After weeks of research and anecdotal experience navigating local multiplexes, it’s painfully clear that small movies have largely disappeared from theaters. If you enjoy original, small, or otherwise offbeat movies that don’t follow the franchise IP or horror templates, you’ll likely be watching them at home.
The clearest evidence of this phenomenon comes from analyzing global box office returns against budget, for which the traditional industry rule is to aim for a worldwide box office of two to 2.5 times budget to ensure profitability. I focused my research on small to medium budget movies ranging from under 10 to 50 million.
The success stories are almost always horror movies that open wide and easily recoup their budget by opening weekend. MaXXXine took a 1 million budget and lukewarm critical reviews yet still made 22 million in theaters. Longlegs was made for under 10 million and generated an astonishing 109 million at the box office. A 2024 remake of Speak No Evil has made 76 million worldwide against a budget of 15 million.
There’s never been a larger concentration of movies available. Paradoxically, it’s often hard to actually find something you want to watch. The enshittification of streaming is the most prominent obstacle; movies disappear without notice, price hikes occur regularly, and engagement tactics prioritize the bottom line over your satisfaction.
One of the best ways to navigate such a challenging landscape is a bit of introspection. Spend a few minutes to capture why you liked a movie, and you’ll likely find the long term quality of what you watch next will improve.
While introspective notetaking at first glance sounds like lightweight film criticism, it’s actually about saving you time and money. Five minutes now could save you two hours and twenty bucks later. Practically anyone, from home theater cineastes to casual watchers, will benefit by the practice.
In spite of Xbox undergoing what will be one the hardest strategic pivots in gaming history, under the stewardship of one of the most valuable companies in the world, the venerable gaming brand can’t sell (or settle on) a cohesive, long term vision to save its life. Paired against the backdrop of few Xbox first party releases, Microsoft in 2024 has found itself in a PR vacuum.
In its wake, there has been a drip feed of negative or otherwise confounding news stories. The year started off with the Xbox “business update” in February, where Microsoft heads hemmed and hawed about the reasoning behind four of its exclusives heading to Switch and PS5. In May, Microsoft shuttered multiple game studios including Tango Gameworks, with unclear reasons from studio chief Matt Booty. July saw price hikes on Game Pass and a new “standard” tier that removed day one games, the defining feature of the service. Then, in August, as part of Gamescom, Xbox showcased previews of their flagship holiday game Indiana Jones and the Great Circle, only to reveal the game would also be heading to PS5 next spring.
The consensus view across the Xbox faithful and larger enthusiast gaming community hasn’t been positive, with some considering recent actions a betrayal. I find a lot of this anger misguided, deriving from a dated console warrior mentality that champions exclusives to prove one platform is somehow better than others.
The more movies I watch, the greater my appreciation for films that reach a pinnacle of what the medium can achieve, even with noticeable weaknesses. These flawed masterpieces are a rare phenomenon, so count me surprised to see two examples – Queer and The Brutalist – a day apart from each other at TIFF this year.
The films have widely different aims. Queer is a languorous, trippy chamber piece drama centered on one lonely person. The Brutalist is an epic, propulsive immigrant story tackling various American thematic elements, from capitalism to art, racism to xenophobia. However, each movie has parallel strengths and weaknesses. Both films have extraordinary acting and technical underpinnings, underscored by visionary directors. Yet each film’s ambition bumps into unsatisfying final acts that wrap up their stories on a sour note.
Queer generates a sense of place that’s unlike any other movie I’ve seen, effectively Edward Hopper on acid. Most of the story takes place in 1950s Mexico City, but the setting has a slippery, hard to pin down aesthetic that splits the difference between realism and fantasy to land on some trippy, hyperreal midpoint. Several elements, like the outfits and acting mannerisms, are grounded and period-appropriate, but they are smashed against an overly saturated color grading with a production design and lighting setup that doesn’t disguise an artificial set. The mix of new and old, natural and hyperreal, extends to the soundscape with an anachronistic soundtrack (e.g., Prince, New Order) and a Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross score that mixes woodwinds with synths, creating an enveloping sense of longing. Watching a well dressed, drunk William Lee (Daniel Craig) stumble down the street as Nirvana’s “Come as You Are” blares in the background is quite the experience.
My time and energy spent on cutting edge, AAA gaming has plateaued. Four years into a console generation, the graphics, audio, and gameplay of most games I play are indistinguishable from the experience six years ago. Over 2024, I only spent a fraction of my gaming time with Hellblade II and Star Wars Jedi: Survivor, the two games that taxed my Xbox Series X this year. The rest of my play has been with small indie games (e.g., Balatro, Dungeons of Hinterberg, Star Trucker) or evergreen GAAS like Fortnite and EA FC that are generally playable on 2013-era console hardware, my aging MacBook Air, or even my smartphone.
I used to rationalize my shift away from tech heavy gaming as a personal outlier. As my tastes moved from mega AAA twitch action games and RPGs toward the quirkier indie space, my hardware needs lessened accordingly. Alternatively, one could argue high end hardware is “held back” by many new games still releasing on last gen consoles. But the more I look, the more I suspect I’m part of a trend towards smaller, less graphically intense games derived from indie studios.
When I listen to enthusiast gaming podcasts, among a crowd that may play hundreds of games a year and spends thousands on gaming hardware, the conversation focuses heavily on the PC indie space (e.g., Lethal Company, Phasmophobia) and small niche titles on the console. Across Reddit, ResetEra, and other gaming-focused social media, discussion for a tiny retro poker strategy game like Balatro may run as long as a big budget Black Myth: Wukong or Dragon’s Dogma 2.
The Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) plays over 200 films across 18 theaters for eleven days. Such dizzying variety provides countless options for film lovers, but unless you happen to be a high-tier TIFF member or are otherwise very lucky, there’s a strong chance at least one from your wishlist is “off sale,” meaning there aren’t any tickets currently available.
But don’t give up; there’s a chance you’ll be able to get tickets later for that movie mid-festival, even on the day of the screening. If you check periodically on Ticketmaster, new inventory can free up alongside reasonably priced resale tickets. Alternatively, you can try rushing a screening, queueing up at a special rush line for a chance to buy tickets based on any remaining empty seats in the cinema around showtime.
As someone who’s attended TIFF for multiple years, I’ve had a reasonably decent success rate acquiring tickets through rushing and last minute Ticketmaster buys. Both methods form the majority of what I watch at TIFF each year. Certain strategies can dramatically increase your odds of success.
Watching Apple gate their movies so heavily behind their streaming service is a bummer. Reports suggest Apple Original Films is abandoning wide theatrical distribution in favor of negligible theatrical qualifying runs before appearing on Apple TV+. If closing the door on theaters wasn’t enough, Apple has never released Blu-rays for any of their films, and most aren’t available for rental or even digital purchase. Relegated away from most common distribution platforms to a sixth place streaming service, far fewer people will ever watch Apple-financed films.
Some might question if that’s a real loss given Apple’s iffy track record across critical pans and financial flops like Argylle and Ghosted. But I give credit to Apple as a financier behind top tier talent crafting original stories. It’s a strategy once commonplace in the early 2000s and earlier, but an anomaly in today’s four quadrant IP landscape.
Limited series are taking over television. From Baby Reindeer to Shogun, Mr. and Mrs. Smith to Ripley, miniseries, anthologies, and other self-contained story arcs over a few hours are crowding out our TV watching attention. Even more traditional multi-season TV series feel more like limited series because they have longer gaps between seasons, chase more seasonal storylines or temporary supporting characters, and get canceled earlier in their run.
At a glance, the limited series format provides advantages compared to feature length films and traditional multi-season shows. A longer runtime gives room for deeper characterization and more complex plotting than a movie, yet the show remains short enough to ensure its initial concept doesn’t overstay its welcome.
But in practice, many limited series I’ve watched lately struggle to use their runtime well, downgrading what might be a great show to merely good. Most have had unmemorable characters and aimless side plots that feel padded out to hit the runtime of a six to ten episode arc. What could have been an engaging two hour movie sprawls on for an ungainly six or more hours.
Nvidia’s Jensen Huang may be an uber-talented chief executive, but his avoidance of one on ones is baffling. Maybe a lowly engineering manager isn’t one to critique the workflow of the head of one of the hottest tech companies around. Still, I consider 1:1s a fundamental management tool, one of the best ways to level up the team and build a culture of trust and open feedback within an organization.
Admittedly, Huang’s critique makes a few good points: 1:1s are usually a poor way to align strategy en masse or provide generalized downward communication. Managers should save that messaging for a Slack message or the next group all hands. But I suspect that 1:1s get a bad rap less for their potential, but instead from poor practical experiences.
Senua’s Saga: Hellblade II (HB2) is one of the most fascinating games of the year. At its core, it’s a linear “walking simulator” like Everyone’s Gone to the Rapture, made with AAA levels of polish. Creative dissonance between initial expectations and the final product has fueled a polarized reaction to the game across reviews and social media.
A debate over HB2 felt inevitable with how fundamental gameplay is to most games and how strongly HB2 deemphasizes traditional gameplay mechanics. Pick any title at the top of sales charts; gameplay elements are almost always pivotal to their success. Elden Ring has best-in-class action RPG controls. Fortnite allows high degrees of player customization while providing many game variations, from battle royale shooters to Lego building and car racing. The Last of Us is best known for its post-apocalyptic storyline but is also lauded for its stealth action combat.
However, HB2 takes a deliberate approach by limiting gameplay options to focus on characters, setting, and mood. The majority of HB2’s runtime is spent guiding the protagonist Senua through an environment, allowing players to absorb the scenery and engage with the dialogue. There are no fail conditions or choices, just a linear journey from point A to B lasting about six to eight hours. While combat battles and puzzles exist, the action is straightforward (some argue outdated), repetitive, and easily skippable.