​Dear friends, hello. I have some startling news.

The shape of it feels so fragile in my mind, I’d as soon whisper these words into a piece of paper, burn it, and let the ashes drift from my upturned palm into the slate winter sky. But as I strike each key in an attempt to make this fledgling hope something real, I’m ready to swallow hard, square myself, and speak my truth: Game Night is good.

Like, good good. Not better than it needs to be, not just a catch-it-on-HBO-someday—it’s actually good and funny. And charming! And even a bit thrilling. With a great cast to lift a tight, well-conceived script, this picture traverses the gap from February cinema graveyard to sleeper gold. It isn’t something poetic or profound, but Game Night is a hearty, self-actualized, and easy to like studio comedy. 

So many comedies now opt for a rambling style as popularized by the Apatowites. Actors will have a framework for a scene. Directors will flip on the camera. Then everyone riffs and bebops until they stumble into some passable jokes. Game Night is a welcome antidote with a well-constructed script at its core. Riddled with sharp jokes, adroit physical comedy, and plenty of trap doors, it’s the tightest straight ahead comedy in recent memory.

Where the writing is solid, the superb lineup is allowed to play to what they do best. You’ll see a lot of familiar faces playing to type: Jason Bateman as beleaguered guy, Billy Magnussen as beautiful dumdum, Sharon Hogan as the caustic wit, and Jesse “Da Gawd” Plemmons out there just Plemmin’. But instead of having to do all the heavy lifting with these personas, the characters are firmly grounded in a self-assured narrative. The funny feels easy.

Where this seems like the space for an obligatory plot explainer, each point revealed would leach an equal amount of joy out of the film. Though the overall premise is pretty familiar, nice idiots unknowingly in over their heads. I’ll leave it at that, but for those of you with a dedicated crew of hardcore Settlers, Game Night will serve as a gentle reminder to reset the boundaries of your competitiveness and credulity alike. 

With all of the above in mind, the best part of the movie? It’s funny. It made me laugh. There was even a guffaw or two. Nasty without being cruel, dark without being bleak, provocative without bullying, buttons are pushed and lines are crossed—but never into a despicable space. Decent people are poached in the squid ink broth as opposed to the darkness coming from within. There’s some overly sweet notes, but it’s a movie about a bunch of thirty-something couples having a game night. As I’m describing my actual life, I can confirm: that shit is corny sometimes. With a core cast of six actors plus a handful of tasteful cameos, that’s lots of jokes, and they dutifully keep the film’s engine fired. 

Among some of the more unexpected surprises in this surprise laden picture, it’s visually coherent. There is a style and aesthetic and couple of meaty set pieces. Also, one of our talented directors is none other than John Francis Daley (Google him, you’ll recognize that mug)! Another bonus, each of the main three couples is given a dynamic to sort out. A pretty scant expectation, but to give multiple characters a pronounced interpersonal thread and offer some reasonable satisfaction? Nobody was gonna be mad if they didn’t do that, but damned if the effort wasn’t there. 

And that’s the story of Game Night; small, concerted efforts. Little stitches to make it tighter, make it smarter, make it twistier, and, one by one, they yield a satisfying comedy with teeth and brains. We’ll see if this scrappy comedy can land a box office haymaker and pave the way for more of its kind. Though, for now, the joy is in watching the film, which is smart, funny, quality work with a great cast and a great script. And if that last sentence reads like the boilerplate checklist of what should go into any film, maybe buy a ticket for Game Night, because it feels a lot more like a joyful aberration than what has become the accepted norm.  

—Monte Monreal

I’m not sure how William Goldman get’s to officially claim this quote, but if there is one notion at the crux of Alex Garland’s Annihilation it would be this old chestnut, “Nobody knows anything...... Not one person in the entire motion picture field knows for a certainty what's going to work. Every time out it's a guess and, if you're lucky, an educated one.” 

The idea permeates our troubled film from internal narrative crisis all the way to the bizarre–potentially watershed—drama of Annihilation’s distribution. This identity crisis, the not knowing, works against Alex Garland’s newest, and all sympathies to my dude. Is Annihilation bad? Eh, it’s like a "Yes, but..." or "No, if…" thing—though this I can confirm: it’s a hot goddamn mess. That’s not entirely a negative, but to get there, first we have to talk about Stalker.

Annihilation’s similarities to Stalker are, you know, it’s a thing. Sure, for some of the immediate reasons—both are loose adaptations, both feature a mysterious zone triggered by an extraterrestrial event, both center around a journey into said zone and its effect on the passengers—but this is something more: a feeling, a tone, an atmosphere of deliberate disorientation. I recognize it’s unfair to outright compare the two. Stalker is not the paragon of originality. Garland poured soul and creativity in this project. But there isn’t enough distance between the two to avoid the conversation. Furthermore, what makes the comparison so jarring is Tarkovsky hacks his way through those tricky elements and emerges with a masterpiece. Garland’s Annihilation, well, it’s a dog’s breakfast. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a Blade Runner type sitch, but more on that later.

One thing is clear, Alex Garland is ambitious. Riding the wave from his stellar debut Ex Machina, Garland was rightly given the helm to a massive project with lofty expectations. But part of Ex Machina’s success, it’s a claustrophobic, dread soaked film with three characters. Annihilation is scaled up to a large cast with an entire world to build. There are few questions as to whether Garland possess the skill to handle a production of any size, but this movie is undermined by so much minutiae. I didn’t like the visual tone (can we please, please kill off the lens flare), I thought Area X looked built not grown, there is no meat on the bone for our actors, and perhaps the biggest disappointment, they story is shambolic.   

At best, I could talk myself into Annihilation as a meditation on not knowing–those words again—but uncertainty is a volatile element with which to tussle. I’m very much on board with no finite answers, but it never felt like this film knew what questions it was raising. That’s like god-level discombobulation, and if that was truly the thrust, why bother? Why spell out realizations about Area X? Why the very deliberate climactic sequence? Why the breadcrumb trail of videos peppered throughout the film? Why?

Unfortunately, within what story we are offered, the answers to the above questions mills out to something kinda, er...kinda dumb. Instead, if this is all meant to worship at the feet of enormous ambiguity, let’s go there. Fumigate me with existential dread. Pillory me with intrigue. Inoculate me from any and all understanding. But don’t tip your cards with an empty hand, and if you insist, at least play it with some clear-eyed bravura.

There is enough grace and intelligence here to save Annihilation from Interstellar-level fatuity, but I can’t help but wonder if Paramount Studios just did my guy dirty. Garland already proved what he can accomplish when left to his vision, but movies have an enormous surface area. When the money lenders at the top lose faith, the shit truly rolls downhill. Off screen battles are generally pretty boring, but the power struggle here signals something much more severe. 

Paramount so wholly doubted Annihilation, they sold the international distribution rights. That is not only unheard of, it’s utterly mind bending, and portends terrible things. This movie will only be released in theaters in America and China (not even Garland’s UK home) and everyone else will get it via Netflix. That’s really bad. Bad for Garland, bad for filmgoers, bad for already gun shy studios, and bad for auteurs; the William Goldman dictum mutated to hideous new proportions.

So did some of the offscreen chicanery seep into the film? Maybe. The word seems to be Garland got his final cut, but I can’t help but wonder if once the fighting began, things both micro and macro just begin to unravel. There is an interesting film peeking out in places, so maybe, if we’re lucky, this is like a Blade Runner type sitch. There are seven different versions of Blade Runner. The original U.S. theatrical release is my least favorite, and it’s largely due to studio intervention. Some 20 years later, Ridley Scott released Blade Runner: The Final Cut, and for my money, it’s the superior version. Will we someday get a 19 hour, frenzied work print of Annihilation that is pure bliss? We can only hope so, but who knows?

The studio doesn’t know. The characters meandering through Area X certainly don’t know. Audiences around the world may never get the chance to know. And me, I don’t know a damn thing. Because nobody knows anything, not really. Where that can work to our surprise, in this case, it’s the not knowing that sinks Annihilation.  ​

​—Monte Monreal