Plausible Dynamite a terrifying doomsday tale
Timely, taut and terrifying, Kathryn Bigelow’s A House of Dynamite is a master class in suspense, times three. Working from a script by former journalist Noah Oppenheim, the director plays out an all-too-real doomsday scenario from a trio of different perspectives, taking the viewer repeatedly on a tumultuous ride that ends with the most dire of circumstances. Bigelow provides us with a behind-the-scenes look at how the United States would respond were a nuclear attack to ensue. The result is a sobering revelation that while those in charge may assure us of the nation’s readiness for such an incident, there really is no such thing.
The shadow of Sidney Lumet’s Fail-Safe hangs over the film, and the fact that this cautionary tale must be told once more speaks to the lunacy we’re a slave to and the continued paranoia of our leaders. The story opens on the 49th Missile Battalion in Greely, Alaska. Maj. Daniel Gonzalez (Anthony Ramos) has reported to duty for what he anticipates will be another uneventful day. That notion is soon shattered when an intercontinental missile is launched from an unidentifiable location.
The initial assumption is this is another test launch by the North Koreans. However, that is soon discounted when its flight path flattens, its trajectory suggesting its destination will be somewhere in the U.S. Midwest. Counter measures are deployed and fail. Members of the White House and the president’s cabinet are notified, all knocked back on their heels by the import of dealing with a scenario they hoped would never come.
From the time the missile launches until it reaches its destination is 18 minutes, an event that’s played out three times as Bigelow and Oppenheim move up the chain of command. The film’s second act examines how Secretary of Defense Reid Baker (Jared Harris) and Gen. Anthony Brady (Tracy Letts), the head of the nuclear command center in Nebraska, would approach this crisis. The final section focuses on the president’s (an outstanding Idris Elba) reaction.
That Bigelow and Oppenheim are able to effectively manipulate the audience three times, despite our knowing how things play out after the opening 30 minutes is an impressive feat. Surprisingly, the tension is greater with each re-telling, our knowledge of what will happen only increasing the sense of dread. The ineffectiveness of our nation’s countermeasures, technology glitches at key moments, a bad cellphone connection and other commonplace errors take on greater import in these circumstances. That a dropped call may impact the fate of everyone on the planet is sobering as well as fittingly ironic.
The cast of veterans Bigelow has assembled captures the sense of ever-mounting dread and the ultimate despair that overcomes their characters. In addition to Harris and Letts, Rebecca Ferguson as Capt. Olivia Walker, Jason Clarke as Adm. Mark Miller and Greta Lee as advisor Ana Park all shine as each slowly realize they’re helpless in the face of certain annihilation.
If there’s a standout, it’s Gabriel Basso as Deputy National Security Adviser Jake Baerington. The actor brilliantly captures his character’s ability to walk a fine line between panic and assuredness, only to ultimately let his humanity get the better of him. A scene in which he finds himself talking to the Russian president is a bracing, human moment that undercuts the game of brinksmanship being played. In a movie of distinctly dramatic moments, it may be the most moving.
The ending is likely to be polarizing but it’s one that demands reflection and consideration. While it may initially seem ambiguous, it proves fitting in emphasizing the folly and futility of the nuclear arms race. Dynamite drives home that once a single missile is in the air, there’s not a single scenario that could play out in which we don’t all end up as victims. The powers-that-be have painted us all into a corner from which no winners will emerge. The notion that “it’s not a matter of if, but when,” has never been so starkly laid out as it is here. That the world is currently in a volatile and uncertain state only increases the horror Dynamite assures us is a certainty. Streaming on Netflix.
After an inspired start, Oaks quickly fades
Like Santiago in Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, director Chris Stuckmann had me on the line and was reeling me in with his horror film Shelby Oaks. Taking a page from The Blair Witch Project, this found-footage feature created a genuine feeling of dread during its first 15 minutes, its tale of a mysterious abduction told documentary style with grainy video footage, news reports and personal interviews. Though lacking originality, the premise Stuckmann and co-writer Sam Liz had concocted was unique and related in such an unsettling manner, I settled in to be willingly manipulated and scared out of my socks.
However, unlike Santiago, Stuckmann changed his approach and where I was once on the line, I was soon swimming free, with only the Island of Missed Opportunities and Tedium in sight.
Inexplicably, Stuckmann abandons the found footage approach after an extended prologue and adopts a more traditional narrative to the film’s detriment. Even more disappointing is that a genuinely inspired conceit is allowed to rot on the vine, thanks to the director’s adherence to horror film conventions, the many tropes on display ultimately negating the original ideas at the story’s core.
The set-up is familiar but rendered effectively. It’s 2008 and a group of four Ohio teens, Peter (Anthony Badasare), Laura (Caisey Cole), David (Eric Francis Melaragni) and Riley (Sarah Durn) are the hosts of the YouTube channel, “Paranormal Paranoids.” The quartet, video camera in hand, visit a variety of haunted locales, stumbling across poltergeists and spirits with alarming regularity. Most of their viewers are skeptical of their findings, so when they go missing after visiting an abandoned prison in the ghost town of Shelby Oaks, nearly everyone thinks it’s a publicity stunt.
Unfortunately, weeks go by and ultimately the bodies of Peter, Laura and David are found, each having been brutally murdered. The mystery surrounding what became of Riley becomes a cause celebre, many fans of the channel weighing in with their own theories after pouring over the last known footage featuring the amateur ghost hunters. Nothing comes of any of it and twelve years pass. And while the fervor dies down, Riley’s sister Mia (Camille Sullivan) never gives up hope. Ultimately, she gets some of the answers she seeks when one day a raving madman, Wilson Miles (Charlie Talbert), shows up on her doorstep to give her a videotape, before blowing his brains out.
It’s here that the film starts to jump the tracks. The faux documentary recounting Riley and her friends’ experiences is expertly done, Stuckmann using the typical approach and tools of the genre to create an extended sequence that’s truly unnerving. Yet, this is abandoned once Mia is given the new revelatory videotape, the movie turning into a standard Nancy Drew-like mystery.
Unfortunately, Sullivan is not a strong enough actress to carry the film, the actress’ choices obvious, her deliberate approach sapping the spontaneity and tension out of far too many scenes. She’s done no favors by Stuckmann, whose tepid pace compounds the tedium. While he does a reasonably good job of building tension, he repeatedly fails to stick the landing, many scenes petering out, their urgency sapped as these moments go on too long.
This is unfortunate as the entity behind Riley’s disappearance is an inspired creation. The personification of rot and decay, he is a living pestilence that leaches the life out of all he encounters. His presence, conveyed by ever-encroaching swathes of black mold and weighted shadows, create an unnerving, claustrophobic sense of inescapable death. Yet, the how and why this is occurring is only alluded to, Stuckmann and Liz instead leaning into a “Hereditary”-like conclusion that’s far from satisfying.
Elements cribbed from Rosemary’s Baby, The Omen, and Midsommar pop up as well, all of which contribute a feeling of narrative laziness that’s disconcerting. In the end, Shelby Oaks is like the longshot at the horse track that breaks your heart. It gets off to a fast start, providing a bit of initial hope, only to fade spectacularly in the final stretch. In Theaters.
Cradle fails to cause a stir
There’s a distinct lack of urgency to the thriller The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, a remake of the 1992 surprise hit. Having never seen that version, I cannot attest whether that film also adopted a “ho-hum” attitude towards the shenanigans it contained. Under Michelle Garza Cervera’s direction, this update meanders from one “dramatic” moment to the next, none of them generating anything resembling suspense. What’s most curious is the two leads deliver solid, at times impassioned performances, yet they too fail to provide a spark for what turns out to be a timely yet tepidly told tale.
Overwhelmed juggling her career and motherhood, Claire Morales (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) convinces her husband Miguel (Raul Castillo) they are in need of a nanny. Wisely adhering to the maxim, “Happy wife, happy life,” he readily agrees. Enter Polly Murphy (Maika Monroe), an intense young woman who plays on Claire’s sympathy. About to be thrown out of her apartment, after looking after the Morales’ two daughters (Mileiah Vega and Lola Contreras) for a couple of weeks, she wheedles her way into their home, accepting an offer to move into their guest house.
Before you know it, Polly is giving the kids food with sugar (Oh no!), turning the girls against their mother and sabotaging meals to make them all sick. However, this is just the tip of the iceberg of nefarious deeds she has in store. Soon enough, she has Miguel questioning his wife’s mental state. Seems Claire had a breakdown previously and she’s exhibiting tell-tale signs of relapsing. Surely, the nanny couldn’t be to blame …
If there’s one thing that’s surprising about Micah Bloomberg’s script, it’s that it doesn’t go down the expected narrative path of having Polly seduce Miguel. Little else comes as a surprise as the nanny’s scheme unfolds and Claire breaks down before uncovering the past event that connects them.
Not only is the script a rote exercise but it’s populated with supporting characters that, by and large, are ciphers. Miguel is rendered so vaguely, he could have been played by a fence post. The role is so underwritten I doubt Brando could have brought any life to it. Claire’s best friends, Stewart and Bethany (Martin Starr and Riki Lindhome) don’t fare much better, though it’s implied there’s some history between him and our heroine, though details are minimal.
This proves regrettable as the revelation as to what is driving Polly and has hindered Claire is a corker and speaks to a vital societal concern. Winstead and Monroe are quite good during this revelatory moment, negating the rather sordid nature of the plot twist with their sincerity. Unfortunately, we’re past caring by that point, having been lulled into indifference by the lackluster execution of the threadbare script.
Had the rest of the script been as well-thought out and genuine as the third act, Cradle may have transcended its potboiler roots. More importantly, it may have been a livelier affair. Cervera must shoulder a good deal of the blame. Far too often, she opts for pensive glances shared between Claire and Polly to convey meaning and intent, many scenes running too long as a result. Ultimately, I don’t think she understood the assignment. This was meant to be Fatal Attraction-like melodrama, not a European art film. Streaming on Hulu.
This article appears in October 23-29, 2025.
