From Netflix to Amazon Prime, and HBO Max to the Criterion Channel, here are 7 the best movies coming to each streaming platform this year.
When Will Marvel’s Eternals Be Available to Stream on Disney+? Here’s What We Know
Following the release of Marvel’s Eternals on Nov. 5, fans are curious to know when the film will be available to stream on Disney+.
Eternals Movies is the latest Marvel movie in Phase 4 to hit the big screen and with so much hype surrounding the film’s storyline and characters, fans are curious to know when it will be available to stream on Disney+.
While some MCU titles like Black Widow were available to stream the same day they hit theaters through Disney+’s Premier Access, newer releases like Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings and Eternals have taken a different approach by having a theatrical exclusive window.
However, that window seems to vary from title to title. Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings is slated to hit Disney+ almost 70 days after its theatrical release on Nov. 12, but Eternals might have a shorter window.
Here’s everything we know about Eternals’ potential release date on Disney+.
When did Eternals release in theaters?
Starring A-listers including Gemma Chan, Richard Madden, Kumail Nanjiani, Kit Harington, Salma Hayek, Angelina Jolie, and more, Eternals originally hit theaters on Nov. 5, 2021.
What is Eternals’ exclusive theatrical release window?
Per an official press release from Disney in September, Eternals will have “a minimum 45-day exclusive theatrical release” before hitting Disney+. Of course, the keyword here is “minimum,” so the window could end up being a bit longer depending on how well the film performs at the box office.
When will Eternals be available to stream on Disney+?
If Disney decides to give Eternals the minimum exclusive theatrical release, that would make the film available to stream on Disney+ Movies as soon as Dec. 20. However, it’s unclear if Eternals will be available for all Disney+ subscribers on that date or if it will be available for Premier Access, which is an additional fee subscribers pay for earlier access to Disney+ films than the general subscriber base.
Antlers movie review & film summary (2021)
Antlers Movies is a film about darkness. Human darkness. Supernatural darkness. Literal, low-lit filmmaking darkness. It is a slimy, icky, violent film that doesn’t always come together but it also undeniably feels like it has emerged from the passions of its creators, particularly director Scott Cooper and producer Guillermo del Toro. Like other works of the former, it centers people on the economic fringe who carry heavy emotional weights. Like other works of the latter, it imagines a world wherein real pain can open doors to unimaginable horror. (One can also easily trace some of the themes of previous work by co-writer Nick Antosca to this project as well, for all you “Channel Zero” fans.) Trauma, grief, abuse, addiction—these are not new themes to the genre and those quick to write off the trend of “elevated horror” will find plenty to criticize here, but they’d also be writing off this film’s impressive craft, committed ensemble, and notable ambition. “Antlers” may fall short of its potential, but I suspect it will find a fan base over the years.
It feels like it’s been years since we first heard about Cooper’s film, which was scheduled for an April 2020 release and is finally coming out 18 months later. Based on Antosca’s short story The Quiet Boy, “Antlers” takes place in a small town in Oregon, one of those formerly blue-collar communities that has been devastated by economic setbacks and drug addiction. Paul Meadows (Jesse Plemons) is the reticent sheriff of this corner of the world, a place that feels like it was thriving a generation ago and might not exist a generation from now. Paul’s sister Julia (Keri Russell) has returned home to a place that already provoked trauma related to her childhood and now seems like perhaps the gloomiest town on Earth.
Julia has also returned to a teaching job, where she takes an interest in the quiet kid in class, Lucas (Jeremy T. Thomas). He’s one of those boys that seems a little too quiet and skittish, indicating perhaps something is very wrong at home. Julia learns that Lucas’ mother passed not long ago, leaving his father Frank (Scott Haze) to care for him and Lucas’ brother Aiden (Sawyer Jones). Everyone suspects this is a bad home dynamic, but they have no idea. In the very effective, tone-setting opening scene, Frank and a drug-producing colleague are attacked by … something. Since then, he’s been locked in his house, physically coming apart at the seams. He’s almost feral, a cross between a werewolf and a zombie, and Lucas just locks his door at night and hopes dad doesn’t get worse. He will get worse.
Shot by Florian Hoffmeister (a Terence Davies collaborator on “The Deep Blue Sea” and “A Quiet Passion” as well as a vet of AMC’s “The Terror,” which has a similar tone to this project), “Antlers” is a visually confident film. It embraces shadows in a way that makes you lean forward to discern the horror in the dark corner of the room but never to a degree that feels incoherent or frustrating. Cooper and Hoffmeister give the film a striking visual language, and the editing by the great Dylan Tichenor (“There Will Be Blood”) enhances the forced POVs and disconcerting angles even further.
If there’s a weakness to “Antlers,” it’s just how much the script seems willing to underline those themes instead of the characters involved. We never really get to know any of these people and supporting roles played by talented actors like Amy Madigan and Graham Greene feel particularly underdeveloped. Russell and Plemons do a great deal of heavy lifting to make their roles feel more three-dimensional but they’re both so talented that one wishes there was a bit more meat for them to chew on. It’s also a film that can feel monotonous in its deadly serious tone. A bit of humor to break up the child torture might have helped balance it out.
Scott Cooper makes films about broken people; Guillermo del Toro has made several films about broken places. They’re both fascinated with the darkness, and fans of their work should see what they’ve pulled out of it for “Antlers.”
‘The Pink Cloud’ Review: Brazilian Chamber Piece Nails Lockdown Life With Aching, Accidental Accuracy
It’s not often one sees a film arguing against its own topicality, but that’s what happens at the outset of “The Pink Cloud Movies,” a subtly fevered quarantine drama that is so of the moment, you all but wonder how they had time to shoot and cut it just last week. But they didn’t, as an introductory disclaimer flatly clarifies before the opening credits: Brazilian writer-director Iuli Gerbase’s debut feature was written in 2017, filmed in 2019, and “any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental.”
Well, then. The statement may be there to absolve Gerbase of any cynical opportunism, but it just as effectively credits her with eerily perceptive foresight. For the contained, emotionally taut chamber drama that follows, in which casual acquaintances are forced into isolated coupledom by a long-term public health crisis, is so very 2021 it genuinely hurts: a film that mirrors the mental health swings and troughs of social distancing in ways we couldn’t have felt quite so vividly this time last year. Sure to be a talking point of this year’s world cinema lineup at Sundance — where, with further couldn’t-have-planned-it prescience, it’ll bow not to gathered crowds but huddled home viewers — Gerbase’s thoughtful, precise little film would have marked an impressive enough arrival under normal circumstances. As it is, it might endure as more era-evocative than many of the intentional pandemic dramas to come.
In quiet but disquieting fashion, the film’s opening minutes swiftly lay out a premise that, on the face of it, might be described as lo-fi science fiction, but now seems credible enough. Unanticipated and unexplained, a drifting, marshmallow-pink cloud descends across the globe, its Instagram-sunset aesthetics somewhat undermined by the toxic gas it emits, which kills any human (but not, it seems, animals) within ten seconds of exposure. Gerbase illustrates this effect in slow-creeping, dialogue-free introduction, with only the jangling, discordant instrumentation of Caio Amon’s score — sounding, in the best possible way, like a full orchestra trying to re-create a dial tone — to augur a planet suddenly and drastically out of balance. Across the world, public orders are blared like war sirens: Go inside and shut your windows, right now, or die.
Awkwardly caught out by that mandate are a pair of strangers: website designer Giovana (Renata de Lélis) and chiropractor Yago (Eduardo Mendonça), who hooked up at the former’s apartment the night before, and are in a lazy morning-after haze when the stay-at-home instruction drops. Now required to share a home indefinitely, as the lethal cloud shows no sign of lifting, the two negotiate the kind of relationship that was never in the cards when they first had sex. Cue a new life that seems, by turns, a feat of improvisation, role-play and outright fantasy: DP Bruno Polidoro shoots the apartment’s chic modernist interior in gauzy, peach-to-lilac pastels, as if the cloud has somehow entered the building, suspending its occupants between life, death and dream.
y wins in this scenario: Yago’s phlegmatic nature doesn’t make him happier than Giovana, as she spirals into VR-abetted escapism and delusion — merely less vocal about his discontent. The two excellent leads, meanwhile, work at separate, complementary temperatures: The mellow warmth of Mendonça’s presence balances the hot-and-cold polarities of de Lélis’ more volatile performance, but never sets it at ease.
With disconcerting accuracy, “The Pink Cloud” nails small specificities of everyday life shorn of live human contact: An ensemble of secondary characters appear via a grainy mini-multiplex of different device screens, sometimes gently stroked and smudged, as if in the vain hope that glass will somehow turn to skin. If Gerbase demonstrates little interest in the science of her worst-case scenario, neither asking nor answering questions of the how industries and economies function as the world stays indoors, that itself seems reflective of her characters’ relative privilege. Life just goes on, somehow, and while that assurance keeps them alive, it scarcely keeps them together.
Finch movie review & film summary (2021)
It’s a post-apocalyptic wasteland but Tom Hanks plays a character named Finch Weinberg who sings “American Pie” and listens to Perry Como. Also, he has an adorable dog and an endearing robot. All of this makes “Finch” a comforting, cutesy sort of post-apocalyptic wasteland, more like an updated “Pinocchio” than a searing exploration of what it takes to cope with the direst possible circumstances. “Finch” is more of a fairy tale, about a man whose interactions and experiences with the robot he created may make him a mechanical-plus AI version of a real boy. As he showed in “Cast Away,” Hanks can make conversations with inanimate objects lively, engaging, and even emotional. But that film’s Wilson volleyball wisely stayed silent. “Finch Movies” gives us a robot who not only talks, he learns and grows.
A sun flare has wiped out the ozone layer and most human, animal, and plant life on Earth with devastating radiation. Now, even a few seconds in sunlight burns exposed skin. Finch, once an engineer and computer whiz, is a loner and a tinkerer by nature. Creating gizmos and foraging in a high-tech hazmat suit has kept him occupied and helped him stay alive for 15 years after the end of nearly everything. Goodyear the dog and a cute little robot named Dewey (like the one in “Silent Running”) are his only companions. But as the movie begins, Finch has to make some changes. One of them concerns a fast-approaching storm that’s so devastating they can no longer stay in his home/lab in St. Louis. The other conflict becomes more apparent when we see Finch cough up blood. And so, he builds a bigger robot, scanning his entire library to upload it as memory. But the storm is getting closer very quickly. There’s a moment of wry humor as the computer program Finch is using to program the robot responds with an all-too-familiar message on the screen: “Please call technical support for assistance.”
Because they have to hurry, only 72 percent of the data is uploaded to the robot, and there’s only time for a just a couple of quick lessons on vital matters like walking without falling down. But Finch cannot resist investigating what his creation can do. “Tell me something interesting,” he says, and then, when the robot (voiced by Caleb Landry Jones) responds with a fact about giraffes, he says, “Tell me something interesting about you.”
Like any good engineer, Finch has programmed the robot with Isaac Asimov’s famous directives, but he adds another, superseding directive. Instead of Asimov’s primacy of human life and welfare, Finch tells the robot that his first priority is to care for the dog. As the storm arrives, they leave in a 1984 Fleetwood RV fueled by solar panels on the roof. Finch wants to go to San Francisco and see the Golden Gate Bridge. He has never seen it, but he’s had a postcard with a picture of it since he was a teenager. He has no idea whether it’s safe there, but they will “head west over the mountains in search of places that haven’t been ransacked and looted.”
And so, like all road trip movies, there is a destination (1,811 miles away, the robot notes) with many opportunities for conflict with outside forces and with each other. There are also dangers along the way. Finch gets frustrated with his creation, and with his inability to program him to be everything he needs.
The robot may only have 72 percent of the uploaded data, but it clearly has some very powerful machine learning AI. Caleb Landry Jones impressively shows the carefully calibrated voice and movements of the robot as he becomes more “human” along the way. (Given the masculine name and voice, I’m going to refer to it as “he.”) His posture straightens, he develops the ability to understand idioms and metaphors, and his speech becomes clearer and more expressive. He also shows his increased sense of personhood by asking for a name, though he also shows a still-limited understanding with the first few names he suggests.
Hanks is wonderfully watchable as always and effortlessly holds the screen with only the briefest appearances from other human actors. The cinematography from Jo Willems is stunning and elegiac, finding beauty in ravaged landscapes and making one brief moment of respite seem almost miraculous. But the screenplay is not up to that level—it’s predictable, inconsistent, and too often heavy-handed. Hanks does his considerable best with Finch’s revelations and confrontations, but the writing lets him down.
Movie review: ‘The Falls’
The mental and emotional strain of families being cooped up together due to the COVID-19 pandemic will resonate with anyone in the world today. Weaving a compelling, unique story out of it is a different challenge.
Building on the acclaim of the multiple-Golden Horse winning A Sun (陽光普照), Chung Mong-hong (鍾孟宏) delivers another slow-burning yet poignant and intense family drama that’s beautifully shot with masterful use of lighting and color. The building that the protagonists live in stands out from the cityscape as it’s covered with a blue construction tarp for most of the movie, bathing the living room in a dark, cold tone that contrasts with the otherwise warm lighting. Perhaps it represents the facemasks that they have to wear even indoors, both literally and figuratively.
A Sun mainly dealt with father-and-son relationships, while The Falls features single mother and office executive Pin-wen (Alyssa Chia, 賈靜雯) and her high school age daughter Xiao Jing (Gingle Wang, 王淨) who are forced to stay at home together after Xiao Jing’s classmate catches the virus. Chung’s films are usually male-heavy, dealing with their feelings of isolation and insecurity, and this is the first time he’s headlining female characters — although it still feels like it’s being portrayed from a male perspective.
The Falls Movie lacks the suffocating tension that almost brings time to a halt in A Sun, which flows more smoothly and feels more suspenseful as the audience is constantly wondering when the characters will reach their limits and snap. In both films, repressed family members who are incapable of expressing themselves are forced to open up to each other, and for better or for worse it makes their relationships tighter.
Pin-wen, who still pines for her ex-husband, cannot handle Xiao Jing’s impertinent behavior, and coupled with problems at work, her mental state begins to fall apart. Chia handles this complex role masterfully, convincingly portraying her deteriorating condition. She does a subtle and nuanced job, providing a touching portrait of a middle-aged woman in an existential crisis. This fate is quite common in Taiwanese society as many women that age are still expected to quietly take on the family burden. Meanwhile, her husband (Lee Lee-zen, 李李仁) simply gets remarried, and her stress and despondency is apparent.
Xiao Jing notices this, and she and her mother’s roles suddenly become reversed after just one incident. This drastic transformation from spoiled brat to an extremely responsible and caring person without much difficulty is one of my gripes about the film, as it makes Wang’s character rather one dimensional and the story less dynamic. Despite this, it’s hard not to be sympathetic toward Xiao Jing, and you really end up sitting on the edge of your seat the whole two hours hoping that things turn out all right for her.
Still, there’s something missing. Despite the stunning cinematography, masterful use of mood and tension, relevant social commentary and great acting, the plot just feels flat, more like a winding stream than a waterfall. Every time it seems like something dramatic is about to happen, it doesn’t, and even the most dire situations are solved without a hitch. It almost feels insulting to the women, especially as they are often helped by men, while Chung’s male characters in other films have to go through a lot more to just scrape by.
Chung’s favorite actors all make cameos in the film, with Chen Yi-wen (陳以文) playing the largest role as Pin-wen’s new boss and potential love interest. Chen is great as usual, but the inclusion of familiar faces in bit roles (store clerk, firefighter, etc) is rather distracting and irritating as they are already seen in just about every other Taiwanese film.
Nevertheless, The Falls is another strong effort by Chung that’s relevant and illuminating, especially toward mental health, and is good enough to be selected as Taiwan’s entry to the Academy Awards’ Best International Feature. It’s just that the story could be thought out better with some female input.