Toy Story 2

I was right on the cusp of turning thirteen when Toy Story 2 released in 1999, and although I wasn’t quite aware of it at the time, my days of playing with action figures were slowly coming to an end. Watching the film, I had this overwhelmingly bittersweet sensation—I was simultaneously happy that the film was so funny and well-paced, and yet I felt a pang of regret that I was no longer the target audience of movies about toys that come to life. I vividly remember being enamored with the design of Buzz Lightyear’s newly introduced nemesis—the evil Emperor Zerg—and wishing I was young enough to ask for the toy for Christmas. I was nostalgic for childhood, and I hadn’t even become a teenager yet. But everyone has to grow up eventually, right? Toy Story 2 was a great film, but it made my younger self a little uncomfortable. It’s a film that deals a lot with guilt and the impermanent nature of toys, and I didn’t want to explore how those emotions made me feel. I’ve always held the film in high regard, but I don’t think I’d seen it since its theatrical release. But now, I’ve got a four-year-old daughter. After the first Toy Story was an unexpected hit at our family movie night, it made sense to work our way through the rest of the series. To my surprise, I remembered very little of the film. It was almost like watching it again for the first time. But as much as I enjoyed revisiting it and catching the jokes and references that flew way over my head as a child, the real treat was watching my daughter experience Toy Story 2 for the first time.

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Obsession (2026)

There really is something special about a small film that releases with little fanfare, only to take the box office by storm. Especially when that film is a brand-new story that doesn’t rely on existing intellectual property. When Obsession released in theaters in May 2026, there was no indication that this small horror film would become a seismic force. The film, which boasted a truly paltry budget, ultimately raked in a worldwide total of $443 million—becoming the highest-grossing film with a budget under $1 million. That kind of rags-to-riches story is compelling to me, and although I wouldn’t say horror is one of my favorite genres, the audience reaction to Obsession had firmly captured my attention. I went into the film relatively blind, unsure what to expect—would this be a scary horror film? Would it have a bunch of biting societal commentary?—and found I had been asking all the wrong questions. Obsession is an experience, not simply in its compelling story and excellent character work, but in the directorial decisions that ground the film and enhance the viewer’s experience. It’s the kind of film that has continued to sit with me days after experiencing it, and I find myself continuing to dissect character decisions and specific lighting choices. At its core, Obsession is a film that deconstructs the “nice guy” trope and the cultural romanticization of obsessive pursuit. It reframes the notion of forced affection as a selfish act, rather than one built from love. I found the film deeply disturbing on a psychological level, and even though it’s a far cry from more gory horror films, it nevertheless manages to leave a lasting impression.

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Disclosure Day

When it comes to filmmakers, Steven Spielberg is about as influential as it gets. He’s one of the few directors who can sell a film simply by attaching his name to it. All it took to get me genuinely excited for Disclosure Day was learning Spielberg was directing a new film about extraterrestrials. It’s a topic he’s touched on in several films throughout his nearly 60-year career, always to great effect. Spielberg’s films have largely felt more personal and grounded over the last few decades, typically lacking the bombastic excitement his films were known for in the 1980s and 90s. So in some ways, Disclosure Day promised to be something of a return to form for the acclaimed director. But make no mistake—Disclosure Day is not the kind of film Spielberg would have made in his heyday. Despite its sci-fi premise and fast-paced thrills, the film is the contemplative musings of a visionary filmmaker nearing the end of his life. It’s a plaintive cry from a creative mind having trouble recognizing the world he finds himself living in. It’s sad, yes, but it’s also surprisingly hopeful. It wasn’t what I expected from Spielberg, and it kind of blew me away.

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Toy Story

When I first saw Toy Story in 1995, I felt like it had been tailor-made for me. Some of my most memorable childhood afternoons involved me playing with action figures from iconic entertainment franchises like Star Wars, Aliens/Predator, Jurassic Park, and Spider-Man. Looking back on it, there was just something idyllic about dreaming up adventures and acting out intricate scenarios or pitting toys from one franchise against another. To be honest, I was loathe to leave my toys behind. I played with them until well into middle school. Growing up might be inevitable, but that doesn’t make the pain any less. When Toy Story released in theaters, I was deep in my action figure phase. Throughout my childhood, I projected emotions onto inanimate objects. I worried a stuffed animal would feel lonely if it didn’t sleep in my arms, or if a broken toy felt fear before it was disposed. I had long entertained thoughts of whether my toys came to life when I wasn’t around, and watching Toy Story felt like seeing my own curiosity brought to life. To say I was obsessed as a kid is probably an understatement; Toy Story dominated my world for what felt like at least a year. I’ve revisited the film a few times in the years since its release, gravitating to it like a form of comfort food. But nothing quite compares to the first time I watched it with my four-year-old daughter. I was nervous, honestly, that a male-centric story about toys wouldn’t resonate with her. I shouldn’t have worried. When my daughter flung her arms around my neck a few days later and loudly proclaimed, “Daddy, I love you to infinity… and beyond,” I knew Toy Story was a film with generational appeal.

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Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie

When you see a film with a name like Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie, it’s hard not to have questions. But I promise, it makes a lot of sense. Creators Matt Johnson and Jay McCarrol developed a comedy series about two very clueless guys who constantly try and fail to book a gig at a music venue. They’re so clueless, in fact, that they’re not even aware that their band name—Nirvanna the Band—shares a name with a massively popular band. Of course, they’re not the band Nirvana, they’re Nirvanna the Band—note the extra “N” in the name. After years of releasing their sketches online, the two had a short-lived television show—Nirvanna the Band the Show. From there, it’s not much of a surprise how they came up with the title of their film. Now, I’m not a diehard fan of Nirvanna the Band. I’ve never seen the TV show, and I think I’ve only ever seen a single comedy sketch of theirs. I can’t remember when I first saw it, but it has probably been close to twenty years. The sketch, which Matt and Jay singing about the Nintendo Wii Shopping Channel, has been burned into my brain ever since. When the film was announced, it dragged up ancient memories of their comedy sketch. I revisited it and still found it extremely funny, and decided I’d like to see what the duo could do with a feature film. I’m so glad I did, because Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie is the funniest film I’ve seen in quite some time. Not only does it work as an excellent comedy, but I was left speechless at the technical complexity required to bring the film to life.

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Hoppers

There’s a moment early in Hoppers that stopped me in my tracks. The film’s main character, Mabel, gets so angry that time actually slows to a crawl for her. Her heartbeat thuds loudly, her hair stands on end, and her eyes widen and dart around as her anger consumes her. You see, Mabel is a young woman who suffers from intense bouts of anger. She rages against an unfair system that always seemed rigged against her, barely able to contain her anger or stave off feelings of helplessness. I found it such a realistic portrayal of how frustration and powerlessness can build until they reach a fever pitch, boiling over in an explosive swell of rage that leaves a person unable to distinguish friend from foe. Watching the film’s depiction of overwhelming anger, I was struck by how accurately the film portrays so much of what I’ve been feeling this year. I’ve spent so much time lately completely consumed with anger, despair, and disgust, but at no point did I feel it more keenly than in January 2026 when U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers killed two American citizens for engaging in the time-honored tradition of peaceful protest. And then, in the wake of those brazen murders, government officials lied to the public about the incidents and branded the dead as terrorists, maligning their name while their corpses were still warm. That turned out to be just the opening salvo in what has quickly become one of the most shameful years in American history. I have spent the last six months apoplectic with rage, barely able to keep myself from drowning in utter helplessness and despair. Hoppers might be more concerned with environmental issues than the alarming rise of fascism, but I was stunned to find how the film still captures the zeitgeist of American life in 2026.

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Ponyo

Ponyo is a deeply weird film. I first watched it about a decade ago, and was completely flummoxed by it. I just couldn’t get into the film at all. For me, it was a rare misfire from writer and director Hayao Miyazaki, who I consider an unparalleled storyteller. My initial reaction was the film had all the hallmarks of a memorable story, but everything about it just felt too weird—from the animation style to the depiction of the goldfish-turned-human Ponyo, it all just felt uncharacteristically juvenile. But I was keen to revisit the film with my four-year-old daughter, to see how much parenthood would impact my enjoyment of the film. I was pleasantly surprised to discover I enjoyed Ponyo much more on this revisit, thanks in large part to the experiences born from fatherhood. It felt like my own life experience left me more susceptible to small details I had previously missed, and I no longer found the young characters grating. There’s a lot to like about Ponyo. That said, I still think it’s a bizarre film. I don’t think it’s bad, but there is so much weirdness in Ponyo that it often overpowers the strengths of the film.

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F1

To put it charitably, I’m not a sports guy. I don’t play them; I don’t watch them. I’ve just never had any interest in sports on any level. But as much as I dislike watching sports, I’ll begrudgingly admit they have a certain dramatic flair built in. When every game has a winner and loser, the stakes are always high. After all, who doesn’t like the idea of an underdog story? But in general, I’ve always had a hard time finding sports narratives particularly effective. That disinterest certainly carries over to auto racing, which I’ve long considered a contemptible sort of sport. The idea of watching cars endlessly travel a course is about as appealing to me as watching paint dry. So, I was curious when it came time to watch F1. It felt like exactly the kind of film I wouldn’t like. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t about any auto racing I was even nominally familiar with. As the title suggests, F1 is about Formula One racing. I’ve never watched a single F1 race, and I was very nervous that I would spend the film’s runtime hopelessly lost. I should have had more faith. F1 confidently introduces its viewers to the high-stakes world of F1 racing, breezing through its 156-minute runtime with all the breakneck speed and precision of a final racing lap.

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My Neighbor Totoro

I never anticipated just how stressful it would be to decide my daughter’s first Hayao Miyazaki film. The renowned Japanese director and co-founder of Studio Ghibli is responsible for some of Japan’s most treasured animated films, and his filmography is replete with iconic characters and jaw-dropping animation. I am firmly of the belief that you’ll always remember your first Miyazaki film, and I was extremely nervous that the wrong choice might ruin the director’s filmography for my daughter. After intense debate with my wife and more online research than I’d care to admit, we finally settled on My Neighbor Totoro. I was very skeptical of the choice, but it was hard to argue against it. The film is a slice-of-life story with no real plot, eschewing a typical three-act structure for a free-flowing narrative that makes the film feel more realistic. The main characters are two sisters, a ten-year-old and a four-year-old, and the film is really told through their eyes. It’s a simple story with relatable characters, wrapped up in beautiful animation and a nonthreatening storyline. Truly, My Neighbor Totoro is the perfect film to introduce the work of Miyazaki to children.

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Finding Dory

I’m always wary of sequels that arrive far too late, especially when they follow a critically acclaimed film. Delayed sequels carry a greater weight of expectations, often facing an audience more cynical about their very existence. There’s a greater emphasis on legacy at that point, as if a bad sequel could retroactively mar the reputation of a well-regarded film. When Finding Dory released in 2016, it arrived thirteen years after Finding Nemo. Every child who watched the first film in theaters had since grown into adults. It was a film that needed to win over the jaded adults that grew up with Finding Nemo and still capture a new generation of children less familiar with the original film. Despite the skepticism surrounding its late arrival, Finding Dory nevertheless became a massive critical and commercial success. I remember watching it in theaters and enjoying it, but I haven’t revisited the film in the decade since. I’ve experienced a lot of life changes since then, and as I sat down to watch Finding Dory with my wife and four-year-old daughter, I was curious how I’d reevaluate the film now that I’m in the throes of fatherhood. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I found myself much more enamored with Finding Dory this time around.

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