Cinema's Last Great Gamble

On Three New Films: ‘Warfare,’ ‘Sinners’ and ‘Friendship'

Alex Garland / Ray Mendoza, Warfare, 2025

Prophesying cultural doom has become a popular pastime online, to the point of being hackneyed. I have been guilty of it myself. My most popular post on my Substack, Cross Current, titled “There Has Been a Drought of Cultural Greatness for Most of the 21st Century So Far,” has the subhead “Human Mediocrity Will Pave the Way for AI Supremacy.” Dramatic, I know.

When I say I see a speck of light in my crystal ball, this is not some manifesting hocus-pocus. I hurt my own brand by saying this, potentially losing scrollers fiending for their next fire and brimstone doom sermon. Sorry, no stone tablets here.

For the past month, from April to May, a string of releases has reinvigorated my faith in the power of theatrical cinema. If there are even three more films as good as the three I am reviewing here, this will be the greatest year in cinematic history since 1999, meaning of course this will be the greatest year for film this century.

What makes this month so different from all the others? Blockbusters may have been all Marvel or Fast and Furious, but have we forgotten all those great indies? Even Netflix was releasing great films like Roma. I guess I would point to the evolution of what Stephanie Zacharek in Time calls a “real movie” or a “movie movie.” What she means is a movie that is worth leaving the house and watching in the theater. While she does not limit the criteria to include only big, bold projects, that is what unites all three of these phenomenal “movie movies”: ambition. Yes, they are intelligent, moving and have an artistic sensibility. Still, Alex Garland, Ryan Coogler and Andrew DeYoung know all too well that, in our era of “Voice” audition pop, pretty West Village influencers who perform their privileged consumer choices and creepy AI videos of bread rolls morphing into puppies, you either go big or go home. Mousiness and restraint are a luxury that we cannot afford in our current moment.

Why is the cultural sea change happening in film before music? In the sixties, it happened the other way around. Being able to release a song as soon as possible was an asset then. Nowadays, as anyone who has been on the Substack feed for only a week has read by now, all this fast media everywhere is leading to fragmentation, weakening any unified, significant cultural direction. Only movies, with their limited number of theatrical releases, have the magnitude to influence the zeitgeist now. It is not only happening in movies. Literature has also returned to its perch for arguably the first time since the sixties. Substack’s network is the right size for a cultural scene to be nurtured. Music, forever a slave to TikTok, is at the mercy of the most inscrutable algorithm in history. If sixties music was sent out like baby Moses in a basket on the Nile River, today’s music is that same baby going down the whitewater rapids without a helmet. In the 2000s, music had a more Substack-size network of blogs and websites (Pitchfork the biggest of course) to help the signal to noise ratio at that time.

But now the movie theater is where the revolution is happening. For most of our young century, TV was the center of widely-recognized prestige. Even now, streaming is having its own moment, but the sheer volume of available shows dilutes the impact. A string of incredible shows (Severance, Adolescence, The Rehearsal) gets drowned out by the cacophony of reality shows and low-engagement, casual viewing potboilers. I don’t know what’s crazier: how dizzying this past month has been for film or how bleak much of twenty-first century cinema was preceding our current moment.

Let’s not get confused: I am not saying theatrical cinema is saved from its financial doldrums (although all three of these films have been box office successes). What I am saying is the movie industry seems to be in such a rut right now, it looks like the suits are going down gambling. If a blonde in yoga pants can make more money showing her morning routine than your average film can, is it surprising that aging, Ativan-chomping studio execs are saying, “Folk singing Irish vampires in the 1930s Mississippi Delta? Fuck it!”?

The first shot in the revolution was fired on April 11, when Warfare was released. Based on writer/director Ray Mendoza’s experience (co-director and writer Alex Garland helped translate this experience to film) as a Navy Seal in the Iraq War during the Battle of Ramadi, the film plunges the audience on a military overwatch where the Alpha One Platoon monitors and protects a U.S. Marines mission. Moments after air support has been pulled from their theater of operations, an enemy grenade is lobbed in the platoon’s makeshift sniper’s nest, leaving sniper Elliot Miller (Cosmo Jarvis) injured. As Elliot is led into an Abrams tank for evacuation, an IED is detonated, killing their translator Farid (Nathan Altai) and wounding Elliot and Sam (Joseph Quinn). The team retreats asking for air support and another evacuation plan.

As you might have guessed, critics are expected by staff and readers to give plot summaries, but the focus of Warfare is not on story or even character, but atmosphere and tension. Film schools in the future (if there are any) will use this as a prime example of how to keep an audience on the edge. The opening scene, where the team watches the music video for the Eric Prydz song “Call on Me,” with sexy women doing aerobics, foreshadows the dynamic of the film subtly. The song begins with a muffled sample of the Steve Winwood ‘80s corpo-pop hit “Valerie,” with no drums, before coming in clear with a beat on the hook. After the IED explosion later in the film, the audio is also muffled for minutes, with the hypnotically tranquil smoke lingering in the air. Cut to the injured parties inside screaming in shrill agony for help at full volume. The quiet/loud dynamic returns throughout the film at unpredictable times, leading to an uneasiness throughout and after. When I left the theater (Nitehawk at Prospect Park), I remember being suspicious of any quiet moments on the M train, hoping another bomb wouldn’t go off. Sam Fuller said the only way you could make an anti-war film was to fire a gun at the audience. This is the next best thing — and a far better anti-war message than whatever preachy message or commentary the film’s detractors wanted spoonfed.

Unlike Warfare, the follow-up to Alex Garland’s Civil War (my favorite film last year), I did not eagerly anticipate Sinners, which was getting touted by critics for its message. Three reasons I decided to walk into Williamsburg Cinemas and see it with an open mind: it is a hit film that is not a reboot or a sequel; it apparently has quite a few steamy sex scenes (I support the return of sexuality in movies like Challengers and Babygirl); the folk and blues soundtrack has created online buzz. Needless to say, my expectations were exceeded.

Smoke and Stack Moore (both played by Michael B. Jordan) are twins from Chicago who head to Mississippi in 1932 with money they stole to buy a saw mill from a white racist and turn it into a juke joint. They hire their cousin, Preacher Boy (Miles Caton), to play the guitar at their new venue, against his preacher father’s (Saul Williams) wishes. His music is too good: it attracts a gang of Irish folk-singing vampires, led by Remmick (Jack O’Connell), that bite Stack’s white-passing ex Mary (Hailee Steinfeld, never more glamorous). Shit turns left real fast.

Even for a mainstream major studio film like this (Warner Brothers, as opposed to A24, the indie powerhouse that released Warfare and Friendship), the strength is less in the story (which comedian Shane Gillis hilariously, if callously, compared to From Dusk Till Dawn). What makes it stand out from all the other formulaic hits (as of this writing, the live-action Lilo and Stitch reboot is poised to win Memorial Day weekend) is the music. On the one hand, Sinners is a glorious last entry in the fading folk horror genre, bringing the typically Eurocentric genre to the Black South with blues and actual Irish folk music (weaving in African folklore, of course). If director Ryan Coogler will be remembered for anything, it will be for creating places you want to visit, possibly live in. In 2018’s Black Panther, it was the fictional African nation Wakanda. Here, it is the Delta in the 1930s.

Sinners could also be the beginning of another era, or another revival anyway. I imagine the elevator pitch for this film: “O Brother, Where Art Thou? with vampires.” The bucolic music lulls you into a trance, vulnerable for the next fright. Do not be surprised to hear more Delta blues at the multiplex in the future. One minor gripe I had: there is a scene where Preacher Boy’s playing is so good, a portal in time opens and musicians from the past and present enter, including Black rock guitarists and turntablists. It felt like Coogler lost confidence in Preacher Boy’s performance standing alone. These performances should not be interrupted by anything except shrieking vampires.

All three of these films finally bringing this moribund decade to life are horror films in a sense. Warfare is a war movie, but it gave me the most jump scares I’ve had since The Shining, which I saw as a child. Sinners fits snugly in the genre. The dark comedy Friendship has its own nightmarish visions to share. Perhaps it's a sign of the times (or living in New York City) that the two theaters I saw it in (AMC Empire and Williamsburg Cinemas)¹ had the most laughs I have heard in a movie theater since Step Brothers back in 2008. Like Step Brothers, Friendship might prove a bigger success as a home release, but for now it is outperforming expectations.

Suburban dad and corporate drone Craig Waterman (the fearless Tim Robinson) and his wife, Tammy (Kate Mara), who recently beat cancer, put their house in Clovis, Colorado up for sale. One day they receive a package meant for their new neighbor, local weatherman Austin Carmichael (Paul Rudd, who only gets more charming with age). After he drops off the package to Austin (and Tammy suggests that Craig make friends with him) they hit it off. Then Austin introduces Craig to his friend group and, during a round of play-fighting, Craig sucker punches Austin. As a sign of contrition and bizarre self-chastisement, Craig eats a whole bar of soap from the garage sink.

Like Warfare, the monstrously bizarre gags (sight gags as well as verbal, refreshingly) are spaced apart with moments of quiet, simmering tension, patiently letting the pressure build. For this reason, and many others, some which I will touch on later, Friendship is and will be my favorite film of the year. To be skeptical of a comedy being so high on a critic’s list is to forget the anarchic force that Mad Magazine possessed, along with Dr. Strangelove (no problem comparing this movie to that one, especially since they are both successful dark comedies and Tim Robinson looks like George C. Scott), The Firesign Theatre, The Committee and M*A*S*H. Unlike even the other two films, Friendship is a film that truly seems to have moved past the culture wars.

This is not to say that it has no social commentary, or that it is for everybody. The broadly funny scenes, like Craig smashing through a glass door, should play to the cheap seats, sure. But those demented flourishes, like when party crasher Patton (played by potential scene stealer Conner O’Malley) ends a speech by saying “I’ll leave you with this — we absolutely should still be in Afghanistan,” carry a wattage that will only resonate with younger (and young-at-heart) misfits. Whether this movie will be a blockbuster remains to be seen, but it already has a rabid cult following that mocks those on social media who didn’t get it, calling them normies who should go back to watching their Marvels (there’s a running gag in Friendship of calling a Marvel superhero film “a Marvel”).

If it surprises you how popular this film is with the youth, you are forgetting that comedy is the lingua franca of Gen Z. It is also mind-boggling that most studios had cold feet about Tim Robinson as a movie star, when most youths are laughing at his “I Think You Should Leave” sketches on TikTok and Reels while avoiding going to the multiplex to watch any of the “more bankable” stars. Friendship might just become this generation’s secret handshake, like Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited was for a different one. The roaring laughter of the theater audience (which hasn’t been heard after years of Hollywood avoiding comedies to better appeal to global markets and indie studios steering clear so as not to disturb their stuffy liberal patrons) is like the signal of a new age, like the opening arpeggio of The Byrd’s “Mr. Tambourine Man” that announced the arrival of the Sixties.

Again, this is not a film without commentary. This is a film about the (male) loneliness crisis. Like Warfare, it doesn’t call attention to its message. It shows us instead of telling us. Though Craig’s psychedelic trip in the back of a smartphone retailer is, on the surface, a gag that plays against the stereotypical colorful, surreal drug sequence by having Craig order a sandwich at Subway — wouldn’t you know it, Austin takes his order in this sequence — it ends up being the most revealing scene. In his real life, Austin is a celebrity while Craig is an office schlub whose wife (she separates from him shortly before his trip) hangs out with her ex-boyfriend and whose son barely respects him. He craves approval, especially for his high-paying job. In the Subway sandwich shop trip, we see Craig at his core. Understandably, he imagines Austin at a lower tier than him, remembering his order and everything. But Craig is incapable of imagining himself as anyone greater. He clearly can’t imagine Austin respecting a cubicle jockey like him, nor can he envision himself as a CEO or even a punk rock star (yes, Craig has a terrible grasp of what punk rock is). In short, he doesn’t want to imagine better for himself, he wants to imagine worse for his frenemy.

Sure, I am overhyping a Tim Robinson comedy, go ahead, say it. Ignore the masterful writing and direction of Andrew DeYoung, who has primarily worked with comedian Kate Berlant, writing a comedy special (Would it Kill You to Laugh?) with her and fellow comedian John Early that also explored the hostility beneath friendship. Blow past Tim Robinson, just like I did when he was on Saturday Night Live, just like many others did when he was on Detroiters and when he had his half-hour showcase on the Netflix limited series The Characters. Reminds me of when 12 Years a Slave won against Her for Best Picture at the Oscars. But tell me which film are we still discussing twelve years after its release?

Does this mean we are about to have a New Hollywood renaissance? What do I know? From all my predictions about 2025 that I posted back in December, the only one that has proven true so far is we are about to have some great films this year. If it’s not enough to save Hollywood, then may it all burn out in a blaze of glory. Now that’s punk rock.

Mo Diggs writes about tech, culture and legacy media. His Substack, Cross Current, looks at the intersection between the new media trends of today and the legacy media trends of yesterday. It has been mentioned in the New York Times and The Guardian.

1. Okay, I saw it in three theaters, the third being Regal Essex. On my first night, the AMC Empire night, it was the most raucous crowd but, because it was a 10 p.m. showing the Friday before Memorial Day weekend, there were 10 people in the whole theater. It would have felt better in a smaller theater, like Syndicated in Bushwick. Then I saw it at Williamsburg Cinemas at 6 p.m. on Friday of Memorial Day Weekend. Huge crowd, quite a few laughs, but the criminally low audio forced all laugh breaks to be short since of course the actors were not going to hold for laughs. See, the thing is most film critics have their tickets comped, or they will buy one ticket. I must be the only one crazy/dumb enough to buy three tickets. Crazy, but determined, and that’s the only weapon left in my belt. Third time was the charm: Regal-Essex on Saturday night of Memorial Day weekend. Packed theater. Boisterous laughter. One consistency with all three viewings: the laughs built and built throughout the film. The beginning was funny, the middle was hilarious, the last forty some odd minutes were like those delirious five-to-one sketches Saturday Night Live would release. Now I understand Deadheads that followed the Grateful Dead around the nation, chasing the high of the perfect gig.