villain who operated under the Oberhauser umbrella, and she insists she’s got no interest in bedding James like the rest of his international floozies. But who’s she fooling? After a romantic train ride and a close-quarters fistfight with one of Oberhauser goons (Guardians of the Galaxy‘s Dave Bautista), the sexual tension becomes too strong for even the strong-willed Madeleine to resist.

Craig’s got his Bond routine down to a science by now, hunting down his villainous prey with that same signature cold-eyed scowl he uses to make women melt. He’s a very good James Bond, but what slows him down in Spectre is his romance with Seydoux’s Madeleine, which unfolds in such a cursory fashion it’s laughable. She confesses her love for him after spending only a few days together, and even an actor of Seydoux’s talent can’t make such an unlikely leap in affection feel natural. If this is the girl Bond’s meant to consider leaving the spy life for, the writers (Neal Purvis, John Logan, Robert Wade, Jez Butterworth) don’t do enough to convince us of it.

Thankfully, the rushed romance one of only two of the film’s major downers (the other is the movie’s theme song, by Sam Smith, which is insufferable). The action set pieces are all show-stoppers, though the thrills of the opening helicopter scene are never outdone. A close-quarters fight scene between Craig, Bautista and Seydoux is a lot of fun and reminds us that Mendes doesn’t need pricey visual effects to keep us on the edge of our seats (the scene’s absence of music is a great touch that makes the brawl doubly tense). The movie isn’t exactly action-packed, though, as the explosions and car chases are used to punctuate the long stretches of character development/plot progression. Skyfall had a more striking and cohesive visual style than Spectre does (shadows and blackness are the recurring themes, but none of the inky images stick), but Mendes’ craftsmanship is never less than elegant and fully composed.

There’s a twist to Waltz’s character that I won’t spoil here, but what I will say is that he disappoints, again, by playing a villain exactly the way we all expect him to. The man’s capable of great things, but we’ve seen him play this smirking, unfazed, cold-blooded a million times before, and it’s a letdown every time he decides to stay in the pocket and not add any new dimensions to his act. Harris and Wishaw make a better effort, and it’ll be nice to continue watching them support Bond in future entries.

If Skyfall was the pinnacle of Craig’s run as Bond, Spectre signals a slight downturn and a need for the series to break new ground and redefine who James Bond is for the next generation. Mendes has made a fine movie that pays homage to Bond lore in surprising and delightful ways (there’s something off about that Oberhauser…) but it feels like the timing’s right for a change of the guard. Craig is perhaps the quintessential alpha-male Bond, always in control of his situation and surroundings; maybe it’s time for a double-0 who gets a bit more shaken and stirred in the face of danger.

After the massive success of Skyfall–the biggest James Bond film ever—it was rather surprising to see all the trouble it took to get Spectre off the ground—especially in today’s sequel driven culture. Originally, Oscar-winning director Sam Mendes said he felt “physically ill” at the prospect of returning to the spy series—even after smashing box office records and racking up awards nods. Rumors swirled around the developing picture for months before it was finally confirmed that Mendes would direct. Now, with a new trailer arriving today, we can all be thankful that he did.

While most of the plot has been kept tightly under wraps, what we do know is, Spectre finds Bond (the only-getting-handsomer Daniel Craig) confronted with a cryptic message from his long-hidden past that leads to an encounter with the mysterious organization Spectre. All the while the new M (Ralph Fiennes) takes on political adversaries to keep the British secret service alive.

Written by the same team behind Skyfall (John Logan, Neal Purvis, and Robert Wade) Spectre hopes to capitalize on the reinvigorated tone of the franchise and make another cool billion. To boot, the support here is deep, rounded out by Lea Seydoux, Christoph Waltz, Dave Bautista (Guardians of the Galaxy), and Monica Bellucci.

Spectre arrives November 6th.

As always, the journey to the next Bond film is an interesting one. Before the $1 billion earnings of Skyfall, MGM filed for bankruptcy, leaving everyone to assume it would be a long, long time before we saw 007 again. Obviously, the four-year wait was well worth it, with the Sam Mendes directed film going above and beyond the average blockbuster. We can all be thankful that he’s back for the next round.

Spectre finds Bond (Daniel Craig) and the rest of MI6 still reeling from the aftermath of Skyfall. While struggling to keep the secret service alive, Bond must face off against a menacing organization and find the truth about SPECTRE.

The cast is rounded out by some familiar faces (Ralph Fiennes, Ben Whishaw, Naomie Harris) and some new to the Bond world (Christoph Waltz, Dave Bautista, and Lea Seydoux). And while the film doesn’t arrive for more than half a year, this first trailer looks gorgeous–thanks mostly to the fine work of Roger Deakins’ replacement, Hoyte van Hoytema (Interstellar, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy).

Check the trailer below. Spectre arrives November, 6 2015.

FoxSearchlight has shared a video of Wes Anderson and other cast members of The Grand Budapest Hotel discussing the singular inspirations Anderson culled from when forming his latest film. Nominated for 9 Academy Awards, Anderson discusses especially being inspired by Ernst Lubitsch’s (Shop Around the Corner) hilarious, fast-talking, European comedies.

While The Grand Budapest Hotel’s nominations fall mainly within technical categories along with prestigious Best Picture and Best Director nominations, his cast is strangely not nominated for their work. The way they discuss Anderson throughout the video proves however that as wonderful as the performances of the cast are, their inspired and exceptional leader really is the force behind this fantastic film.

Universal Studios announced that the next Coen Brothers project, Hail, Caesar! has been slotted for February 5, 2016, according the EW.

The film looks to be a return to pure comedy for the Coens, their first since 2009’s A Serious Man, and stars George Clooney as a Hollywood fixer in the 1950s. The overall cast is very strong, including Scarlett Johansson, Ralph Fiennes, Tilda Swinton, Josh Brolin, Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill.

On first thought, the February date is a bit surprising and disappointing, considering the month is typically reserved for films that studios decide to dump while people are still focused on the upcoming Oscars. Also considering the film was initially thought to be released in 2015, this may be a bit of a bad sign. However, since the Coen Brothers are behind the project I wouldn’t be too concerned yet.

Partway through The Grand Budapest Hotel, there’s an argument between Dmitri (Adrien Brody, looking brilliantly evil) and his deceased mother’s lawyer (Jeff Goldblum). The lawyer refuses to hand the dead woman’s fortune over to her son as the details of her murder haven’t been cleared up. Dmitri angrily leaves, and his henchman (Willem Dafoe) casually tosses the lawyer’s cat out of a window on his way out. It’s a cruel act, and a funny visual gag, until the lawyer peers out his window and the camera cuts to his cat’s splattered body below.

Writer/director Wes Anderson uses these shock moments of sudden violence more than once throughout the film. The dead woman (Tilda Swinton, unrecognizable with pounds of old age makeup) is Madame D., an old rich countess who frequented the titular hotel. Located in the mountains of the Republic of Zubrowka, a made up European nation, the hotel is a gorgeous and highly popular establishment. Gustave H. (Ralph Fiennes) is the hotel’s concierge, a charming man who was also taking Madame D. to bed during her visits (one of Gustave’s many duties as concierge included sexually satisfying the rich old ladies who visited). When it’s revealed that she put Gustave in her will as the recipient of a priceless painting, Madame D.’s family frames him for her murder.

Gustave receives help from Zero Moustafa (Tony Revolori), a young lobby boy that Gustave has taken a shine to. The story, taking place in 1932 during some unnamed war ravaging the country, is narrated to us by an older Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham) in the 1960s. He’s telling his tale to a young author (Jude Law) over dinner at the hotel, now well past its glory days. Law narrates the 1960s segments, which are actually from a novel being read to viewers in the 1980s by (presumably) a now much-older author (Tom Wilkinson). The nesting-doll structure may seem frivolous, but Wes Anderson’s films thrive on frivolity.

The multi-layered narrative also establishes Anderson’s attempts to comment on memory and nostalgia. Moustafa’s story in the 1930s, shot gorgeously in 1.33:1, is stylistically Anderson’s best work to date. The set design, meticulous framing, whip pans, quick zooms, and use of animation and miniatures, among Anderson’s other visual trademarks, operate at a level that more than matches his story’s large scale. Anderson and cinematographer Robert D. Yeoman are clearly having a field day, and it shows. The charming style also shows Moustafa’s nostalgia for this period of his life, as if these “good ol’ days” represent something that’s never to return.

Anderson is aware of how dangerous this way of looking at the past with rose-coloured glasses is, which is why he throws in scenes like the one with Goldblum’s cat. He is purposely breaking the spell his film casts, reminding viewers that the time period was still a tumultuous one. The hotel is not so much a shining example of long-lost civility and politeness as it is an escape from the harsh realities of wartime and poverty. These two worlds of fantasy and reality eventually come together, but through Anderson’s lens the stylistic flourishes still remain. The final scene of the ‘30s timeline, also the bleakest part of Moustafa’s story, switches to black and white, showing how Anderson still finds a way to fill his heavier moments with aesthetic quirks.

While Anderson’s toying with memory and nostalgia is interesting, it fails to make any impact to the film overall. The handling of violence makes for an awkward juxtaposition, one that’s more admirable in its intent than execution (I never thought I’d say this, but Anderson should take some tips from Quentin Tarantino in this area). The war going on in the film’s background is wiped of any details, save for some vague allusions to the SS. The obscuring of these elements only muddy the water, and the dense plotting of Anderson’s screenplay make his thematic points get swallowed up by the film’s aesthetics.

Not that the aesthetics are a bad thing; The Grand Budapest Hotel is still a treat to watch. Fiennes is perfect as Gustave, and Anderson’s script is filled with plenty of hilarious moments. The massive ensemble, where seemingly every role is filled with a well-known actor (supporting cast includes Edward Norton, Harvey Keitel, Saorise Ronan, Jason Schwartzman and Owen Wilson just to name a few), work together perfectly. While The Grand Budapest Hotel works well, it only does up to a certain point. What the film amounts to is nothing more than a well-done and admirable piece of fluff.

The Grand Budapest Hotel trailer

The Invisible Woman, Ralph Fiennes sophomore directorial effort (following up 2011’s Coriolanus), tells the true story of the love affair Charles Dickens (played by Fiennes) had with a much younger woman, actress Nelly Ternan (Felicity Jones), with a touch so delicate and soft it fails to leave a lasting impression. Though exquisitely designed and speckled with a handful of moments that are truly inspired, the central romance feels too cold-to-the-touch and blasé to deserve such a grand production.

The film opens years after Dickens’ death, with an older Nelly, now married, watching her teacher husband’s students rehearsing their production of “The Frozen Deep”, one of Dickens’ plays. Through the use of thinly-veiled expositional dialog, we learn that everyone with knowledge of her relationship with the author is under the impression that is was a platonic one (Dickens took the secret of their affair to the grave). We then flash back to the time to the beginning of their relationship to learn its true nature as we rifle through Nelly’s memories.

Charismatic, gregarious, and glamorous, Fiennes’ turn as Dickens is captivating. Following a theatrical performance, Dickens–45 years old and at this point an eminently beloved literary celebrity–meets an 18-year-old Nelly, her three sisters, and their mother Frances (Kristen Scott Thomas), all actresses. Of the sisters, Dickens feels a gravitation toward Nelly, whose meekness combined with the intimidation of Dickens’ advanced age and stature makes her weak in the knees. Frances, though not thrilled at the thought of the relationship, sees it as an opportunity for she and her girls to ride in more advantageous social circles.

Dickens is married to a heavy-set, regular-looking woman named Catherine (Joanna Scanlan), mother to his ten children. Now, you’re probably thinking, “I know what comes next! The big-headed Dickens, unfulfilled and suffocated by his marriage and home life, casts his ordinary wife aside in exchange for the young, beautiful mistress, resulting in a mountain of heartbreak and high drama!”

You’d be right, save for that last part about the heartbreak and high drama. Dickens does cast Catherine aside via a letter to the editor of the Times in which he announces their separation, and he does steal away with the beautiful Nelly. What’s strange and confusing is how everyone involved in the awful ordeal treats it like it’s a completely acceptable, no-big-deal “arrangement”. Everyone acts so apathetic and proper in their reaction to the affair that we as the audience can’t help but react apathetically as well.

The big surprise of the film is Scanlan, who has a couple terrific moments fueled by raw human emotion, each a welcome jolt that saves us from the sauntering, lifeless slog that is the rest of the film. Her reaction to the aforementioned Times letter is crushing, and a quiet conversation she shares with Nelly, in which she clears the air with utmost class and dignity, is unforgettable.

Fiennes does a good job as well, and Dickens’ work absolutely drips of his tongue as he recites it. It’s his scenes with Jones that leave a lot to be desired. There’s no clear indication or demonstration of why he loves this girl so much he’d leave his family behind for her. This is a crucial error, as this relationship is the prime focus of the film. And yet, on screen we feel nothing from them in the form of passion, longing, or chemistry. This is an empty romance, which consequently makes the film as a whole feel emotionally anemic.

The Period costume and set design is marvelous, with Fiennes doing a good job of capturing the finer details with his camera. In fact, I constantly found myself taking momentary vacations from the story to admire the elaborate furnishings, because whatever British ho-humming the characters on screen were doing was losing its grip on me.