Browse our collection of musical reviews and ratings.Showing 6 of 6 reviews.
Hearts Beat Loud is one of those small-scale musical dramas that quietly sneaks up on you, leaving a surprisingly big emotional impact. Set in a changing Brooklyn neighborhood, it centers on a widowed record store owner and his college-bound daughter, as they unexpectedly form a band. Their shared musical journey is equal parts heartfelt and charming, with an undercurrent of bittersweet nostalgia permeating each scene. The film’s original songs, especially the titular “Hearts Beat Loud,” are catchy and authentic, beautifully performed by Nick Offerman and Kiersey Clemons. The music sequences feel organic—less like glossy music video interludes and more like genuine moments of connection. There’s an indie warmth in how these musical performances are woven into the father-daughter dynamic. Nick Offerman, more often known for his comedic roles, delivers a nuanced performance here, playing a man unwilling to let go of his past and terrified of an uncertain future. Clemons brings real sensitivity and intelligence to her role, making their on-screen relationship not only believable but deeply moving. Supporting turns from Toni Collette and Ted Danson add layers of humor and melancholy. What stands out is the movie’s gentle embrace of change and growing up. Rather than indulging in over-the-top drama, it settles for quieter truths: the pain of letting things go, the joy found in creative collaboration, and the subtle power of music to bridge generational gaps. Its Brooklyn setting feels lived-in, enhancing the realism. For anyone interested in a low-key musical that values sincerity over spectacle, Hearts Beat Loud delivers a heartfelt experience. It’s a small movie with big feelings, the kind you’ll want to revisit when you need comfort and a hopeful tune.
Annette is probably one of the weirdest musicals I've seen in the last few years, but it's got this hypnotic pull if you let it wash over you. The story follows a stand-up comedian (Adam Driver) and his opera singer wife (Marion Cotillard), and how their lives spiral after the birth of their daughter, Annette (who, yes, is portrayed by a truly eerie puppet for most of the movie). It's dreamy, nightmarish, and totally unafraid to be odd, which is refreshing if you've grown tired of more formulaic musicals. Visually, the cinematography is striking—lots of bold, dark compositions, flickering stage lights, and stylized set pieces. The director, Leos Carax, really leans into the artificiality of musicals, with characters singing their love, anger, and desperation in ways that feel both intimate and theatrical. The tone shifts often, sometimes jarringly, between satire and tragedy, but there's an experimental energy to the whole thing that kept me from looking away. Adam Driver completely throws himself into his role—unhinged, raw, and magnetic. Marion Cotillard is more reserved, but her voice gives most of her scenes a haunting quality. Then there's the music, written by oddball legends Sparks, which alternates between pop operetta and avant-garde weirdness. A few songs are catchy and memorable, while others are more like emotional monologues set to music, so don't expect traditional show tunes. Some of the storytelling is on-the-nose (especially in how the characters literally sing what they're feeling), and the third act gets muddled, stretching its allegorical themes almost to the breaking point. The use of the puppet Annette may be off-putting for some viewers, too—it definitely aims to unsettle. But even where the film stumbles, you can't say it's ever boring. You would enjoy this if you like bold, art-house musicals, or if you want something genuinely different and challenging—all wrapped in a tragic love story. A warning though: if you’re just looking for a feel-good musical, this is not your vibe.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch is such an electrifying and bittersweet ride through the lens of a glam punk rock musical. The story follows Hedwig, a genderqueer East German singer, who’s on a literal and emotional road trip across the US, tracing both her failed love and her search for identity. It’s not your run-of-the-mill musical—there’s grit and darkness under all the glitter, and John Cameron Mitchell’s performance is raw and magnetic. What grabbed me from the get-go is how the music doesn’t just fill space or serve as background; every song punches you with meaning. “Origin of Love” is a standout—catchy, philosophical, and moving. The numbers are performed with such energy and authenticity that you’ll want to look up the lyrics afterwards. I also loved how the film isn’t afraid to look rough around the edges, feeling less like a slick Broadway adaptation and more like a live rock show in an old dive bar. Cinematography-wise, it’s clever, moody, and intimate—cold blues and warm reds, quick pans from audience to performer, even the use of split-screen sometimes. The direction makes the most of a modest budget, turning it into a strength: it keeps the focus tight on Hedwig’s world without overproducing the spectacle. That makes the emotional moments hit harder, especially during quieter close-up scenes. There are a couple of narrative beats that feel a little uneven; it jumps between flashbacks and the present in a way that can be disorienting. And some supporting characters, especially bandmate Yitzhak (who’s played wonderfully by Miriam Shor), could have used more room to breathe. But the film never loses the sense of heartache and self-discovery that keeps it pulsing all the way to the end. You would enjoy this if you’re into musicals that break the mold—edgy, heartfelt, and with real emotional guts. It’s a movie for anyone who loves music, stories about outsiderhood, or unique films with a cult following.
This documentary-musical hybrid shines a spotlight on the Funk Brothers, the legendary session musicians behind nearly every Motown hit from the ‘60s and early ‘70s. Instead of a straight-laced doc, it blends interviews, old footage, and, best of all, full-on concert performances with modern artists like Joan Osborne and Ben Harper standing in for the stars the Funk Brothers once backed. The vibe celebrates unsung talent and sets the record straight on who really made those classic tunes groove. What stands out most is how the musicians' personalities come to life, especially as they reminisce about the chaotic, creative Motown days. The filmmakers pull genuine warmth from these aging legends, mixing nostalgia with occasional bittersweet moments about fame that never fully arrived. You feel the camaraderie and occasional heartbreak in every scene. Not every musical number lands equally — a few guest singers feel more showy than soulful, which occasionally distracts from the emotion behind the original songs. Still, the band themselves are magnetic, and the crisp sound quality on both interviews and performances keeps your toes tapping. Cinematography isn’t flashy, but it’s effective and honest. The archival footage is pieced together cleverly with modern stage shots, making it a treat for fans of music history. There aren’t many bells and whistles, but you won’t need them — the energy and stories do all the heavy lifting. You would enjoy this if you’re a Motown fan, love music docs, or are curious about the stories behind legendary hits like "My Girl" and "Ain’t No Mountain High Enough." Honestly, if you’ve ever hummed along to a song on an oldies station, it’s worth your time.
So, Anna and the Apocalypse is this totally unexpected mashup of a high school musical and a zombie apocalypse—think Glee meets Shaun of the Dead, but with more Christmas sweaters. The basic premise is, on Christmas Eve, students in a sleepy Scottish town suddenly find themselves singing and dancing their way through a zombie outbreak. It’s cheeky, bloody, and surprisingly heartfelt. I went in expecting something schlocky, but it balances charm and chaos in a way that’s really endearing. One thing that really stood out to me was the music. The songs, like “Turning My Life Around” and “Hollywood Ending,” are catchy and self-aware, adding a layer of wit to the carnage. They do a great job setting the tone, and the cast really commits to the singing and choreography, which is a big part of why the whole concept actually lands. The tunes legitimately get stuck in your head, and there’s something almost defiant about belting out show tunes while evading zombies. That said, the storyline isn’t exactly deep or groundbreaking—though it doesn’t have to be. There are some pacing issues, especially in the second act, where it loses steam and the novelty of “zombies + musical numbers” starts to wear thin. Some emotional beats get brushed over a little too quickly, and a couple of the side characters don’t get much love. Still, there’s enough tongue-in-cheek humor and quirky horror that I never felt bored. Visually, it’s not the flashiest film, but the cinematography is dynamic during the musical numbers—lots of kinetic shots, fun dance sequences, and playfully gory zombie kills. The snowy small-town vibe adds major holiday atmosphere, which totally works for the story. Ella Hunt, as Anna, anchors the film nicely. She’s likable and grounded, and you’re genuinely rooting for her and her friends to power through the chaos. You’d enjoy this if you dig genre-mashups or offbeat holiday movies, or if you just want something different from the usual musical fare. It’s for folks who like their musicals with a smattering of blood, a bit of teen angst, and a smirk. It’s not a perfect film, but it’s got enough heart and originality to make it a delightful cult favorite.
Band Aid is a scrappy, heartfelt indie musical-comedy about a married couple (played by Zoe Lister-Jones and Adam Pally) whose constant bickering evolves into songwriting sessions—turning fights into literal songs, all with the help of an awkward neighbor on drums (Fred Armisen). It’s part relationship drama, part jam session, and the soundtrack is genuinely catchy, feeling both raw and surprisingly fun for a movie that’s essentially about failure and resentment. What really stands out is the chemistry between the leads and the way the film uses humor to navigate some pretty heavy topics, like partnership, stagnation, and infertility. It’s not your classic big-stage musical, more like an honest indie where the music grows organically out of real arguments. The banter feels lived-in and there’s an intimacy to the way the songs are born from their flaws rather than polished performances. If there’s a downside, it’s that the film sometimes leans a little too hard on its “quirky couple” vibe and some jokes don’t quite land. But if you’ve ever had a relationship where you both loved and exasperated each other in equal measure, you might really connect. It’s a good pick for fans of low-key, character-driven stories who don’t need their musicals to be all glitz and spectacle.