1. Bride of Frankenstein (10/28/2025, in the theater) Grade: A.
Yes, this was the original Bride of Frankenstein (though shouldn’t it be Bride of Frankenstein’s Monster?) with Boris Karloff released in 1935, and it was definitely a treat to see it on the big screen. The visuals and practical effects in this film are astounding, particularly those in the last 15 minutes.
I also appreciated its commentary on the dangers of seeking perfection, especially from humans, as we are the most imperfect beings of all. Instead, the movie advises, maybe we’d all be much better off if we just spent more time pursuing what Frankenstein’s monster did: “Friend, good! Drink, good!”
2. One Battle After Another (10/05/2025, in the theater.) Grade: B-
I also loved watching DiCaprio as a pothead dad running around Humboldt County in a robe and knit hat, especially when Benicio del Toro adds his calm slyness to the mission.
The bad things were the first 20 minutes and a very distasteful role for Sean Penn, who for the first time made me wish for less of him, though my husband pointed out that we were supposed to hate his character. Still, I think the movie would have been much better if it started with DiCaprio settling on the couch with a pot pipe after his daughter heads to the school dance, and her mother and Penn are only shown in flashbacks.
3. Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere. (10/31/2025, in the theater.) Grade: D+.
Jeremy Allen White was great as Bruce Springsteen, so you might think that since he was in nearly every scene, this movie would be great, too. But it wasn’t.
The story centers on Springsteen hunkering down in a rental home while creating the album Nebraska, and I was encouraged when Paul Walter Hauser shows up as the recording tech helping Springsteen put his new songs onto a cassette tape he later delivers with no case, only a hand-written letter. But then Hauser disappears as the studio techs (one played by Marc Maron, who seemed to have been hired mostly to grin, which can we all agree is not his best skill?) are tasked with finding someone who could do the impossible: make the songs Springsteen recorded in his bedroom album-worthy, while somehow still retaining the rawness the artist insists be preserved.
I wanted to know much more about how this feat was accomplished, but the movie barely scratches the surface of that painstaking process, and instead takes a magnifying glass to Springsteen’s past, offering twice as many flashbacks than was needed to understand his troubled childhood and strained relationship with his father.
I also wanted more of Springsteen on stage at The Stone Pony, sweaty from performing to adoring fans, and less of him staring at the ceiling, sweaty from lying on the carpet all day. Because it’s not only very hard to make the interior process of wrestling with psychological demons visually interesting, I would also argue that even attempting to dissect anyone’s brain to get to the source of their creativity usually only succeeds in killing any magic they conjured, so it’s best to just sit back and enjoy what they offer us.
But instead of bringing us onto the stage to soak in Springsteen’s star power close-up, this movie kept taking us back to the dorm where our depressed roommate has again spent all day playing crappy music and watching crappy television while “making my art, man.” And though we are meant to understand that the art he eventually does complete is far from crappy, the movie makes no real attempt to explain why these songs were so meaningful to either Springsteen or his fans.
I will admit that I was never a fan of Springsteen or even bought any of his music, and that I couldn’t help comparing this film to James Mangold’s far superior movie about Bob Dylan, “A Complete Unknown,” which gave audiences more music, more performances, and more intimate moments with incredibly charismatic people.
Because a good musician biopic understands that what we all really want from such films is the ultimate backstage pass, a chance to see firsthand what usually only their roadies and band members get to witness: That moment when an artist drops their mortal mask and steps on stage, giving us one second of feeling like we breathed the same air as an immortal.
Movies I saw in September: Jaws, Eleanor the Great, Him
Finally, here are the movies my grandmother saw in October of 1995:
10/4/1995: To show: “Seven.” First couldn’t hear, dark also. But fast, good direction.
Awake early. Muffin at mall.
10/7/1995: To show at 41st, “To Die For.” Nicole Kidman, Matt Dillon.
Watched, “The General Died at Dawn,” Gary Cooper, M. Carroll. 1936. I never saw it!
10/10/1995: To show “Kids.” Gross.
Library from 11:30 to 2:30, got 3 books.
10/18/1995: To show, “Strange Days.” Loud, 2000 LA in chaos, based on police killing blacks. Felt director inferring LA on edge of anarchy.
Home 4 p.m., read, watched news.
10/23/1995: To show “Get Shorty.”
Breakfast McDonald’s. Talked to woman. She also likes travel, opera.
10/26/1995: To show, “Scarlett Letter.” Background Nova Scotia, beautiful scenery!
World Series: Cleveland 5-4. Hershiser, Maddux mad, lost it. HR in 1st inning.
10/31/1995: To show “Copycat.” Scary.
To Ross, got turtleneck, Cinnamon.
For more on my grandmother’s journals and why she loved breakfast at McDonald’s, watch this video:
