After the Hunt

You don’t have to be a Yale grad to see it coming. A movie about professors means endless coffee-fueled conversations, deep moral questions and zero concrete answers. That is After the Hunt.

Julia Roberts (Ben is Back, Erin Brockovich) goes full serious mode here, more Cate Blanchett than Pretty Woman. She plays Alma, a philosophy professor whose calm, curated life unravels when a student, played by Ayo Edebiri (The Bear, Bottoms) accuses another professor, Andrew Garfield (Tik Tick Boom, Spiderman, The Social Network) of abuse. Roberts nails the mix of control and unease, and Garfield? There’s a wild pulse to him here with every glance loaded, every pause flirty.

Director Luca Guadagnino (Call Me By Your Name, Challengers) brings his signature touch of place with beautiful, slightly haunted spaces and that unmistakable sense of tension in the air. He starts things off with Woody Allen–style title credits and music (intentional), then dives in. 

There’s a lot to unpack here. Power. Politics. Truth. Yet Guadagnino never quite lands the plane. You’ll keep wondering who to believe and what it all means, right up to the moment the credits roll and probably long after.

In the end, it’s like sitting in on a really juicy grad-school debate: fascinating, messy and impossible to stop thinking about, even if no one reaches a conclusion. B-

In a nutshell: A smart, moody drama that keeps you guessing. Don’t expect a breezy Julia Roberts romp. This one’s dense, divisive and post-film conversation-worthy.

Where to watch: In theaters, starting October 17, 2025.

Would it be better with Olivia Colman? No scholarly discussion needed here. Yes.

Award potential: Julia and Andrew deserve a seat at the table, but it’s a competitive year.

The Ten Buck Review: Worth ten bucks and maybe a post-movie drink to process it.

Anemone

It’s not every day you get a new movie with Daniel Day-Lewis. Anemone (uh-NEM-uh-nee) marks the Oscar winner’s return after an eight-year retirement, and it’s a thunderous reminder of why he is the GOAT.

From the opening childhood drawing sequence, you sense a storm is coming—and it does.

This debut feature from writer and filmmaker Ronan Day-Lewis is exactly what you’d expect from a first film by a talented artist finding his voice. At times, it dazzles, with environmental details as sharp as the rim of a beer glass or as stark as woodland landscapes caught in winter light. At other moments, it leans into indulgent arthouse clichés. His handling of mystical magical visions haunting the protagonist Ray doesn’t always land, but when he unleashes elemental chaos—particularly a hailstorm of near-biblical scale—the effect is unforgettable.

Confession: I loathe dream sequences. They so often feel like a lazy storytelling shortcut. Here they’re treated with self-conscious gravitas, which only underlines the contrivance. Still, the raw force of nature on display makes up for some of the eye-rolling.

The full acting team is on point, too. Sean Bean sparring with his co-star is not an easy feat.

The film pattern is uneven, much like the brothers, and the men it portrays, mixing stretches of silence with dialogue-heavy scenes that occasionally feel overwrought or flat-out gross. Yet together they serve as a showcase for Daniel Day-Lewis’s craft. His portrayal of Ray Stoker, a former British soldier living in exile, is a reminder of why he’s untouchable. To see him back on the big screen is a thrill, even if the script isn’t fully fleshed out.

An anemone, incidentally, is a flower, and if that applies to the director, looks like one to watch bloom.

In a nutshell: Not a fan of dream sequences or dialogue that stretches on like a pub monologue, but the film’s dark beauty and Daniel Day-Lewis’s mesmeric presence won me over.

Where to watch: Opens Friday, October 3 in Dallas. In theaters nationally starting October 10, 2025.

Would it be better with Olivia Colman? Naturally. SHE better not retire.

Award potential: Never count out the GOAT for Best Actor nomination.

The Ten Buck Review: Worth ten bucks.