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TATSUMI opens in a corner of the underworld most films only mention in whispers: the person who shows up after the violence to clear the scene. That detail immediately tells you what kind of story this is—less about the swaggering side of organized crime and more about the residue it leaves on people who never get a headline. Tatsumi is a fisherman by day and a cleaner for local yakuza by night, a man whose life is defined by proximity to the worst moments of other people’s choices. When his ex-girlfriend is murdered and her teenage sister Aoi charges headlong toward payback, he steps in—partly out of guilt, partly out of duty, and partly because he recognizes a path that can only end one way.

SERIOUS PEOPLE starts with a straightforward, sharp what-if: right as a music-video director is about to become a father, the biggest job of his career lands in his inbox. He wants to be there for the birth and maintain his momentum. The solution he lands on is very Los Angeles—don’t miss the gig; just find someone to play you. From that premise, the film builds a funny, awkward, and occasionally bracing exploration of authorship, ego, and the economy of attention that treats human beings like interchangeable brand assets.

From the moment the opening frames of this story, the sense is clear: this is not simply a holiday feature-ette about a classic Christmas song, but a layered portrait of life. MORE THAN SANTA BABY positions its subject, composer Philip Springer, not only as the writer of the immortal “Santa Baby,” but as a figure whose career spans decades, transitions, reinventions, and a burning creative fire. The project is directed by his daughter, Tamar Springer, and from that personal standpoint, the film carries an intimacy many music documentaries miss.

Ali and Katie begin their relationship with the kind of strength that feels unstoppable — two people building a shared life in New York, thinking only of the promise ahead of them. But reality is never polite enough to wait for love to settle in. This film captures that moment when external forces make a private relationship suddenly feel like an open case file. It is grounded in the emotion that comes with starting over, particularly when one partner’s right to remain is always negotiable.

Nazisploitation has always traded on provocation. The marketing, the titles, the posters — all designed to generate moral panic and curiosity. SS EXPERIMENT LOVE CAMP belongs to that lineage, and its reputation precedes it by nearly fifty years. What’s surprising, revisiting it now, is how little the film has beyond the provocation. For a movie engineered to shock, it’s curiously monotonous, a cycle of cruelty-as-spectacle that rarely builds tension, depth, or even consistent pulp momentum. The result lands squarely in the middle for me: not good, not unwatchable, where notoriety does more heavy lifting than the filmmaking.

The most striking thing about COME SEE ME IN THE GOOD LIGHT is how unafraid it is to embrace joy. That statement might seem simple, almost naïve, considering the film centers on the living reality of an incurable cancer diagnosis. Yet there’s nothing naïve happening here — this is a documentary that insists life is meant to be lived, even when the clock is no longer subtle about its presence. Director Ryan White captures this belief through the relationship between poets Andrea Gibson and Megan Falley, who face the brutality of illness with a partnership that balances a delicate rope between humor and heartbreak. The result is a film that feels remarkably alive, present, and emotionally precise.

Season Eight of RICK AND MORTY proves that even interdimensional brilliance can hit a bit of a snag (relative to its norms). The show’s identity is so deeply ingrained in pop culture that its latest chapter feels almost self-aware of its own longevity. Every explosion, philosophical quip, and dissection of family dysfunction feels polished but routine, as though the creators are revisiting once-revolutionary ideas that now function more as comfort food than daring innovation.

WTO/99 is a reminder of a moment when the ground beneath a nation shifted, and tens of thousands of everyday people believed they could push back hard enough to make the world listen. It tells the story of the 1999 Seattle protests not by explaining what happened but by immersing you directly into the chaos, emotion, and urgency of those four days. Through nothing but archival footage and a meticulously assembled structure, the documentary pulls viewers into a fight that many dismissed at the time as fringe anger — but now feels unsettlingly prophetic.

STEVE SCHAPIRO: BEING EVERYWHERE focuses on the power of the person behind the lens. Instead of stacking talking heads or rushing through decades of iconic imagery, the documentary does something more intimate: it sits with Steve Schapiro. It lets him tell the stories that shaped his perspective. As he recalls the moments that defined a career spent moving between Hollywood and the heart of American social movements, the film reminds you that history doesn’t just happen in front of a camera — sometimes it’s preserved because someone showed up with one.

ONE TO ONE: JOHN & YOKO approaches the well-documented couple with a fresh, tightly focused experience: eighteen months in New York City that culminate in a single concert with a very specific purpose. Rather than assembling a gallery of outside commentators to tell the story, the film puts the period itself in the foreground—television, news breaks, game shows, political broadcasts—then lets John Lennon and Yoko Ono move through that commotion as artists trying to make their actions matter. It’s an elegant structural choice. The result isn’t a scrapbook of greatest hits, but a portrait of process: how two people shaped their lives around a cause and recalibrated their approach as the stakes changed.

Prime Video clearly wants to broaden the entry points into Gotham, and BAT-FAM embraces that idea with both arms and a batarang. Carrying forward the energy of the holiday special MERRY LITTLE BATMAN, the series shifts into a more episodic rhythm — family first, crime-fighting second, and comedy leading the charge. It’s a tonal departure from the brooding Batman mythos most fans know, but that’s the point: this isn’t a story about The Dark Knight lurking in the shadows. It’s about a father trying to make breakfast while supervillains lurk outside — often at the same time.

UNLICENSED is the kind of film that understands the real battle always happens long before anyone steps foot into a boxing ring. Danny Goode was once a man who defined himself by winning—career, financial, and the thrill of a life lived fast. But after a stint in prison for insider trading, he emerges into a world that has moved on without him. The shame doesn’t just linger; it settles into every relationship he once took for granted. In just the first few minutes, it’s clear the film isn’t interested in glamorizing the comeback. It wants you to feel the weight of a man who’s starting from below zero.

SUPERCLAUS takes place in a world where Santa has grown just a bit restless. He loves his Christmas duties, sure — but all the attention goes to SuperClaus, a fictional superhero version of himself celebrated in a blockbuster franchise adored by kids and marketed into oblivion. One bump on the noggin later, Santa believes the fantasy is reality, and suddenly the North Pole has a hero with a misplaced identity and no brakes.

BULL RUN dives into the intoxicating world of high finance from a refreshingly personal angle. It follows Bobby Sanders, a former hockey player, as he tries to force himself into a career that looks great on paper but feels hollow in reality. He wants to belong to the world of big money and fast decisions, but every step forward raises the same question: what’s the point if you lose yourself in the climb?