Mackinaw‘s Hometown News Site

There’s an unmistakable ache in the opening minutes of THE ISLAND CLOSEST TO HEAVEN, the kind of emotion that doesn’t scream but settles in as soon as Mari begins her journey. Director Nobuhiko Obayashi leans into that space between childhood and adulthood—where curiosity is louder than confidence, and where grief burns underneath even the brightest moments. This is a film that provides something delicate and introspective, a story built around a promise a father made to his daughter and the search for meaning that follows after he’s gone.

There’s a confidence in the way HOWARDS END plays out, one that invites you to settle into its world rather than fight its slower, deliberate approach. Even for viewers who don’t naturally gravitate toward period dramas, this film has a way of pulling you in. With its mix of social clashes, personal betrayals, and shifting loyalties, it falls somewhere between an intimate character study and a sweeping historical drama. And while it’s easy to understand how this became such a defining film in Merchant Ivory’s legacy, experiencing it today reveals how much of its impact comes from its restraint rather than its grandeur.

WICKED GAMES: THREE FILMS BY ROBERT HOSSEIN is the kind of box set that shifts how you view a specific filmmaker. Before these restorations, Hossein was often treated as a stylist lurking in the margins of French cinema — admired by enthusiasts, overlooked by the mainstream. But presented together, cleaned up, and paired with modern extras galore, these three films reveal just how distinct and sharp his work truly was. Across noir, mystery, and a proto–Zapata Western, Hossein displays a consistent fascination with guilt, temptation, loyalty, and the fragile spaces between violence and desire.

SHOGUN’S SAMURAI is a film built on tension that never truly lets go. Even in its quieter moments, there’s a constant sense that every character is two moves ahead or one mistake away from being erased. Kinji Fukasaku directs this with the same seriousness he brought to his yakuza sagas. That approach lends the film a weight that sets it apart from more romanticized takes on samurai cinema. There’s no sense of noble warriors guided by strict virtues. Instead, this is a story about men loyal to power, survival, and legacy, fighting in a world where betrayal is not only expected but nearly required.

PREP & LANDING: THE SNOWBALL PROTOCOL arrives after more than a decade of silence from the franchise, and the first thing that stands out is how comfortably it slips back into place. There’s an immediate sense of familiarity to the world Disney built with these elves, yet this new installment doesn’t rely entirely on nostalgia to carry the experience. Instead, it uses the series' history as a springboard, letting Wayne and Lanny stumble through another mission that spirals just enough to keep the special going and tightly paced. It’s a brisk 25-minute return, but one that understands what fans loved about this world in the first place: small-stakes holiday chaos with just enough heart to warm the edges.

NUNS VS. THE VATICAN offers the viewer the kind of urgency that documentaries rarely manage to capture so completely. It’s not positioned as a relic of past wrongdoing or a retrospective recounting of abuse; instead, it documents a confrontation still unfolding, shaped by women who spent decades silenced by the very institution they served. Director Lorena Luciano approaches their stories with a measured but unflinching lens, understanding that the power of this film lies in reclaiming voices rather than reshaping them. The result is a documentary that feels less like an exploration of events and more like an act of resistance.

There’s something fitting about a director closing out a career by returning to the genre that shaped so much of his legacy, and that’s exactly what happens with Howard Hawks’ RIO LOBO. This film emerged in an era where Westerns were undergoing rapid transformation, yet it approaches the frontier with the same hand that Hawks had relied on for decades. That tension between a filmmaker’s identity and a genre’s evolution becomes the backbone of the film’s character.

FRIGHTMARE wastes no time letting its terms be known. Instead of the usual slasher theatrics or exaggerated shocks that defined many horror films of its era, this one takes a quieter, meaner route. It opens with a straightforward premise: a woman once deemed criminally insane for cannibalistic murders is released back into society, ready to live freely with her devoted husband on a secluded farm. The horror isn’t built around jump scares or abrupt intrusions; it’s built around the realization that the system has absolutely misjudged her. The threat is not something that creeps through the woods or lurks beneath the floorboards. The danger sits in a farmhouse, reading tarot cards with a smile and an appetite she never lost.

The first thing that strikes you about BULLETS AND BLUEBERRIES is how deliberately it avoids dramatizing the Holocaust. The documentary keeps its gaze fixed on something just as unsettling: the photographs taken by the murderers themselves. By framing the narrative around these images, the film strips away the distance that often comes with decades of retelling. It leaves viewers face-to-face with the executions, the pits, and the everyday routines of the perpetrators who documented their own brutality as if it were mundane. This is not a retelling designed to create emotional peaks; it is a record that doesn’t need embellishment to make its point. The result is stark, direct, and deeply difficult, but necessary.

THE FAMILY PLAN 2 offers viewers a clear sense of what it is and exactly who it’s made for. From the opening scenes, it’s obvious that this sequel isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel or evolve beyond its established tone. Instead, it leans into a blend of holiday spirit, international adventure, and family-driven chaos. It gives its returning cast room to stretch into a bigger-scale playground without losing the grounded dynamic that made the first film likable enough to warrant a sequel.

There’s something refreshingly direct about HUMANS IN THE LOOP. It doesn’t wrap its ideas in spectacle, and it doesn’t try to overwhelm you with the scale of its commentary. Instead, it begins with a grounded, lived-in world and slowly reveals how the smallest, quietest decisions can shape the forces that will one day affect millions. The story’s power stems from its personal nature, even as it tackles a topic that is often reduced to headlines, buzzwords, and apocalyptic think pieces. Here, the human cost of artificial intelligence isn’t theoretical — it’s a daily routine, a mother’s job, and a community’s key to survival.

Sebastian Maniscalco’s latest stand-up special, filmed at the United Center in Chicago, feels like an artist out of sync with the world he’s performing in. For a comic who once thrived on observational precision—mocking modern quirks and social absurdities with sharp hits—IT AIN’T RIGHT instead comes across as a relic from an earlier era of stand-up. The polish is there, the energy is undeniable, but the content feels more like a time capsule from the 2000s than a reflection of 2025.

MIRROR LIFE opens with a grounded approach rather than a dramatic one, building its story around a woman who refuses to let her cousin’s disappearance be dismissed as another tragedy in a chaotic world. Instead of relying on a grand hook or flashy gimmick, the film uses a steady, methodical setup to pull Tracy into an unnerving investigation. The premise itself has weight: a missing family member, a secretive clinical trial, and a new miracle drug marketed as a scientific breakthrough. It’s a foundation that doesn’t need embellishment because it taps into fears that are already very real.

Some older television physical media releases feel like nostalgia pieces; others feel like a long-overdue act of preservation. ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS: THE LEGACY COLLECTION is firmly in the second category. This enormous 34-disc set doesn’t simply gather random episodes—it restores a landmark in television history. It reminds viewers just how ahead of the curve Hitchcock was in shaping the anthology format. In all my years since creating Overly Honest Reviews, I’ve covered countless restorations from boutique labels, but few releases arrive with this level of scale and cultural weight. This isn’t an accessory to Hitchcock’s filmography; it’s a foundational pillar that helped define suspense storytelling on television, and this box set treats it that way.

From the opening gunshot echoing across the Aegean, THE ASSASSIN makes one thing clear — this isn’t your standard spy thriller. Keeley Hawes stars as Julie, a retired contract killer trying to live quietly on a sun-drenched Greek island, only for her estranged son Edward (Freddie Highmore) to arrive with questions that crack open her carefully sealed past. What begins as an awkward family reunion quickly unravels into an international chase, testing both their survival skills and their ability to trust each other.