Heartland Film Festival 2025: “The Invisible Half”

Movie poster of a half-Japanese girl with a white baseball bat standing in front of a giant mummy head that has an earbud cord wrapped around it. The earbuds are bloodied.

Funny how wearing lots of bandages always means “scary monster” and not “victim receiving the care they sorely needed”.

It’s that time again! Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: since 1992 my hometown of Indianapolis has presented the Heartland International Film Festival, a multi-day, multi-theater celebration of cinema held every October. Local moviegoers have the opportunity to see over a hundred new works in the realms of documentaries, narrative features, shorts, and animation made across multiple continents from myriad points of the human experience. Some participants stop in Indy on their grand tour of Hollywood’s festival circuit; some are local productions on shoestring budgets; and a wide spectrum of claims are staked in the innumerable niches between, projects with well-known actors screening alongside indies with enormous hearts.

This’ll be my third year diving in and seeing more than just a single entrant. I enjoyed much of what I saw in 2024, though some of my picks have yet to find distribution to this day. Those few that did kinda came and went without much fanfare. The most “prestigious” film I saw, Small Things Like These, at least went well enough for its makers that star Cillian Murphy and director Tim Mielants reunited for Steve, which just hit Netflix earlier this month. (Highly recommended, by the way.) Numerous other Heartland entries showed up on Oscar ballots, but I failed to catch them at the festival proper. (Eventually I saw Heartland veterans Flow and The Seed of the Sacred Fig, to name a couple.) I’ll be curious to see what happens to this year’s alumni in the months ahead.

Heartland’s 34th edition runs October 9-19, for which I’ve made plans to catch at least six films in all (Lord willing) — maybe more if time permits. Longtime MCC readers know the rule: every film I see in theaters gets its own entry, no matter how big or little. We kick things off with one of the only three horror films in the lineup (a genre HIFF has only opened up to within the past few years), and among this year’s few Asian ones: The Invisible Half, in which we learn Japanese teenagers are no more well-adjusted than ours are.

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Yes, There’s a Tribute After the “One Battle After Another” End Credits

Benicio Del Toro hands a rifle in its storage bag to Leonardo DiCaprio, who looks like a frazzled mountain man with expensive sunglasses.

“Help yourself to a sniper rifle.”

“THE NEW PAUL THOMAS ANDERSON IS THE GREATEST FILM OF OUR TIMES AND CAPTURES THE ZEITGEIST LIKE EGON SPENGLER WITH A GHOST TRAP!” screams the internet consensus for One Battle After Another, as pro critics tend to every time they’ve seen a new Anderson film at least three times at festivals. I’ve only seen six of his films (counting this one) and responded to There Will Be Blood with that sort of awe. The rest varied for me — Phantom Thread was an intriguing battle of repressed wills, but I couldn’t connect with his California ode Licorice Pizza. His tenth feature, Battle is an effectively pulse-pounding thriller that’s exactly the sort of antihero conflict I do enjoy — call it “bad guys vs. worse guys” — but somehow I thought it’d be much more complicated than it actually is. Maybe that’s on me for declining to remain Extremely Online these days.

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“The Long Walk”: The World’s Deadliest Walk-and-Talk

Orange, black and white shot of a bunch of guys walking at night, accompanied by military vehicles with bright headlights.

A moonlit stroll with a mounting death toll.

Rare are the harmonic convergences when at least two excellent Stephen King adaptations reach theaters within the same calendar year. I’m still upset everyone slept on the heart-melting sci-fi sweetness of The Life of Chuck (admittedly I’ve skipped The Monkey for now), but I can understand the muted turnout for the survival-horror bloodsport of The Long Walk. If I might understate to a subterranean degree: these past two weeks perhaps weren’t the best time for moviegoers to come out and watch young men be gunned down helplessly before their very eyes.

(Then again, when’s a good time for that anymore?)

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“Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale”: And They All Lived Even MORE Happily Ever After

The "upstairs" cast of "Downton Abbey" at a racetrack watching horses run offscnree, or perhaps something more interesting.

Our Heroes stunned by an unladylike voice in the next section screaming, “COME ON, DOVER! MOVE YER BLOOMIN’ ARSE!”

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: my wife Anne and I are Downton Abbey fans! We’ve seen all six seasons and three movies, most of which she had to annotate for me at length because, as longtime MCC readers know, she’s a history aficionado who can speak on such matters for hours uninterrupted, while I’m a chronic history-deficiency sufferer who needs to be fed very large Vitamin H supplements during and after every period-piece viewing. In exchange, she doesn’t yawn in my face whenever I natter on after every Marvel or DC production about what they changed from the comics.

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The First Rule of Weapons Club Is You Do Not Talk About “Weapons”

Julia Garner peeking through open curtains from outside into a darkened house.

Folks who haven’t seen it yet, peering in through the internet redaction boxes.

How do you discuss a movie without ruining it when its greatest pleasure is the element of surprise? Maybe you just…don’t?

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Yes, There’s a Scene After “The Naked Gun” End Credits

Theater lobby standee with Liam Neeson in character groping at Pamela Anderson with five different hands while brandishing his gun with a sixth.

The long arm of the law takes a more hands-on approach.

Sure, laughter is fun, but the more pop culture fractured into separate camps over the decades, the less everyone could agree on what was funny. TV sitcoms and the rise of the internet in the 2000s — when we all took turns giving away laughs for free, high on the power of free expression — met my daily chuckle-quota while American filmgoers voted for Jim Carrey, Adam Sandler, the diminishing returns of other SNLers, and Hollywood’s slowly mutated “wisdom” that comedies absolutely had to be R-rated F-bomb barrages because those, they thought, were funnier than actual jokes, despite entire decades’ worth of classic examples that worked just fine without them. Yadda yadda yadda, comedy disappeared from cinemas, except as a secondary component in incessantly quippy blockbusters.

In my childhood the epitome of comedy in any medium was Airplane!: The Movie, that goofy parody of ’70s airport-disaster dramas whose quick-witted reflexes and nonstop Easter-egg sight gags would be embedded in the DNA of The Simpsons and all the other hyper-accelerated comic works since. The skewing of dialogue clichés and the perfectly straight-faced delivery of the most dreadful puns in the world were a tremendous joy, though as a long-term consequence it would become an intrinsic link in the evolutionary chain leading to today’s “Dad Jokes”. For a time I was a disciple to its hilarity-trinity of directors David and Jerry Zucker and Jim Abrahams. Eventually they parted ways and went on to make their own separate comedies with varying degrees of hit-or-miss. David Zucker kept on spoofing longer than the other two until diminishing returns set in as he got older. (His last time in a director’s chair was a 2008 conservative lampoon of Michael Moore called An American Carol, which Zucker’s recent interviewers chose not to bring up.)

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Yes, There Are Scenes During and After “The Fantastic Four: First Steps” End Credits

Fantastic Four cast in movie costumes, just standing and staring. Big blue 4 logo takes up the wall behind them.

The World’s Greatest Comic Magazine™, now in theaters!

Critics call The Fantastic Four: First Steps the Greatest FF Film of All Time! It’s a low bar to crawl over, but it’s a relief Marvel didn’t smack themselves in the face with that particular rake again.

After Tim Story’s two earnest but awkward sitcom episodes and Josh Trank’s grimdark body-horror take — whose second half was amputated and replaced with prosthetic superheroics (and which “celebrates” its tenth anniversary next month) — most of us had given up on seeing Stan Lee and Jack Kirby’s greatest co-creation writ large on the big screen without half-baked compromises of what makes these intrepid scientist-adventurers tick. We settled for key cameos in the second Doctor Strange and Deadpool & Wolverine, but those tongue-in-cheek callbacks only gave us one member apiece sans the Richards’ dynamic. Writing solo comic relief is easy; writing affectionate, super-powered teamwork is hard, unless you’re Brad Bird paying homage with The Incredibles.

If we disqualify Roger Corman’s unreleased zero-budget fan-film available only as a bootleg (and for a reason), then fourth (ha!) time’s the charm as the First Family has been wrested from its former Fox overlords and eased into the Marvel Cinematic Universe via gentle alternate-Earth reboot courtesy of director Matt Shakman, who handled the amazing WandaVision but whose only previous feature, 2014’s barely existent Cut Bank, made less than 300 grand worldwide. Working with at least five different screenwriters (including Sarah Connor Chronicles showrunner Josh Friedman and Thunderbolts co-writer Eric Pearson), Shakman understandably kept the odds of success manageable by revisiting Lee and Kirby’s FF #48-50, the original Galactus Saga, which Story’s 2007 sequel Rise of the Silver Surfer bungled. Last time a classic non-origin comics tale was adapted twice to film, the end result was the abjectly time-wasting Dark Phoenix.

Thankfully First Steps avoids Rise‘s mistakes and not only better recaptures the essence (e.g., not making Galactus a hungry space cloud) but elevates Our Heroes’ comeback into grandiose science-fiction myth-making of the sort that comics used to do best, on a level meant to inspire our broken world even while barely resembling it. Among its many idealistic propositions: sure, everyone loves found families in movies and TV, but what if just once in modern times the day were saved by an actual family-family? Plus Dad’s best friend as honorary Fun Uncle?

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Yes, There Are Scenes During and After the “Superman” End Credits

My wife Anne in a blue T-shirt with large Superman S on it, flexing her cute tiny muscles next to a Superman movie poster in a dark theater lobby.

Look! Up in the theater! It’s a cute tiny bird!

Among the many benefits of seeing James Gunn’s Superman in theaters, you no longer have to worry about internet spoilers and you’ll be able to tell which culture-war blowhards haven’t actually left their Silicon Valley work-from-home basements and their soulless private-equity offices to at least hate-watch it for themselves and are mouthing off based only on misinformation and overreactions from other blowhards.

While the rage-harvesters gorge on clicks and dare opponents to quote-tweet them for reach-broadening clique domination and/or barroom-brawl “fun”, you’ll potentially earn the advantage of a more informed opinion and might just see the world’s finest Superman film to date without Christopher Reeve in it. Heck, if you’re under 40 and never got past “YOU CANNOT JUST REVERSE TIME BY SPINNING THE WORLD BACKWARDS!”, you might even like this one more. I wouldn’t know! You have the power over your own opinions. Don’t cede it to anyone, not even me.

(Not that you would. And I’m aware of the irony of declaring opinions about other people’s opinions of how to have opinions, so you needn’t point it out.)

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“Jurassic World Rebirth” on the Island of Misfit Dino-Toys

Scarlett Johansson as a merc in a tall tropical field wielding a rifle with a big needle on the end of the barrel.

Next time your doctor asks for a blood draw, try not to think about this needle.

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: for us the Jurassic Park/World film series is a Family Tradition Franchise, by which I mean — like the Marvel, DC, or Star Wars universes — ever since my son was small we’ve seen see every installment in theaters because we’ve always gone to see them every time, no matter how unenthusiastic we are about the diminishing returns. The resistible drag of IP inertia is among our strongest bonds, exactly as studio execs count on to prop up these dilapidated blockbuster assembly lines.

The last trilogy came nowhere near touching the Steven Spielberg/Michael Crichton classic, its first sequel whose flaws get funnier every time I catch a basic-cable rerun, or even Joe Johnston’s underrated yet perfectly fun JPIII. Colin Trevorrow’s Jurassic World was a roadshow revival presenting a handful of entertaining scenes, numerous derivative ideas in the form of “callbacks”, the first of Chris Pratt’s many generic action heroes to come, the callous murder of poor innocent Lena Luthor, and a T-Rex/raptor team-up that was probably the first line of the pitch. With Fallen Kingdom J.A. Bayona arguably crafted the least worst of the three, with a wild Dinosaur Island cataclysm that segues to the bizarre high-concept “dinosaurs in a haunted house”, only to fumble in the final ten minutes with one of the stupidest movie endings so far this millennium. Trevorrow returned one last time for Dominion, a Jurassic All-Stars cash-grab reunion tour in which our beloved dinosaurs played second-fiddle to the threat of giant locusts, to the delight of that microscopic Venn-diagram subset, Jurassic Fans Who Hate Dinosaurs.

Three years later, here we go again! Those hungry, hungry dinos are back in their seventh chapter, Jurassic World Rebirth — courtesy of sci-fi director Gareth Edwards (The Creator, most of Rogue One), who learned a few things from directing an actual Godzilla film such as “perhaps a giant-lizard movie should have more than five minutes of giant lizard in it” and “always cast a Marvel actor”. Joining him is David Koepp, primary screenwriter of the first Jurassic trilogy, which movie-news sites took as a good sign even though his last blockbuster credit was among the Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny brain trust. The results manage to hurdle the low bar set by Trevorrow’s two company-man products, but once again Edwards and Koepp aspire to a cover-band quality level, which doesn’t have to be an entirely bad thing.

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“28 Years Later”: Undead Will Find a Way

Aaron Taylor-Johnson and a kid actor each dressed like Robin Hood with no hoods, looking incredulously at something offscreen.

A father/son coming-of-age zombie hunt? What’s the worst that could happen?

Once upon a time in 2002, 28 Days Later led a post-Romero zombie revival that’s technically never ended if you’re still following at least one Walking Dead spinoff. (No, thank you.) Its depiction of a paler-than-usual 21st-century England overrun by frantic super-speed vomiting jitterbuggers was an electrifying revelation up until it turned into a military action flick and we all learned Humanity Is The Real Monster. But within the span of that terrifying first half, no one could deny the harmonic convergence of Trainspotting director Danny Boyle, The Beach‘s novelist-turned-first-time-screenwriter Alex Garland, and young unknown Cillian Murphy. The audience’s scars from that first half never fully healed.

Boyle and Garland hopped from horror to sci-fi with the riveting apocalypse of Sunshine, leaving their zombie apocalypse in other hands. I never bothered with the sequel 28 Weeks Later unless you count Screen Junkies’ recent Honest Trailer, which seemed like all the recap I needed. Generations later Boyle and Garland reunite for 28 Years Later along with cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle, whose early pioneering in digital video worked wonders with Days‘ haunting imagery and jump-scare nerve-shredding before jump-scares were played out. The old team ignores Weeks and once again cranks up the visual voltage for half a film, only to diverge yet again from the undead stampede for someplace else. This time the topical shift resonates more bittersweetly. Well, mostly.

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