Score: 3.5/5 

Wicked has promoted itself as the blockbuster event of the year, but does it live up to its own ambitions? 

Adapted from the stage musical of the same name, Wicked serves as a prequel to the technicolour classic The Wizard of Oz. It tells the untold story of the Wicked Witch of the West — known as Elphaba Thropp — played by Cynthia Erivo, and Glinda the Good played by Ariana Grande.  

The cinematic adaptation is split into two parts, with part two set to release at the end of 2025. Both films were directed by Jon M. Chu, who’s known for his previous work adapting In the Heights from stage to screen. Plans for a Wicked movie date back as early as 2012, but its cast and crew changed several times throughout the 2010s as studios continued to push the project back. In 2021, Chu joined production as director; filming for both parts began in December 2022 and concluded in January 2024. 

Without a doubt, the time and effort paid off. Wicked is by no means a perfect film, but it’s wholly deserving of the praise it has and will continue to receive.  

For one, it’s paced excellently. Speaking from a personal perspective, a runtime of two hours and forty minutes is something I would typically have to psych myself up for, but I hardly felt the length at all. This may be in part because it is good ole, genuine big-studio entertainment, allowing you to kick back and let the storyline do the legwork, but it’s also because Chu keeps scenes and plot points moving at a steady pace. 

The musical sequences are generally good. There are a few moments that feel meandering, but the actors put on an energetic show regardless. Jonathan Bailey as Prince Fiyero charms both the characters and the audience in “Dancing Through Life,” a musical number set in Shiz University’s library, a sequence that has some of the most interesting camerawork in the film. Glinda’s iconic number “Popular” is done exquisitely with Erivo and Grande’s chemistry bouncing off each other, the lighting fittingly amplified to an oversaturated shade of pink.  

Of course, how could one not mention “Defying Gravity” when discussing anything related to Wicked? Erivo exerts her entire being into the number, with Chu drawing out the scene to make the song’s climax even more cathartic than it already is — a feat not easily done. There’s not much else that can be said about such an iconic song; it’s something best experienced first-hand. 

Ariana Grande arguably steals the movie in a standout acting performance. She nails the rhythm of every scene she’s in with her attention to comedic timing, radiating charisma through the screen as what could be described as a living cartoon. Likewise, she keeps up with Erivo in more dramatic moments despite playing the more comedic role of the two leads, demonstrating an impressive range. 

Her approach to Glinda undeniably draws inspiration from Kristin Chenowith’s performance in the original Broadway production, but Grande uses her skillset to make the character her own. It’s challenging for pop stars to separate themselves from their public image and enter acting roles, but Grande does it effortlessly in a way comparable to Cher in Moonstruck. 

All this is certainly not to diminish the stellar performance Cynthia Erivo delivers as the story’s protagonist Elphaba Thropp, especially with her towering vocal skills and acting chops. Her understanding of the character is apparent as she commits to every emotional shift and challenge Elphaba faces throughout the course of the film, ranging from cynicism, aloofness, innocence, joy and heartbreak. The role has no easy shoes to fill, especially considering Idina Menzel’s legacy, but Erivo paves an entirely new path for the character. It’s evident in the performance’s quality that she dedicated her soul to understanding the character and the responsibility that came with the legendary role. 

Nonetheless, the flaws in Wicked aren’t exactly hidden, and the film suffers from these noticeable drawbacks.  

For what’s intended as a backstory, the world of Oz feels considerably underdeveloped in this film. It lacks a certain sparkle necessary to pull you in and fully believe in the fantastical elements of Oz. The performances may charm you into the story and the lives of its characters, but the worldbuilding by itself feels skeletal.  

The gifted powers Elphaba possess don’t feel nearly as monumental as they’re said to be because the presence of magic in Oz is left largely unexplored. The Wizard of Oz subverted this by playing into the dreamlike oddities of the world, but Wicked introduces governments, jobs and academics, posing questions about how the world is structured in the process that are never addressed. 

The film’s lighting choices are among its more glaring flaws, washing out the vibrant colours of the Emerald City with overblown backlighting and lens flares that diminish details in the set design. This issue is also apparent during the first and second act at Shiz University, where the colours are so muted that certain scenes feel like behind-the-scenes footage as opposed to a finished product. 

Chu stated in an interview that the choice to depict Oz with realistic light and colour related to his desire to make the lead characters’ stakes feel “more real” and less “dreamlike.” 

Yet his argument is easily refuted by the success of recent examples doing the exact opposite. Greta Gerwig’s blockbuster titan Barbie built an entire Barbieland set that played into oversaturation and surrealism. It proudly subverted traditional logic, but that didn’t impact the stakes of the story or the touching emotional moments that reached the hearts of audiences worldwide. A $1.4 billion box office total doesn’t come from a film that doesn’t do something right with audiences. 

Drawbacks aside, it’s hard to not be enchanted by Wicked. It’s bound to promise an entertaining time at the cinema and is an overall likeable, joyous film. It’s charming and full of charisma, courtesy of the alluring performances and musical numbers, and all in all holds its own in the catalogue of film-adapted musicals. 

Score: 4.5/5 

In the wake of the annual Hallmark slop that gets dished out every year, Alexander Payne’s The Holdovers skyrockets to the ranks of other beloved, acclaimed Christmas classics. 

In December 1970, nestled in the wooded hills of New England, Paul Hunham (Paul Giamatti) teaches classics at the all-boys preparatory school, Barton Academy. Although academically knowledgeable, his curmudgeonly attitude towards students sours his reputation. After failing the son of a wealthy donor, Hunham is punished by being tasked with supervising several boys over the winter break who won’t be returning home for the holidays, A.K.A. the holdovers.  

Among these students being held over the break is Angus Tully (Dominic Sessa), a shrewd but defiant student who is ultimately left as the sole holdover after his mother ignores his request to leave with the other students on a ski trip. Accompanying Hunham and Angus in their snowy limbo is Barton’s cook Mary Lamb (Da’Vine Joy Randolph), whose son Curtis recently died in Vietnam following a draft. 

Through ups and downs the unlikely trio work together to weather the time during the break. As time passes, their differences bring them closer to understanding one another during a happy but lonely time of year for many. 

The trope of getting to know someone the opposite of you has been done countless times throughout the history of cinema, but Payne’s decision to blend it with a holiday tone is a stroke of genius, instantly making The Holdovers an accessible, easy-to-love classic. 

While there’s ample early ‘70s nostalgia present to paint the setting, calling the film a pastiche couldn’t be further from the truth. Payne goes leaps and bounds beyond what’s expected of a movie set in the past. The Holdovers feels fully extracted from the period it’s set in, establishing the setting with elements that evoke your senses: the cold drafts echoing outside the windows of the school that make you want to bundle up in a blanket; the wooden desks and well-loved books with a pleasant smell of parchment; the feeling of watching Christmas lights illuminating at night; the loyalty to shooting on film to include an ever-present grainy haze. It’s a world you can step into and believe you’ve walked straight into the ‘70s. 

The performances are great all around and build off one another to make the story work. Dominic Sessa gives his all in a breakout role. Paul Giamatti delivers a career best performance in a character that will be looked back on fondly with each passing year. Da’Vine Joy Randolph is the glue holding the other two together. Her quietly commanding presence with undercurrents of grief initiates the understanding and compassion between Hunham and Angus.  

The technical filmmaking aspects of the film warrant analysis and appreciation, but at its core, The Holdovers is meant to be enjoyed and felt deeply. It’s a film that reaches out with open arms to all kinds of people who see it, reminding you that it’s okay to feel what you need to, and that other people are dealing with their own problems as well. The simple act of listening to someone and asking how they are doing can open the doors to a new world of compassion, making them feel seen. 

The Holdovers ticks nearly every box of an essential, successful Christmas film. While having a fairly long runtime that risks losing speed, its emotional beats carry powerful resonance. It’s full of humour, heart and plenty of holiday iconography to put you in a festive mood. While full of joy and comedy, the film would not be what it is without a reminder of the pain and sorrow that can persist throughout the most wonderful time of the year. There is no better time than this one to offer a hand, a hug or an ear to listen to someone’s story. 

As the weather gets colder and the year comes to a close, we’re met with the warm hue of an earlier sunset, often sooner than some would like. 

It’s not hard to understand why some people are displeased with the longer periods of darkness that come with the final months of the year. No student wants to go to their first class at four in the afternoon when the sun has already finished its shortened, holiday shift. 

Nevertheless, in trying situations it is important to always make the most of what you have before you. In this case, the darker evenings can be a time for romantic scenarios, enjoying brisk nighttime walks or cozying up under several blankets with a warm beverage. 

In the spirit of these darker days, below is a list of seven albums that encapsulate the complicated feelings of late nights. Whether you’re looking for something higher energy or slow and sentimental, some music is just better experienced under the dark blanket of a night sky. 

Dummy — Portishead (1993) 

The godfather of everything trip hop, Dummy is an iconic member of the evolutionary merging of ‘90s rock and electronic music from one of the U.K.’s greatest bands. The album and band would not be the same without the uniquely recognizable voice of Beth Gibbons. Her vocals play many roles throughout the album, from ominous harbinger on “Wandering Star,” melancholy protagonist of “Roads,” and sultry voice of “Glory Box,” the James Bond theme that never was. Dummy is far and away the band’s most accessible collection of songs from their three albums, but that does not detract from the brooding, oftentimes scary turns it takes. You’ll never forget the first time you hear Dummy, an album so perfectly executed and singular in its sound that it forever cements itself in listeners’ minds. When talking about albums for late nights it would be impossible not to mention this album, the crown jewel of this list. 

Mezzanine — Massive Attack (1998) 

An evolution of early trip hop, Massive Attack’s Mezzanine is utterly immune to aging. Released in 1998, its crisp mixing sounds far beyond its time, if not timeless altogether. Its creeping and crawling feeling has never quite been replicated elsewhere, even within the group’s own discography. The album opens with the gradual bass building in “Angel,” a slow-moving but explosive introduction to Mezzanine’s hazy, nocturnal world full of danger and excitement. “Risingson” and “Inertia Creeps” paint the scene of a grimy, smoke-filled lounge, where long hallways lead to new rooms. “Teardrop” stands out from the surrounding tracks as a jolt of energy, sounding brighter and less engulfed by the album’s hypnotic darkness. Sung by Elizabeth Fraser of the Cocteau Twins, this track is a high peak in trip hop history. 

Mezzanine is consistently good front to back, each song a unique character fitting into the world it builds. 

Night Drive — Chromatics (2007) 

With a title like that, it’s easy to understand why this album would make it on this list. The synthwave group Chromatics captures the feeling of driving at night like nothing else on their fittingly titled Night Drive. The album introduces its narrative through a telephone call between the protagonist and her boyfriend as she’s leaving a nightclub, choosing to go for a drive before visiting him. The title track paints the scene as the narrator begins her venture into the night, the bass riff repeating like the coming and going of lights illuminating a highway. The album’s centrepiece is a cover of Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill.” The band has taken an iconic piece of music and made it their own, and while it may not reach the same height as the legendary original, it accomplishes something entirely different, recontextualizing itself musically and applying its messages to the album’s narrative. 

What makes Night Drive so captivating is the variety in how its songs are structured. Lyrics play a stronger role in the beginning tracks, but the second side features more instrumental, abstract cuts to amplify the dreamlike atmosphere of driving late at night. The 15-minute “Tick of the Clock” forces listeners to sit with the repetition of a skeletal instrumental, placing them into the narrator’s position until they themselves feel like the protagonist of the story. Night Drive’s variety is bound to garner different tastes in listeners, but one cannot deny its unparalleled commitment to a late-night atmosphere. 

Floating Into the Night — Julee Cruise (1989) 

Another album with a fitting title given the music therein, Floating Into the Night sonically achieves exactly what its title says. This record sounds elevated, offering a bird’s eye view of the world below. Cruise’s vocals serve as a companion to compositions and lyrics by Angelo Badalamenti for the soundtrack of David Lynch-directed T.V. series Twin Peaks. Even removed from its filmic context, Floating Into the Night holds its own as an independent album. The iconic bass plucks on “Falling” will call listeners back to the show’s opening theme, but Cruise’s angelic vocals offer a new layer to the story making it her own. It’s a dream pop classic and a deeply evocative listen. Cruise is the vocal embodiment to the being on the cover artwork: floating above earthly listeners, a nightingale calling its woes out into the endless black of the night sky, echoing from the stars down to the world below. 

But don’t be fooled. While undeniably soothing at numerous points, this is still a companion to Twin Peaks. Various elements in the songs are outright creepy and will catch listeners off guard in their abrupt shifts, using tension to keep the album unpredictable and engaging. 

Stardust — Willie Nelson (1978) 

Country music legend Willie Nelson has had a prolific career with 102 studio albums under his belt. Stardust, perhaps one of his more well-known and acclaimed LPs, is a moment of glimmering late-night magic. Its 10 tracks are all entirely covers of traditional American classics, including “Stardust,” “Georgia On My Mind” and “Unchained Melody.” Nelson has certainly flexed his songwriting capabilities on his other albums, but Stardust demonstrates his knack for making any song his own, telling it with a soulfulness that would make listeners think he was their original writer.  

The tranquil soundscapes of Stardust glide into your ears. It’s an essential soundtrack for pensive-inducing, humid summer nights around a campfire, basking in its warmth and flickering glow. The soothing guitar plucks and Nelson’s voice make you nostalgic for the present moment, as though you’re anticipating the memories you’ll associate with the music. Stardust is an essential for late nights and American country music altogether. 

Loud City Song — Julia Holter (2013) 

Multi-talented singer-songwriter Julia Holter cannot be confined to the description of just the S&S genre. Broadly speaking, her work could fall under chamber and art pop, but with each release she challenges how these genres are understood. Her albums are distinct from one another and bursting with personality.  

2013’s Loud City Song is a soundtrack to the ebb and flow of late-night passions. It’s distinctly urban in spirit, encapsulating the restless introspection of life in the city. However, musically it’s often earthy, like planting your feet in cool soil or soaking in the sting of cold waves washing around your ankles. This comparison could be summarized by the jazzy, slightly unsettling “In the Green Wild.” The album’s narrator has literally or metaphorically ventured outside the city, losing themselves in the natural processes around them as if each blade of grass is humming a melody.  

Holter creates an ecosystem of sounds that capture the many voices and stories that make up city life. The auditory traffic from this life can make your own inner voice difficult to hear in these times, as explored in the lyrics and production of “Horns Surrounding Me.”  

There’s a deep romanticism to the album too, an everyday intimacy in living amongst people and watching their lives pass around you, perhaps best felt on the tender “This is a True Heart.” Loud City Song is a love letter to the quiet people watchers of the world, and those blurred, passing faces we assess for ten seconds before they slip from our memory. But for those ten seconds, we feel a closeness to them. These unknown lives cascading as rivers around us are a thing of wonder to Holter, and late-night walks under the orange hue of streetlights are an ideal time to indulge in such reflections. 

Here in the Pitch — Jessica Pratt (2024) 

Los Angeles folk singer-songwriter Jessica Pratt has a voice from the past, often singing underneath a veil of reverb or record static. Through her enchanting vocals, she becomes the architect of psychedelic dreamscapes from a bygone time. Her songwriting feels like flipping through a stranger’s photo album, glancing at memories that don’t belong to you but that you feel connected to by witnessing another life lived. While any of her albums could fit the bill for this list, it would be unfair to ignore the nocturnal allure of her most recent release Here in the Pitch, her finest work to date. 

The grandeur of the opening track “Life Is” sets the scene for a spacey journey. Pratt sings like a wise sage, expressing an awareness of time and the distance between two points akin to the fluctuating closeness of two individuals. The magnetic final track “The Last Year” bookends the first track’s themes, ending on a hopeful note and amplifying all the colours that make up the night.  

The album may be over, but the nighttime it eases listeners into doesn’t feel as such. Pratt leaves you to sit with the resonance of her comments on time, gently nudging you to understand your place between one point in time and another, and how to move forward from here. 

— 

Of course, there are numerous other picks that did not make this list, and perhaps everyone has their own selection of late-night music defined by their own experiences and memories. Although it’s inherently subjective, as all music is, these albums embody the feeling of late nights and generally dark periods. Spanning different genres, they share the quality of being best enjoyed when the world goes dark and quiet, when the time is ours alone, without disturbance or any agenda but our own. 

Score: 4/5 

Kendrick Lamar’s surprise full-length release, GNX, shows the illustrious Compton MC capitalizing on the sagacious bellicosity generated by his decisive victory in the diss-track-mediated pop-culture-spectacle feud he had with Drake over the summer in fun and masterful West Coast hip hop fashion.  

When 17-time Grammy-award-winning rapper Kendrick Lamar went quiet for half a decade after the mainstream-concessionary DAMN in 2017, there was fear from the hip-hop community that perhaps the Compton native — who had by that time entered (more like shoved into) the GOAT conversation for not only rap in the 2010s but the whole genre’s history — had lost his edge, or at least was no longer hungry in that up-and-coming-young-rapper-looking-to-prove-themselves kind of way anymore. This would have been an acceptable career arch. Lamar’s reputation as a rap legend was cemented by 2017 as a result of his back-to-back releases of Good Kid M.A.A.D. City (2012) and To Pimp a Butterfly (2015), both records that operate at the highest quality of lyrical content and conceptual execution, with Lamar’s trademark socially apt dramaturgical exploration of contemporary America from the elevated and introspective experience of an inner-city Black man. Not to mention the instrumentals on both records are stellar, with both featuring some of the most iconic West Coast jams since the likes of Tupac, Snoop Dogg, N.W.A and Dr. Dre.   

But the 2020s so far have shown Lamar’s career following a — albeit less severe —Nas-like trajectory, with a second wind of amazing projects coming this decade after a worrisome lag proving there’s still gold dripping from the artist’s head and then pen.  

2022’s Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers saw Lamar back in top form and at his most personal, with tracks intricately meditating on family dynamics (“Father Time”) and generational trauma (“Mother I Sober”). Moreover, despite the more personal angle, the rapper kept a finger on the pulse of the COVID-age social zeitgeist as seen on the outstanding hype track “N95.”  

Mr. Morale was a clear cut above DAMN and proved Kendrick could still go deep, and it was this return to form that arguably gave him the footing to triumph easily in his battle with Drake over the past summer. But Lamar’s victory over the Canadian rapper wasn’t just the result of quality but quantity as well, with three wildly different but equally devastating diss tracks lobbed Drizzy’s way in a matter of a few weeks: the slow-searing war horns of “euphoria,” the truly villainous and unhinged “Meet the Grahams,” and finally — what amounted to the superlative end and winner to the drama — the irresistible DJ Mustard produced “Not Like Us,” which monopolized automobile aux cords and sporting event speakers for quite a few months after its May release.  

What’s clear about GNX is that it’s clearly the progeny of the beef, Kendrick’s voice defaulting often on the record to the same toned-down husky snarl that he debuted on “Not Like Us.” The subtext of this new vocal inflection — Kendrick being famous at this point for the eclectic arsenal of voices he can conjure up for the specific mise-en-scène of a track’s subject matter — is something like I am the tried-and-tested King of this artform now. Fair.  

And this new menacing vocal inflection can be heard in its most refined form on the cinematic opening track of the record, “wacced out murals,” which also reads as a kind of oblique manifesto bridging the events of the summer into why the MC has just laid a sixth LP on listener’s laps on a random Friday morning with no promo or announcement whatsoever: “This is not for lyricists, I swear it’s not the sentiments / F**k a double entendre, I want y’all to feel this sh*t,” he proclaims at around the midway point of the reserved salvo of an opening track with its almost “Remember the Name”-esque simple cinematic pump-up production, which, despite that reference, I promise is actually epic (and not like by the standards of a 12-year-old boy).  

“murals” states in clear English that Kendrick has no interest in reinventing the heady, meditative GKMC/TPAB wheel, instead wanting to continue the wave of volatile and infectious West Coast sound that everyone loved with “Not Like Us,” with some introspection on the margins (“reincarnated”) which have the added benefit of rounding out the sheer hardness of this record.  

Kendrick immediately lightens the mood from the dramatic opening with the second track “squabble up” which was teased four months ago in the opening sequence of the “Not Like Us” music video. The track is a time-bender that Frankensteins ‘90s G-funk with ‘80s pop conventions — compressed drums, warbly synthesizers undergirding the mix and a roughly recorded freestyle-sounding vocal sample to boot — with contemporary layering and production cleanliness. It’s proof that even on a flex record, Kendrick can’t resist being cutting-edge.  

Kendrick does however invoke an earlier version of himself with the narrative-dense “heart pt. 6,” which is an ode to his former label Top Dawg Entertainment and the creative talent that surrounded him there, helping him achieve the superstar status he now enjoys. However, while thematically this is the black sheep of the track list, this cut fits nicely at the end of it, making the song a sentimental chaser that complements all the immediate catchiness that precedes it.  

Another incredibly fun thing about this record that adds to its unmatched replay-value in his discography is Kendrick’s knack for odd yet tasteful vocal sounds, which he turns up to a 10 on this project. This ranges from his odd way of pronouncing a word, or multiple words, to straight up blabber; and there are examples of both ends of the spectrum and everything in between sprinkled throughout GNX’s track list.  

Standouts in the odd-vocal-inflections department on this project include: the hook of “squabble up” wherein Lamar wobbles his voice like the weird return-to-normal correction in tone that a pubescent teen boy’s voice crack induces when sounding the B rhymes of the chorus (“face” to “Fa-eh-eh-ays,” “taste” to Ta-eh-eh-aste,” and so on); the almost satirical exaggeration of an exasperated breath between lines that sounds like a DJ-scratch turned desperate inhale at the 1:10-minute mark on “tv off,” which is the veritable cousin track of “Not Like Us” (this track also features the now iconic “MUSTAAAAAAARD” producer tag at the mid-way beat switch which is yet another vocal gem from Lamar on this project); the comedically lackadaisical refrain at the 1:26-minute mark of “peekaboo” consisting of “heys” that are so claustrophobically enunciated that only the last in the series is fully pronounced; and finally the stuttering glossolalia that kicks off the beginning of easily the most off-kilter beat Kendrick has ever rhymed on with “gnx.”  

All the contrived, awkward vocal inflections across GNX have a kind of Joycean quality to them as Lamar shows he’s at a point of mastery of his craft such that he can resonantly communicate the enjoyability of the very materiality of language in rap form without the need for any univocal semantic meaning to be explicit. This is something only other select deconstructive masters of the genre can do at the same level; MC Ride, Andre 3000 and MF DOOM all come to mind in this respect.  

On the production end of the record, every single cut is well- to excellently produced with a clear West Coast sound permeating the beats across its 44-minute runtime. Standouts include the drippy, nocturnal instrumental of “hey now,” which has the dark L.A.-groovy menace of a Vince Staples track but with the addition of an OutKast-inspired sci-fi grandiosity which reaches a climax in the bridge turning the track from great to genius. Additionally, the triumphant ratchet instrumental supplied by Mustard on “tv off” is easily one of the catchiest rap cuts of the decade. Some of the slower tracks, like the two that SZA features on (“gloria,” “luther”) are great tracks when listened to in the context of the album but as standalone tracks don’t have the same kind of replay-button attraction that the more straight-up bouncy or hard-hitting tracks have.  

Now, while the emotional and slower cuts on Mr. Morale are better overall than on GNX, this is more feature than bug as GNX is concertedly surface level (for a Kendrick record) and it’s that awareness of its identity as a kind of geographical flex and straight-up rap record — not unlike Denzel Curry’s Miama-Dade love letter of a record ZUU from 2019, where prideful hailing-from vibes over deep substance was the main message — that makes this record’s lack of conceptual depth a strength.  

In many ways, GNX is what DAMN failed to be. Even in 2017, Kendrick didn’t need to do another highly cerebral, politico-cultural-spiritual record with daring production choices like TPAB. But compromising on a sound that, while still good, was not too different from what was percolating in the mainstream at the time (“GOD,” “HUMBLE”) was not the play as is proof by how little that record as a whole is discussed today.  

The tracks that comprise GNX may not be super deep substantively like listeners are used to from Kendrick, but that doesn’t mean he’s eased the foot on the gas in terms of the passion and level of performative and artistic execution he can deploy when he feels a genetic connection to the music he’s creating. What Kendrick lacks in introspective substance and onion-like layers of metaphoric excellence is made up for on this project in captivating charm, unrelenting passion and an unadulterated pride in being cemented as canonic to West Coast hip hop. While this record may not be a masterpiece like some of Kendrick’s earlier work, it is a clear product of a master at work.  

Altogether GNX is a piquant submission from Lamar that he can produce the highest degree of quality within the parameters of the genre’s most popular sounds, from the old-school boom-bap and G-funk era to this century’s mumble-rap and alternative R&B craze — and he does it better than most and as good as the absolute best even on a record that’s not aiming to be groundbreaking. In other words: Kendrick, double-entendre or not, we’re definitely feeling this sh*t.  

Rating: 4/5 

Linkin Park makes its triumphant return with From Zero, proving naysayers wrong and launching the band into a new era. 

When nu metal mainstay Linkin Park announced their return to music seven years after the suicide of lead singer Chester Bennington, controversy arose. With new singer Emily Armstrong at the helm beside Mike Shinoda, many were worried that a return would disrespect Bennington’s legacy. 

On Nov. 15, however, the band released their eighth studio album, the first since One More Light in 2017. From Zero is no magnum opus, but it is an exciting return for Linkin Park, especially as they kick off a world tour beginning in December. While I have my qualms, I like a whole lot of this album. 

Hearing Linkin Park’s chainsaw-ripping sound returning in a new album is wondrous; From Zero shows that this band has kept the ability to consistently reach unmatched highs. Some of my favourite songs feature this hardcore sound, and coincidentally most of these songs are the previously released singles. 

“Heavy is the Crown” is the best song on this album, lyrically interesting and confidently dramatic, combining playful instrumentals with an increasingly aggressive chorus. “Two Faced” is also hard, with Meteora-style, alternative sounds and an aggressive breakdown paying homage to “One Step Closer.” The song’s ending highlights the almost psychotic timbre Armstrong can achieve with her screaming, which works well in most cases, especially here. “Emptiness Machine” acts primarily as an introduction to Armstrong’s role in the band but continues to be high-energy and poignant, even if it feels a bit short and almost formulaic on repeat listens. 

“Cut the Bridge” is a thumping anthem that will surely make audiences chant their hearts out, but while “IGYEIH” starts off strong, Armstrong’s visceral, repetitive screaming of “From now on I don’t need you” feels excessive and disjointed. Similarly, in “Casualty,” we get a gruffer tone of singing from Shinoda that falls flat amidst Armstrong’s fully embodied verses. 

In fact, Shinoda doesn’t shine all that much in From Zero. His rhythmic singing compliments Armstrong’s heavier tone and even her more melodic sections — more on that in a moment — but I wish we got to see more of his rapping. To me, this is a staple of Linkin Park, especially in their early albums but even in their more traditionally rock albums, like Minutes to Midnight and The Hunting Party. Anyone can sing, but the hip hop element that Shinoda brought to the table was part of what made Linkin Park truly special, especially when paired with Bennington’s visceral voice. 

I think the same pairing would still apply for Shinoda and Armstrong, but I can understand why Shinoda takes a bit of a backseat role here. From Zero needed to establish her as a worthy successor to Bennington, and if Shinoda took the spotlight from her, fans would likely question why they needed to bring her on at all. 

This focus on Armstrong largely works to their benefit, especially in the songs I’ve mentioned, but in some cases it doesn’t. “Over Each Other” is a good song and highlights Armstrong’s melodic capabilities, but it doesn’t fit into this album. The depth is there, but the tone presents a disjunct between the intense “Heavy Is the Crown” and “Casualty.” I usually skip it, even if it stands as an impressive piece on its own. The better focus on Armstrong is “IGYEIH,” but even that isn’t a perfect song. 

Similarly, there are better versions of the Linkin Park’s poignant, lyrical style on From Zero, namely “Overflow,” “Stained” and “Good Things Go.” Each of these songs play with sound in interesting and incredibly atmospheric ways, demonstrating Armstrong’s ability to sing without screaming while still feeling inherently like Linkin Park. 

From Zero is a brilliant return for the band, even with its flaws. You can tell Armstrong and Shinoda are still figuring out their lyrical rapport, but this is bound to happen with a band as prominent as Linkin Park. What From Zero makes clear is that Armstrong is a great fit, with the potential to bring the band to new highs as they continue to work and grow together. 

Anyone who says that Armstrong doesn’t work here is kidding themselves. Her voice is different than Bennington’s, but her timbre and range make her a worthy successor, with the capability to bring something new to the band.  

Some fans are upset, saying From Zero doesn’t sound like Linkin Park, but those fans are wrong; Linkin Park has never just been one sound. One More Light and A Thousand Suns don’t sound like Hybrid Theory or Meteora, but they still embody the energy and weight of this excellent band. Linkin Park’s catalogue of songs is complicated and varied, the result of constant experimentation and growth. 

While From Zero hearkens back to early Linkin Park sounds in order to connect itself with its own canon, it does experiment with new ideas, something I hope the band continues to do as they produce new music. 

Linkin Park’s announced return was a spark of excitement, and From Zero has nurtured that spark into a steadily burning flame. Even if the new band has a few things to learn going forward, From Zero marks the start of a new chapter for Linkin Park. 

Chester Bennington can never be replaced, but Emily Armstrong is proving that Linkin Park still has a future without him. 

As December quickly approaches and it becomes socially appropriate to begin celebrating Christmas, I have been preparing my holiday playlists and slowly incorporating my favourite festive songs into the daily rotation.  

Since I was raised in a classic Christmas household where the only acceptable holiday songs were performed by Ella Fitzgerald, Bing Crosby or anyone Frank Sinatra adjacent, my taste in Christmas music may be considered slightly outdated. While anything sung by Mariah Carey, Michael Bublé, Justin Bieber or Ariana Grande will never appear on one of my festive playlists, a few songs that aren’t likely to have been covered by someone who was a guest on The Dean Martin Show have managed to squeak past my intense holiday song scrutiny.  

While some of these tracks are clearly Christmas songs, others are strangely Christmas adjacent. Some were never even Christmas songs to begin with and somehow found themselves relegated to the month of December simply because they mention something vaguely holiday-esque.  

Keeping that in mind, here is the list of my top four Christmas songs, even if some of them have absolutely nothing to do with Christmas at all.  

“Christmas in Killarney” by The Irish Rovers 

As any former highland dancer would tell you, “Christmas in Killarney” is a holiday staple that must be included in your festive playlist if you are the kind of person who intends to perform an impromptu Irish jig at every Christmas party you attend. Even if you would rather die a gruesome death before you ever performed a heel click in front of anything even remotely living, “Christmas in Killarney” is still one of the best Christmas songs to come out of the late ’90s.  

This track is steeped in traditional Irish folk influences with fiddle, accordion and tin whistle playing off one another to create the chaotic cacophony of sound this genre of Celtic music thrives on. With “Christmas in Killarney,” The Irish Rovers have mastered the warm, lively and lilting feeling that is typical of Irish folk music, making it impossible not to want to dance at least one flap step when it comes on in the pub.  

“River” by Joni Mitchell 

While “River” by Joni Mitchell isn’t technically a Christmas song, anyone that’s seen Meg Ryan’s iconic 1998 romcom You’ve Got Mail knows that it has a worthy place on this list. If Kathleen Kelly can make the exception, so can I.  

A rich and expressive piano ballad, “River” is haunting. From the very first chord, it carries the heavy emotional weight of losing the love of your life so beautifully that I want to cry every time I listen to it. Its sparse instrumentation skillfully uplifts Mitchell’s ghostly soprano, making it the perfect example of musical simplicity to highlight emotional intensity. While I listen to “River” all throughout the year, I can say with 100 per cent certainty that it is infinitely better when there is snow on the ground. 

“Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” by The Irish Rovers 

If I had a nickel for every time The Irish Rovers appeared on this list, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s strange that it happened twice, right?  

“Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” was originally written by Elmo & Patsy but the version performed by The Irish Rovers is, in my expert opinion, the best take on the song. While it is most certainly a twangy, cheesy ball of ridiculousness, “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” manages to somehow make it impossible for me to change the station when it comes on the radio. It’s a conundrum that I haven’t quite figured out. Still, while I likely won’t actively search out this track anywhere but the inside of a crowded bar in late December, I will happily listen to it in its entirety when it comes on shuffle and giggle to myself the entire three minutes and 25 seconds it’s on. 

“Fairytale of New York” by The Pogues 

While I think that “Fairytale of New York” probably falls into the category of songs that just happen to take place on Christmas rather than actually being a Christmas song, it feels like a necessary inclusion on this list. 

I know that this song has become somewhat controversial and people have attempted to cancel it, but I am going to gleefully ignore them and turn up the volume to drown them out. Taking Christmas out of the equation completely, “Fairytale of New York” will forever hold a spot on the list of my favourite songs of all time. In fact, it always makes it into my Apply Music Replay even though I only listen to it during one month of the year, which is a crazy achievement.  

Shane McGowan and Kirsty MacColl have mastered this whimsical swinging tune, its charming and dynamic musicality distinctly Irish and incredibly hypnotizing. The cinematic atmosphere of “Fairytale of New York” is larger than life, leaving me forever wondering if I should be reflecting melancholically on lost love or dancing my heart out with a Guinness in hand.  

Score: 4/5 

The latest film from actor and comedian Jesse Eisenberg and starring Kieran Culkin is a humble blend of humour and sadness, depicting the complicated journey of processing grief. 

A Real Pain follows cousins David and Benji on their week-long tour throughout Poland. The two reunite for the trip after an extended period apart following the passing of their Jewish-Polish grandmother, whom Benji shared a particularly strong connection with. Shortly upon arrival, the distance in their relationship reveals its effects, and the two clash at several points. However, despite their differences, the cousins are connected by their grief and pain, working together to understand and process it in different ways. 

A noticeable quality of A Real Pain is how involved it makes the viewer feel through the opposing forces of its two protagonists. Oftentimes there is a David and a Benji inside us, fighting each other for control, same as there are Davids and Benjis everywhere, disagreements that challenge both parties to grow and understand each other.  

The film works magnificently as a character study because of how opposite the two cousins are. David is a squirrely, anxious type who has the appearance of “always looking like he’s running late.” Regardless, he has a cushy job in advertising, a wife and son, and an apartment in a safe area of New York City. By standard criteria he could be called a successful person, yet he still feels inferior to the more charismatic, albeit chaotic, Benji. Any emotional pain he experiences feels immediately invalidated by his socioeconomic status as a “successful” person; he is someone who, in his own eyes, should have no reason to feel how he does. 

Benji is the opposite of his cousin. He is light, carefree and unconcerned with planning, career aspirations or following rules. He brings energy to the tour group and immediately establishes a relationship with his fellow tourists. Despite his playful exterior, Benji experiences just as much grief and pain as his cousin and anyone else. Unlike David, he responds openly to his emotions, expressing how he feels without a filter. 

There’s ample credit due for the two lead performances. Eisenberg builds on his typical fidgety, awkward characterization by introducing repressed emotional depth and turmoil to David; however, it’s Culkin who really flexes his range here. Dressed in standard attire like everyone else, he relies on his understanding and exploration of Benji’s character to craft his performance and build a presence. He’s likeable, frustrating, hilarious and admirable all at once: a friend we’d both love and hate to have. 

The way grief is conveyed never feels lacklustre or cheap. It creeps up as the characters subtly reveal how it has impacted their relationship. Running at an airtight 90 minutes, A Real Pain doesn’t offer a dramatic inquiry into the subject, but one that feels immediate and realistic. Eisenberg’s screenplay is sharp and effective, getting to the meat of the themes explored in an impactful way and allowing both characters to feel their emotions. He layers comedy with drama, controlling the tone of the story at a steady rhythm and showing exceptional promise for future directorial endeavours. The lasting impact of the more climatic scenes would have benefited from being a bit longer at times, but this does not retract from the emotionally satisfying way the film wraps itself up.  

A Real Pain finishes quietly, on a hopeful — albeit bittersweet — note, as if gesturing to viewers with a supportive pat on the back. It leaves you feeling validated in the confusing feelings induced by the ups and downs of life. No matter the kind of pain you’re feeling or how you show it, it’s a real thing deserving of recognition and support. 

In the lead-up to the release of this year’s Apple Music Replay, here are my predictions for what my top song, album and artist will be.  

Top Song: 

Based on the number of streams alone, I predict that my top song from 2024 will be “Road Regrets” by Dan Mangan, which is funny because I’ve only been listening to it since August. Yet, with a whopping 437 streams in just four months, this track is a testament to my almost inhuman ability to listen to the same song over and over again without ever getting bored.  

In truth, I’m not a huge fan of Dan Mangan — a preference that has way more to do with my own ignorance than some kind of bitter distaste for the British Columbia native. You might say “Road Regrets” worked its way into my musical repertoire by chance. Still, upon listening to it for the first time, I immediately fell in love. 

The first track on Mangan’s quintessential 2009 album Nice Nice Very Nice, “Road Regrets” is a raring and raucous musical masterpiece that puts every other attempt at folk-rock to shame. It’s easy to let loose, head banging and all, as it builds to new heights with unrestrained passion and fervent soul. Balancing its brash and chaotic musicality with Mangan’s rich and tender vocals, “Road Regrets” is still almost completely untouchable in its pandemonium-infused greatness, even 15 years after its release.  

Top Album: 

Unlike the other two categories, this prediction was harder to nail down. The rate at which my taste changes is dizzying and it’s likely that pigs will learn to fly before I sit down and listen to one album all the way through. I simply don’t have the attention span for it. Still, my best guess is that the real answer for what my top album was in 2024 lies between two options: Twenty One Pilots’ Clancy and Taylor Swift’s The Tortured Poets Department.  

These albums both came out this past April, just as exams were ending and the weather was getting warmer. I immediately fell in love with both records, meaning that they quickly became the thematic score of my summer. Whether they were pulsating through my headphones on an airplane, blaring out of my crappy iPhone speaker while I catalogued old Brock Press newspapers or simply droning in the background as I read a book, both Clancy and The Tortured Poets Department were the dulcet sounds of my summer break.  

Both albums, while wildly different, are extensions of artists I love very deeply. It would be impossible to compare them which makes this whole toss-up even more laughable, yet they are still likely to be the top contenders for my top album of 2024.  

Top Artist: 

Finally, and most importantly, my top artist of the year. This prediction was not hard to make. In fact, it was incredibly clear very early on who would take that highly selective spot: Taylor Swift.  

Some would say it has been the year of Ms. T. Swift, and if there was a world where her popularity was based solely on my streams of her music, there is no doubt in my mind that she’d be just as popular there. This year, in my anticipation for the Eras Tour I spent a lot of minutes listening to Taylor Swift. Approximately 8,000 minutes, in fact, which adds up to a whopping 134.4 hours or nearly six whole days. This number is guaranteed to go up in the next month as I plug away at my friendship bracelets and reminisce excitedly about my Eras Tour show once it has come to an end. My genuine enjoyment of nearly every song she has released in the past 18 years is why Taylor Swift will most certainly be my top artist of the year.  

The fourth annual Mighty Niagara Film Festival (MNFF) took place last week in venues across the region. 

The festival is organized by the Niagara Artists Centre (NAC) in downtown St. Catharines. It spotlights films made by filmmakers in the Niagara region or those with a connection to the region. This year, the festival saw a large expansion, with goals of expanding its reach and influence throughout the region and beyond. 

Along with film screenings, the festival hosted several workshops and events, including a drop-in media lab, a guide to handmade filmmaking and a karaoke night at the NAC. 

This year the festival incorporated a film series titled “The Winnipeg Connection,” showcasing Winnipeg’s localized approach to cinema in relation to Niagara’s emerging arts scene. Several feature-length screenings were hosted at the Film House accompanied with audience Q&As led by Brock film professor Dr. Anthony Kinik. 

Rumours 

Canadian filmmaker Guy Maddin’s latest film is a genre-bending absurdist take on the annual G7 summit. Starring Cate Blanchett, the film follows the leaders of the G7 nations — Canada, France, Germany, Japan, Italy, the United Kingdom and the United States — at their annual summit to discuss global affairs. As tensions rise in the meeting, the group of esteemed individuals begin to realize the reality around them spiralling into absurdity, accompanied with mummified swamp zombies and a giant brain the size of a Volkswagen Bug.  

In a Q&A following the screening, Maddin expressed his desire to break genre, letting the story unravel and the actors improvise. Perhaps too absurd at times, but always charming and endearing even at its most perplexing moments, Rumours is an independent gem satirizing the world’s most powerful political leaders. It shoots arrow after arrow at the target, and although there are a fair share of misses, the hits make it entertaining in the long run. 

Universal Language 

Winnipeg born filmmaker Matthew Rankin crafts a hypnotic convergence of stories in his bilingual film Universal Language. The film is set in an alternate brutalist imagining of a snow-covered Winnipeg, where the only languages spoken are Farsi and French. It intertwines three stories: the first of two sisters attempting to retrieve money frozen in ice; the second a guide who is an earmuff enthusiast leads an eccentric tour around Winnipeg; and the third of Matthew himself, returning to Winnipeg after many years to visit his mother. 

A distinct characteristic of Universal Language is Rankin’s commitment to visual storytelling through camerawork. In several scenes the camera is fixed at eye-level, centred on one of the numerous windowless walls constructing the bleak, surreal Winnipeg.  

In a Q&A, Rankin said he drew inspiration from Iranian cinema, seeking to blend its aesthetics and cinematography with the sights and sounds of a frigid alternate version of his hometown. He noted that the plotline about the two sisters originated from a story his grandmother told him from her childhood in the Great Depression. 

Beneath its dry wit there is an existential, sullen quality to the film regarding nostalgia and coming-of-age. As Rankin puts it, the film is about “children facing situations an adult would face,” hence, two school children dedicating their day to retrieving money frozen in ice as if they’re being paid overtime for it. 

The role of brutalist architecture in the film further builds on this theme. Even in the barren, concrete landscapes of this surreal Winnipeg, there is the warmth of childhood innocence and strangers communicating in interchangeable languages to thaw the ice. Neighbourhoods divided by walls and windowless buildings are metaphorically broken down as the characters form bonds to ensure mutual aid. Universal Language is an outstanding production from Rankin that has established itself as a proud new contribution to Canada’s growing catalogue of cinema. The film will also serve as Canada’s entry to the upcoming 97th Academy Awards. 

— 

Although the MNFF has drawn to a close, the NAC will be calling for submissions for next year’s festival, inviting local filmmakers and creatives to produce anything from a short film to a micro cinematic short. To some, Niagara may be easily overlooked as a cultural hub in Ontario, but the booming success of this year’s MNFF shows that the community is committed to advancing the region’s cultural presence and identity. The progress made is in courtesy of the NAC, local filmmakers and supporters of the growing art scene in the region. 

Score: 2.5/5 

French filmmaker Jacques Audiard delivers a unique Spanish-language crime musical that succeeds in some ways but fails at others.  

Emilia Pérez tells the story of three women living in Mexico City. It first introduces Rita Mora Castro, a talented lawyer working a dead-end job for a firm more interested in accumulating money than delivering justice. In the midst of her routine-induced malaise, she is presented with a lucrative opportunity from feared cartel leader Juan “Manitas” Del Monte who wishes to undergo gender-affirming surgery to transition into a woman. Rita agrees to the offer and helps Manitas stage a fake death, beginning a new life as Emilia Pérez. 

The driving force of the film is its magnetic performances from the three lead women. Zoe Saldaña has a commanding presence unlike any of her previous roles, controlling every scene and musical number she’s in with captivating expressions and physicality. Selena Gomez delivers her best in an unfortunately underwritten role as Emilia’s now ex-wife, Jessi. She brings a unique supporting performance to the film that feels unexplored in the script. 

The standout performance is Karla Sofía Gascón as the titular character. She exudes passion and heart, conveying dynamic expression that adapts to whatever tone the film shifts to. Although Saldaña is in many ways the lead performer — with the story told through her perspective — Gascón is the film’s emotional centre, impacting everyone around her. 

Unfortunately, Emilia Pérez’s strong ensemble cast cannot make up for the several glaring flaws that stick out in the film. For starters, to succeed as a musical your songs must be memorable. The bulk of these songs feel wonky, unimportant and stick out jarringly. “El Mal” works as the standout number, incorporating fast-paced camerawork and magnetic choreography led by Saldaña. “Las Damas que Pasan” concludes the film extravagantly and stands among the more emotionally evocative tracks. 

The core flaw that inhibits Emilia Pérez’s success is its own ambition to be several things at once. It tries to simultaneously be a musical, a comedy, a melodrama, a story about being transgender, a crime thriller and a love letter to Mexico, but it only partially succeeds at delivering each of these. 

Emilia’s nuanced experience as a trans woman is barely explored after her transition. The film completely shifts its attention from her interiority after she transitions to focus on another plotline that painfully strips away the film’s potential. Audiard ambitiously tries to use Emilia’s trans identity as an allegory for Mexico’s changing national identity, but his perception of Mexico is regressive and shallow. In an interview, when asked if he studied Mexico in preparation for the film, Audiard simply said, “No, I didn’t study much, I kind of already knew what I wanted to understand.” 

By the third act the film has introduced far too many scattered plotlines to wrap up cohesively. It ends abruptly and anti-climatically, its narrative beaten with a hammer leaving you unsatisfied.  

There’s a lot to respect about filmmakers who push boundaries to create something new. There’s nothing quite like Emilia Pérez, but that’s not necessarily a good thing. Its invigorating performances led by three women are enough to tune in, but the lulls in the story, convoluted tone and chaotic narrative lead the film to fizzle out, the sparks of potential fading fast. 

Score: 4/5  

This article contains light spoilers for Mario & Luigi: Brothership. 

Mario & Luigi: Brothership isn’t just a return to the glory days of the Mario & Luigi spinoff series, it’s a step forward for the beloved turn-based RPG franchise. 

It’s been nine years since the last original title in the Mario & Luigi series, with the original series developer AlphaDream having gone bankrupt in 2019. Nintendo seems to have found a new home for the series with the development studio Acquire, who have done an admirable job translating the long-running series to a home console for the first time. 

Mario & Luigi: Brothership sees the titular brothers embark on a seafaring quest to connect the various drifting islands that once formed the continent of Concordia. Using the half-ship, half-island Shipshape as a home base, the brothers must visit each island to unlock its lighthouse, solving any problems the residents might be having along the way. 

This segmented island approach might worry players who were left unhappy by level-based games like Paper Mario: Sticker Star, but fear not. For a world divided into various stages, Acquire has made the overall archipelago of Concordia feel surprisingly connected: as you connect more and more islands, citizens from each area will visit Shipshape and other islands you’ve visited, bridging the gaps between the various areas. It’s a joy to see more and more people fill up Shipshape, which starts as a desolate island but turns into a bustling hub for people of various cultures as you progress further in the game. 

Brothership also offers plenty of reasons to return to islands you’ve already connected thanks to various side quests and new pathways that open once you’ve mastered the area. This contributes to Concordia feeling like one interconnected world despite the fact that it’s composed of various floating islands. 

The theme of connection is very intentional right down to the original characters’ design motifs. The citizens of Concordia are based on wall outlets, and each island is connected to Shipshape by literally “plugging it in” — a long magical cord extends from the top of each lighthouse, connecting to a massive outlet on the back of Shipshape. Even the new enemy designs are based on various electronic cords and wires. One particularly clever design features an enemy seemingly inspired by an HDMI cord who wields a headphone jack as a sword. It might sound tacky, but I found the new designs to be endearing and thematically relevant as I progressed through the adventure. 

As you might have guessed, the game’s villain seeks to disconnect the world of Concordia by breaking up its islands, even going so far as to use a dark substance called “Glohm” to brainwash the land’s citizens, making them crave isolation and loneliness. It’s refreshing to see a lead villain who isn’t Bowser, having their own unique motivations and characteristics to set this game apart. 

Fans of the Mario & Luigi series will be happy to know that the turn-based battle system is as good as ever and has actually been built upon through the new “battle plugs” system. As you engage in combat, you’re encouraged to use battle plugs with various effects that work with one another to enhance your combat in creative and interesting ways.  

Activating the “Surprise Iron Ball” battle plug, for example, will drop a spiked iron ball on an enemy’s head after you’ve attacked them, dealing extra damage to your opponent. If you choose to employ the “Kaboom Attack” plug, attacking one enemy will create a shockwave that damages other enemies nearby. What gets really interesting, though, is when you mix and match plugs. Using both of these plugs together will first deal damage to every enemy in the nearby vicinity and will also drop an iron ball on each of those enemies’ heads, not just the one you directly targeted. This system encourages experimentation and creativity, making a more dynamic battle system than ever before. 

One disappointing element about the battle system is that the series’ popular “Bros. Attacks,” in which Mario and Luigi work together to deal incredible damage through over-the-top attacks requiring precise timing, seem to take a backseat. These types of attacks are still present in the game, but it seems as though there are less of them and you don’t amass a wide collection until late in the game’s story. It feels like the new Battle Plugs have taken priority over Bros. Attacks, but it would have been nice for them both to get equal time in the spotlight. 

As any Mario & Luigi fan will tell you, another quintessential part of the series is its clever writing. While that’s certainly present in Brothership, there’s simply far too much dialogue for a game that relies on being over-the-top and snappy in its execution.  

The first few hours in particular are incredibly slow with only a few short battles taking place as you repeatedly mash the A button to read through what feels like a novel’s worth of chatter. Thankfully, the game opens up later on and throws you into the exciting madness you’d expect from the series, but it wouldn’t be surprising if the drawn-out opening turns some players away from getting to the exciting portion of the game. There’s a wonderful experience buried under all this dialogue, but it shouldn’t take hours of reading to reach that point. 

Another issue that the game faces is its continuous dips in frame rate. For most players, this won’t be noticeable throughout most of the adventure unless you’re specifically looking for it, but there are moments during specific cutscenes or exploring Shipshape once it’s filled with residents that the frame rate starts noticeably struggling. It didn’t ruin my overall enjoyment of the game, but if you’re a stickler for a consistent frame rate, this is something you should be aware of before picking up Brothership. 

But none of that takes away from the clear passion that’s been poured into this new entry in the beloved series. It’s clear that Acquire has a deep understanding of what makes the Mario & Luigi games special, and despite its flaws, has created one of the most fun entries in the entire franchise. Its drawbacks will likely turn some players away due to its overuse of dialogue and inconsistent frame rate, but for those who are able to overlook these issues, there’s more than enough to keep you plugged in and coming back for more. 

Mario & Luigi: Brothership is available now, exclusively on Nintendo Switch.