CHAINSAW MAN – THE MOVIE: REZE ARC (2025)

Denji encounters a new romantic interest, Reze, who works at a coffee café.

Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc is a cinematic rollercoaster that tries to fuse tender teenage romance with brutal, high-octane violence. It’s a bold attempt to expand the anime’s universe, but the result is a film that feels emotionally disjointed and structurally uneven. For longtime fans, it’s a visceral treat. For newcomers, it’s a confusing plunge into chaos.

The film opens not with blood and chainsaws, but with a surprisingly subdued tone. Denji, our hormone-driven protagonist, is caught between two women: the enigmatic Makima, his superior at Public Safety, and Reze, a charming barista he meets during a rainstorm. Their interactions are sweet, awkward, and laced with teenage longing. There’s a movie date, some flirtation, and a sense of normalcy that feels almost alien in the Chainsaw Man universe.

This first act is slow; almost too slow. It simmers with emotional tension but lacks urgency. The pacing drags as Denji’s internal conflict plays out in quiet scenes that feel more like a romantic slice-of-life than a supernatural thriller. Reze’s bubbly personality and Denji’s naïve infatuation create a believable, if slightly cliché, teen romance. But beneath the surface, there’s a creeping sense that things aren’t what they seem.

And then, the bomb drops...literally.

The film’s second half explodes into action, abandoning its romantic pretense for a barrage of violence, gore, and devilish mayhem. The villain is revealed, the Bomb Devil, a terrifying force of destruction who detonates herself with the flick of a finger. Her appearance is shocking, and the tonal shift is jarring. What was once a gentle story about young love becomes a battlefield of mutilation and chaos.

From this point on, the film is relentless. The fight scenes are kinetic and brutal, with Denji facing off against the Bomb Devil and other monstrous foes like the Typhoon Devil. The animation is dazzling; neon splashes of color, rapid cuts, and surreal choreography that defies physics. It’s a sensory overload, amplified by a pulsing soundtrack that feels more like a rave than a movie score.

Director Tatsuya Yoshihara and writer Hiroshi Seko clearly know how to stage a spectacle. The action sequences are some of the most visually impressive in the Chainsaw Man franchise. But the emotional weight of the first half doesn’t quite carry through. The romance, while touching, feels disconnected from the carnage that follows. The film’s structure, soft then savage, are so far on the opposite ends of the spectrum that it makes it hard to stay emotionally invested.

Supporting characters like Aki and Angel Devil make brief appearances, but their roles are underdeveloped. They serve more as background noise than meaningful contributors to the plot. This is a shame, as their presence could have added depth to the story’s themes of sacrifice and survival.

Thematically, Reze Arc explores Denji’s desire for normalcy and love, juxtaposed against the violent reality of his life as a devil hunter. The film displays Denji's fleeting chance at happiness, but also deadly threats. The duality gives the film a split personality: romantic drama on one side, hyperviolent thriller on the other. It’s an ambitious blend, but not a seamless one.

For fans of the anime, the film is a satisfying continuation. It doesn’t waste time rehashing old plot points, and it dives straight into new territory. But this also makes it less accessible to newcomers. Without context, the characters and their relationships are harder to grasp, though the broad strokes and context do keep it watchable. The film assumes you’ve done your homework; and if you haven’t, you’ll have a lesser experience.

The emotional climax hits hard, but it’s buried under layers of explosive action. Denji’s heartbreak, confusion, and growth are present, but they’re overshadowed by the spectacle. The final battle is a visual marvel, but it leaves little room for reflection. It’s thrilling, yes; but also exhausting.

Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc is simply a film of two halves. The first is a slow-burning romance that builds emotional stakes. The second is a chaotic descent into violence that shatters those stakes with explosive force. It’s a bold experiment in tonal contrast, but not always a successful one. The pacing issues and inconsistent tone can make it a challenging watch.

Still, there’s no denying the film’s ambition. It pushes the boundaries of what anime adaptations can be, delivering cinematic scale and emotional complexity. It’s a flawed but promising entry in the Chainsaw Man saga, and one that will spark plenty of debate among viewers.

If you’re here for the blood, guts, and devil-slaying madness, you’ll get your fill. If you’re hoping for a coherent emotional journey, you might be left wanting. Either way, Reze Arc is a wild ride; and one that proves Chainsaw Man is anything but predictable.

Chainsaw Man - The Movie: Reze Arc was released in NZ cinemas from 19 September 2025

DANGEROUS ANIMALS (2025)

When Zephyr, a savvy and free-spirited surfer, is abducted by a shark-obsessed serial killer and held captive on his boat, she must figure out how to escape before he carries out a ritualistic feeding to the sharks below.

In the ever-expanding sea of horror-thrillers, Dangerous Animals swims into view with teeth bared and a wicked grin. Directed by Sean Byrne and penned by Nick Lepard, this Australian-set survival shocker is a lean, mean genre hybrid that fuses the claustrophobic dread of captivity thrillers with the primal terror of shark-infested waters. It’s a film that knows exactly what it is, and leans into its madness with gleeful abandon.

At its core is Zephyr (Hassie Harrison), an American surfer drifting through Australia in search of peace and perhaps a fresh start. Her brief but tender connection with Moses (Josh Heuston), a fellow surfer with a kind heart, offers a glimmer of hope. But that hope is violently ripped away when she’s abducted by Bruce Tucker (Jai Courtney), a local fisherman with a warped sense of environmental duty. Tucker believes he’s restoring balance to nature by feeding tourists to sharks; and he documents each gruesome act with a voyeuristic obsession.

What follows is a taut, 100-minute descent into terror, as Zephyr finds herself trapped on Tucker’s boat, surrounded by open ocean and circling predators. But this isn’t a story about a helpless victim. Harrison’s Zephyr is a fighter; clever, determined, and unwilling to go down without a fight. Her performance is the film’s emotional anchor, grounding the chaos with grit and humanity. She brings nuance to a role that could have easily slipped into cliché, portraying Zephyr as both vulnerable and fiercely capable.

Jai Courtney, meanwhile, delivers what might be the most unhinged and magnetic performance of his career. As Tucker, he’s a blend of sadistic showman and cold-blooded killer. One moment he’s dancing in a kimono with a glass of wine, the next he’s watching snuff-like footage of his victims with chilling detachment. It’s a performance that recalls the theatrical menace of villains like Jigsaw from the Saw franchise; where the horror isn’t just in the violence, but in the twisted ideology behind it. Like Saw, Dangerous Animals gives its antagonist room to breathe, to monologue, to disturb us not just with actions but with intent.

The film’s greatest strength lies in its simplicity. With a small cast and a confined setting, Byrne crafts a relentless atmosphere of dread. The boat becomes a floating prison, and the beautiful yet merciless ocean serves as both backdrop and threat. Cinematographer Shelley Farthing-Dawe captures the eerie stillness of the sea and the claustrophobia of the ship’s interior with equal skill. The underwater sequences, in particular, are haunting, with sharks glide silently beneath the surface; a constant reminder of the danger lurking just out of sight.

Sound design by David White and a tense, pulsing score by Michael Yezerski elevate the experience further. The creak of metal, the crash of waves, the distant roar of the sea, it all combines to create an immersive soundscape that keeps the audience on edge. Every moment feels precarious, every silence loaded with potential violence.

Despite its modest budget, Dangerous Animals punches well above its weight. The practical effects are gruesomely effective, and the film doesn’t shy away from bloodshed. The opening scene involves a brutal, unflinching murder, and sets the tone immediately: this is not a film for the faint of heart. Yet, for all its gore, there’s a streak of black humor running through the narrative, a self-awareness that keeps it from tipping into gratuitousness.

The screenplay wisely avoids overcomplicating things. It’s a minimalist horror in the best sense; focused, efficient, and unrelenting. The plot revolves around a single, high-stakes situation, and while it occasionally flirts with repetition (the classic capture-escape-repeat rhythm), it never loses momentum. If anything, the cyclical nature of Zephyr’s attempts to escape only heightens the tension, making each new confrontation with Tucker more fraught than the last.

There are moments when the film gestures toward deeper themes, such as Tucker’s warped environmentalism, his childhood trauma and twisted Stockholm Syndrome, or the voyeuristic thrill of violence, but it never lingers long enough to bog down the pacing. This is a film more interested in sensation than subtext, and that’s not a criticism. It knows its audience and delivers exactly what it promises: a wild, bloody ride with a heroine worth rooting for and a villain you can’t look away from.

The chemistry between Harrison and Heuston, though only briefly explored, adds a welcome emotional layer. Their early scenes together are tender and believable, giving Zephyr’s ordeal greater weight. You want her to survive not just because she’s the protagonist, but because she’s been given just enough backstory and heart to make you care.

In many ways, Dangerous Animals feels like a spiritual cousin to the Saw series; not in its structure, but in its willingness to explore the psychology of its villain. Tucker isn’t just a faceless killer; he’s a man with a warped worldview, a self-appointed executioner who believes he’s doing the right thing. That complexity, paired with Courtney’s committed performance, elevates the film beyond standard slasher fare.

Ultimately, Dangerous Animals is a triumph of genre filmmaking on a shoestring budget. It’s bloody, claustrophobic, and unrelentingly tense, but it’s also stylish, smartly acted, and surprisingly character-driven. For fans of survival horror, aquatic terror, or just good old-fashioned grindhouse thrills, it’s a must-watch.

Dangerous Animals was released in NZ cinemas on June 12, 2025, and is now available of Prime Video.

THE CONJURING: LAST RITES (2025)

Paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren take on one last terrifying case involving mysterious entities they must confront.

After more than a decade of haunted houses, demonic possessions, and spiritual showdowns, The Conjuring: Last Rites arrives as the final entry in the main series. Directed by Michael Chaves and starring Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga, the film sets out to close the chapter on Ed and Lorraine Warren’s cinematic legacy. While it offers a heartfelt goodbye to these beloved characters, it falls short of delivering the kind of horror that made the franchise iconic.

Set in suburban Pennsylvania and loosely inspired by the Smurl haunting of 1986, the story follows a familiar path. A wholesome family is plagued by a dark entity, and the Warrens are called in to help. The film features the usual suspects: haunted toys, eerie mirrors, shadowy figures, and a climactic exorcism. What sets this installment apart is the added threat to the Warrens’ daughter, Judy, played by Mia Tomlinson. She is targeted by a malevolent force that has been fixated on her since birth, adding a personal layer to the supernatural conflict.

This dual narrative of the Smurl family’s haunting and Judy’s spiritual ordeal,  creates a structure that feels uneven. At two hours and fifteen minutes, the film spends a lot of time switching between its main plot and subplot. Unfortunately, the Smurl storyline feels underdeveloped until the final act. The focus remains on the Warrens, which is a departure from the first film’s strength in centering the afflicted family. This shift makes it harder to connect with the victims and weakens the emotional stakes.

One of the film’s biggest challenges is its tone. For every effective scare, there is a moment that pulls the viewer out of the mood. A table tennis montage between Ed and Judy’s boyfriend, set to David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance,” is charming but completely out of place. These lighthearted scenes clash with the darker themes and create a sense of tonal confusion. The film wants to be both a horror story and a family drama, but it rarely manages to balance the two.

The emotional beats are well executed. Judy’s growth, her relationship with her parents, and her own psychic awakening add depth to the narrative. These moments provide warmth and humanity, reminding us that the series has always been about the strength of family as much as it has been about battling evil. However, this emotional core often feels disconnected from the horror elements. The transitions between heartfelt scenes and supernatural terror are abrupt, making it difficult to stay immersed.

The scares themselves are competent but lack originality. The franchise’s formula of collecting a haunted house, a family in peril, and a spiritual intervention, has been repeated too many times. There is only so much a ghost or demon can do before it starts to feel predictable. Last Rites does not offer much innovation in this regard. The absence of a memorable villain further weakens the horror, leaving the film without a central figure to fear.

Despite these shortcomings, the performances remain strong. Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga continue to bring sincerity and grace to their roles. Their chemistry is the emotional anchor of the series, grounding even the most fantastical moments in genuine human connection. Mia Tomlinson adds a quiet strength to Judy, making her more than just a plot device. She becomes a character with agency and emotional weight.

The film’s greatest strength is its portrayal of the Warrens as a family. Earlier entries hinted at their bond, but Last Rites expands it into a fuller dynamic. Judy is no longer a child on the sidelines. She is a young woman grappling with her own abilities and the legacy of her parents’ work. This evolution adds emotional resonance and gives the film a sense of closure.

However, the supernatural side of the story does not reach the intensity or creativity of previous films. The lack of clear rules or logic for the paranormal events makes it hard to stay invested. The jump scares do their job, but they are not enough to sustain the atmosphere of fear that defined the original Conjuring. The pacing is irregular, and the film’s length works against it. Scenes that should build tension are often interrupted by lighter moments, and the overall rhythm feels disjointed.

All in all, The Conjuring: Last Rites is a film caught between two identities. As a horror movie, it is fine; occasionally spooky, often familiar, and ultimately safe. As a franchise finale, it is more successful, offering a sentimental goodbye to characters who have become beloved over the years. But the inconsistent tone and lack of narrative focus prevent it from standing alongside its predecessors.

It is a film that wants to honor its legacy without reinventing it. While that is understandable, it means Last Rites feels more like a gentle epilogue than a terrifying climax. Fans of the series will appreciate the emotional closure, but those looking for the spine-tingling terror of the original may find themselves left wanting.

The Conjuring: Last Rites was released in NZ cinemas on 4 September 2025

PIKE RIVER (2025)

Based on the Pike River tragedy of 2010, this drama captures the profound impact of one of the worst mining disasters in New Zealand's history.

When Robert Sarkies’ Pike River opens, the audience is immediately pulled into the sombre atmosphere of New Zealand’s worst industrial disaster in living memory. The film does not overexaggerate the explosions that killed 29 men underground in November 2010. In fact, it never depicts them at all. Instead, it steps back and allows us to experience the catastrophe as the families did: with unanswered calls, rumours, and the agonising drip-feed of official updates that concealed more than they revealed. This restraint is one of the film’s greatest strengths, and it makes Pike River as emotionally bruising as it is respectful.

The narrative focus is on two women; Anna Osborne, played by Melanie Lynskey, and Sonya Rockhouse, portrayed by Robyn Malcolm. Osborne lost her husband, while Rockhouse lost her son, one of the youngest men underground that day. Their shared grief becomes the foundation of a friendship that sustains them through years of campaigning, legal battles, and shattered promises. Rather than being a wide-ranging historical account, Sarkies and writer Fiona Samuel choose to tell the story through the eyes of these two women, which brings an intimacy and focus that a more generalised approach would lack.

The decision not to dramatise the explosions is powerful. In avoiding spectacle, the film denies the audience any easy release or excitement at what is a national tragedy, and keeps them with the waiting families; standing at kitchen benches waiting for phone calls, gathered in school halls as police and politicians offer vague reassurances, or staring into the cold mist rolling off the Paparoa Ranges. The cinematography by Gin Loane captures both the grandeur and the bleakness of the West Coast setting, often framing the characters against skies heavy with rain, visually reflecting the burden of grief and uncertainty.

Performance-wise, the film is anchored by Lynskey and Malcolm. Lynskey imbues Anna with quiet determination, a strength that grows as her trust in the authorities diminishes. Malcolm’s portrayal of Sonya is more openly fierce (away from the cameras), bristling with frustration and a refusal to be silenced. Together they provide a moving portrait of resilience, and the decision of the real Osborne and Rockhouse to allow their grief to be portrayed on screen gives the performances an additional weight.

Supporting roles vary in impact. Roy Billing’s portrayal of mine chief executive Peter Whittall is unsettling, embodying the defensiveness and evasions that came to symbolise corporate negligence. He is a character it is easy to despise, though Billing avoids caricature by grounding Whittall’s responses in self-preservation rather than overt villainy. Lucy Lawless, on the other hand, feels underutilised, her presence more distracting than meaningful, given her stature in New Zealand’s screen industry.

Structurally, the film is deliberate and unhurried. At 138 minutes it demands patience, though the pacing mirrors the endless delays and empty promises endured by the families. Real news footage is woven into the narrative, together with an appearance by Jacinda Ardern as herself, which grounds the film in a sense of documentary truth. Combined with on-location filming in Greymouth, including the mine gates and memorial crosses, the authenticity is palpable.

But Pike River is not without its limitations. By centring almost entirely on two families, the story inevitably narrows its scope. It hints at broader issues, such as the decades-long erosion of industrial safety standards, the complicity of successive governments, the failures of the Department of Labour, but does not explore these fully. For viewers unfamiliar with the history, the systemic causes of the disaster are left largely unexamined placing the blame squarely on the Mine's management. 

Yet what it does, it does with great conviction. The film refuses to sensationalise, instead immersing the audience in the exhaustion and rawness of families who were left in limbo. The slow release of communication, the confusion of waiting, and the crushing realisation that accountability would be endlessly deferred are portrayed with sensitivity. The emotional intensity is unrelenting, and at times the film is difficult to watch; because it should be.

The timing of the release is also significant. Fifteen years after the disaster, the legislation and regulator that emerged from its ashes—the Health and Safety at Work Act 2015 and the creation of WorkSafe—now faces being dismantled by the current government. Proposals to reduce enforcement, cut back regulation, and “streamline” oversight risks repeating the mistakes that allowed Pike River to happen. For those working in the health and safety sector, the reminder is sobering: lives were lost before change was made, and those lessons are already in danger of being forgotten.

Pike River is ultimately less about what happened inside the mine, and more about what happened after. It is about families forced to become advocates, about women who channelled their grief into a fight for justice, and about a community scarred by betrayal. It may not tell the full story, but the story it does tell is searing and important.

In the end, Sarkies has crafted a film that is haunting not because of what it shows, but because of what it withholds. By denying us spectacle, it leaves us with silence, absence, and unanswered questions; just as the families of Pike River have experienced. And that, perhaps, is the truest way to honour their story.

Pike River is being released in NZ cinemas on October 30, 2025
Find your nearest screenings here

ELEANOR THE GREAT (2025)

Eleanor the Great follows 94-year-old Eleanor Morgenstein, played by June Squibb, who, after moving to New York to reconnect with her family, accidentally fabricates a story that spirals beyond her control. Scarlett Johansson’s directorial debut explores themes of aging, loss, family, and truth in a poignant tale of friendship and identity.

Scarlett Johansson’s directorial debut, Eleanor, the Great, is a film that walks a tightrope. It teeters between heartfelt sentiment and moral unease, between laugh-out-loud charm and moments that make you squirm. It’s a story that dares to ask whether good intentions can excuse bad behavior, and whether grief can justify deception. The answer, as the film suggests, is complicated.

At the heart of this tangled tale is Eleanor Morgenstein, played with fiery precision by June Squibb. Eleanor is 94, sharp-tongued, and unapologetically difficult. She’s spent the last several decades living in Florida with her best friend Bessie, a Holocaust survivor whose trauma has been shared only with Eleanor. Their bond is deep, forged through years of companionship and mutual loss. But when Bessie passes away, Eleanor’s world begins to unravel.

Forced to move back to New York and live with her daughter Lisa (Jessica Hecht) and grandson Max (Will Price), Eleanor finds herself adrift. Her family is well-meaning but distant, and Eleanor, ever the contrarian, resists their efforts to help. A misstep at the local Jewish community center lands her in a support group for Holocaust survivors. Embarrassed but encouraged to stay, Eleanor begins to share Bessie’s story as her own.

What starts as a moment of confusion quickly becomes a full-blown impersonation. Eleanor, suddenly embraced by the group and no longer invisible, finds herself basking in the attention. Her tale catches the eye of Nina (Erin Kellyman), a young journalism student grieving the recent loss of her mother. Nina sees Eleanor as a source of inspiration and connection, and the two form a bond that is both touching and troubling.

The film’s strength lies in its performances. Squibb is magnetic, delivering Eleanor’s barbed wit with impeccable timing while revealing the vulnerability that lies beneath. She makes Eleanor’s deception feel less like a malicious act and more like a desperate grasp for meaning. Kellyman, as Nina, brings a quiet intensity to her role. Her grief is palpable, and her need for connection makes her an easy target for Eleanor’s charm.

Chiwetel Ejiofor plays Roger, Nina’s father and a respected news anchor. His presence adds another layer to the story, as Eleanor’s lies begin to attract wider attention. The stakes rise, and the emotional fallout becomes harder to ignore.

Tory Kamen’s screenplay is ambitious, tackling themes of aging, identity, and the ethics of storytelling. It doesn’t shy away from the discomfort of Eleanor’s actions, but it also doesn’t fully condemn her. Instead, it invites the audience to sit with the ambiguity, to wrestle with the idea that sometimes people lie not to deceive but to be seen.

That said, the film is not without its flaws. The narrative occasionally leans too heavily into sentimentality, and the resolution feels overly neat given the gravity of Eleanor’s deception. There are moments when the tone shifts abruptly, moving from light-hearted banter to emotionally charged confrontation without warning. These tonal inconsistencies can be jarring, but they also reflect the complexity of the story being told.

Johansson’s direction is confident, if occasionally uneven. She gives her actors room to breathe, allowing the relationships to develop organically. The friendship between Eleanor and Nina is particularly well-crafted, offering moments of genuine warmth and heartbreak. It’s a dynamic that anchors the film, even as the plot veers into morally murky territory.

One of the film’s most compelling aspects is its exploration of how society treats older people. Eleanor’s impersonation is rooted not just in grief but in a deep sense of invisibility. She is a woman who has lived a full life, yet finds herself overlooked and underestimated. Her lies are a way of reclaiming agency, of asserting her presence in a world that has moved on without her.

The film also touches on the power of storytelling, and the fine line between honoring someone’s memory and appropriating their experience. Eleanor’s use of Bessie’s story is deeply problematic, but it’s also a reflection of her love and admiration. She wants the world to know Bessie, to feel the weight of her survival. In doing so, she crosses a line that cannot be uncrossed.

Despite its uneven tone and ethical quandaries, Eleanor, the Great is a film that lingers. It presents a portrait of a woman who is flawed, funny, and heartbreakingly human. Squibb’s performance is the glue that holds it all together, infusing Eleanor with a vitality that makes her impossible to ignore.

You may leave the cinema unsure of how to feel. You may laugh, you may cringe, you may even cry. But you will remember Eleanor. And perhaps that’s the point.

Eleanor the Great is in NZ Cinemas from October 9, 2025
Find your nearest screening here