Ruben Rosario, Film Critic

Labor Day weekend is upon us, and another movie summer season gets ready to call it a year. The winds of fall are already blowing our way, as film festivals begin teasing out their lineups and movie studios hungry for coverage begin flooding critics' inboxes with screening invites, save-the-date reminders and listings of awards-season hopefuls angling to muscle their way into our orbits.

Up until the not-too-distant past, I looked forward for the ostensibly grown-up fare primed to take up my movie viewing hours between early September and the end of the year. Now? I think I feel a headache coming on. Awards season has mutated into a year-round spectator sport among pundits and the terminally online. So, instead of salivating over the next big thing that's all but guaranteed to sweep up come Oscar night, I strive to scour the nooks and crannies of moviedom to ensure smaller, less heralded films find a seat at the table before the heavy hitters suck all the oxygen out of the room.

But before I embark on this quixotic quest, it's time to take a look at a handful of late-summer releases that close out a season filled with peaks and valleys. The peaks, including polarizing works by esteemed auteurs (Spielberg! Refn! Mitchell!), were considerably high, though they also drew a considerable share of detractors, so much so that I began to wonder whether these people have simply stopped enjoying the old-fashioned pleasures these films delivered.

The lows, on the other hand, sank well below sea level, with two high-profile releases, “Masters of the Universe” (now streaming on Prime Video) and “Supergirl” (streaming on HBO Max starting Sept. 10), among the very worst films put out by a major studio in recent memory. I thought about reviewing them, until I determined life's too short to linger on such dreadful fare. In any case, audiences largely sided with me, giving these stinkers the cold shoulder.

But my current vantage point, as we sit on the cusp dividing summer and fall, is considerably less dire. Four films out now in multiplexes aim to breathe new life into old narrative templates by prioritizing their characters over genre tropes. Here's the last batch of 2026 summer movies. Let's escape those steamy temperatures and blinding downpours one more time.

“Onslaught”: You could sense some discomfort in the room when I asked director Adam Wingard, screenwriter Simon Barrett and star Dan Stevens a couple of pointed questions about “The Guest.” It's a taut and grim 2014 thriller about an American soldier who inserts himself in the lives of a New Mexico family by introducing himself as the best friend of a loved one killed in Afghanistan. I wanted to know, for instance, how the film's depiction of post-traumatic stress disorder, intertwined with the titular character's murderous actions, would go over with viewers who've lost loved ones in the line of duty.

Seeing “Onslaught,” this trio's most recent collaboration, made me think of “The Guest” in more ways than one. If anything, the newer film, starring Adria Arjona, Rebecca Hall and “Queer's” Drew Starkey alongside Stevens, is less problematic in its depiction of veterans struggling to find their place in this world. Both films share a high body count, a New Mexico setting, a satirical attitude toward the military-industrial complex and a penchant for showing the myriad ways humans can be filleted and pumped full of lead. The John Carpenter vibes are, once again, pervasive.

But “Onslaught” downplays the cruel streak that gave “The Guest” and the Wingard/Barrett slasher flick “You're Next” their sharp edges while still retaining a yen for carnage. Fans of the filmmaking team, who share a screenplay credit this time, might be let down by the way they cut away from the more grisly bits, in a couple of cases allowing characters to be killed offscreen. To these eyes, this relative restraint is a sign of growth, and it allows the filmmakers to more seamlessly fuse this story's sci-fi, action and horror elements.

Wingard and Barrett's protagonist this time is not played by Stevens, who chews up the scenery as a German scientist with a high heel fetish (more on him later), but Arjona, who plays Celeste, a former U.S. Army sniper who lives and works at the Windy Oasis trailer park. Her targets these days are the tomatoes she blows up during target practice out in the desert, a reprieve from the tenants who can't seem to pay the rent on time. It also helps Celeste keep her mind off the brewing custody battle over her daughter Daisy (Blake Kennedy) that pits her against her ex-husband Griffin (Jacob Scipio).

Griffin unexpectedly drops off Daisy (smart, resourceful, a bit of a neat freak) on a weekend that wasn't Celeste's turn, and his timing couldn't have been worse. Unbeknownst to the residents of Windy Oasis, Uncle Sam is funding an unsettling science experiment, not far from their mobile home community, that has turned three soldiers killed in action into lethal, unstoppable super soldiers.

At least that's the goal, if Dr. Hans Kammler (Stevens) and his domineering wife, Hanna Kammler (Hall), have their his way. When Baylor ('80s James Cameron mainstay Michael Biehn), who represents the shadowy “board” who oversees this operation, demands a demonstration of Hans' killer trio, it does not go as planned. It's also apparent that the bloodlust possessed by these silent brutes, coined The Crybaby, The Cockroach and The Butcher, cannot be contained by some high-security government facility. Off they go, their eyes lit up with an eerie glow, extermination on their one-track minds.

One could argue that “Onslaught,” sinewy and tight, passes up several opportunities to flesh out its characters as it hurtles toward the mayhem. Stevens, for example, is content to stick with broad caricature, his bald pate so fake-looking that it's begging for ridicule. But there's a potent, take-no-prisoners drive to its narrative, alternately foreboding and kinetic, that, at a brisk 92 minutes, barrels through its more generic elements.

A commanding Arjona channels Michelle Rodriguez as she hones Celeste's survival instinct into a weapon sharp enough to square off against these genetically engineered bogeymen. The results don't reinvent the wheel, but it's invigorating to see Wingard, who helmed two Godzilla/King Kong movies in the years between “The Guest” and “Onslaught,” return to his roots with visual panache and a little more empathy than before. His latest effort thrusts its grindhouse trappings in your face, and it kicks major butt.

“Tony”: Moving from the Southwest to the Northeast, this slice-of-life portrait of the young Anthony Bourdain is bolstered at just about every turn by another finely tuned performance by the charismatic Dominic Sessa and director/co-screenwriter Matt Johnson's awareness that the future celebrity chef was a conceited jerk when he was 19.

Loosely adapted from the early section of Bourdain's 2000 memoir “Kitchen Confidential,” “Tony” is further strengthened by its parameters, limiting its scope to the summer of 1975. His ego bruised after being passed over for a prestigious writing fellowship, the impulsive and self-absorbed Bourdain runs away from his New Jersey home and high-tails it to Massachusetts, all to chase after Nancy Putkoski (“CODA's” Emilia Jones), a high school crush who made sure to tell him she'd be spending her summer in Provincetown.

Misfortune appears to gravitate toward Bourdain like a magnet, and he soon finds himself broke and without a place to stay in this most heterocentric iteration of P-Town. (Seriously, gay guys are relegated to the corners of the screen.) But he also appears to have someone looking out for him, since he ends up working in the kitchen of the very seafood joint from where he was kicked out. Taking the painfully green Bourdain under his wing is “Chef” José Vatel, the restaurant's Portuguese owner, played by an understated Antonio Banderas.

Much like “Kitchen Confidential” reportedly has a casual relationship with the facts, “Tony” compresses elements of various summers into one, so it's best taken as a pleasantly embellished look at how Bourdain discovered his love of cooking. Like “The Holdovers,” the Alexander Payne dramedy that put Sessa on the map, there are shades of Hal Ashby in “Tony's” depiction of the men who come into Bourdain's life during this pivotal summer: Vatel, who becomes a tough-love mentor, and his co-worker Sal (a fiery, captivating Leo Woodall), a womanizing loose cannon whose moral compass rarely points due north.

Johnson, who also helmed “BlackBerry,” aka Canada's answer to “The Social Network,” hits the sweet spot when he focuses on the banter between Bourdain and the kitchen staff. There is no need to soft-pedal these men's profanity-laced crudeness, and “Tony” is the stronger for it. The film is on shakier ground away from the male camaraderie, when its gaze softens into something more palatable to the NPR crowd. A self-consciously pretty shot of a starry night sky, for instance, feels aesthetically out of place. It's a symptom of a larger issue: Sessa's scenes with Jones just don't feel as authentic as the ones in the restaurant.

As coming-of-age tales go, however, “Tony's” heart is always in the right place. The more it leans into the tug of war between its protagonist's smugness and his ample curiosity and creative drive, the more it sucks you in. Here and in “BlackBerry,” one gets the feeling Johnson is on the verge of making something truly special. Not unlike “Tony's” self-destructive leading man, he just needs to get out of his own way.

 

“The Dog Stars”: We've had more than our fair share of post-apocalyptic yarns in recent years, and while the latest film from the prolific Ridley Scott doesn't add anything particularly novel to this subgenre, its shaggy energy and idiosyncratic flourishes make it difficult to dismiss. It is, in other words, too weird to write off.

The cataclysmic event that triggers the breakdown of society in the near future is a particularly vicious strain of influenza. By the time the film, adapted from Peter Heller's 2012 novel, opens, survivors of this global pandemic are content to remain isolated from one another, letting their weapons take the lead when confronted with intruders.

In Colorado, not far from Denver, mechanic-turned-pilot Hig (Jacob Elordi) keeps despair at bay by flying the quiet skies above the compound he shares with Bangley (Josh Brolin), a former Marine who doesn't share his roommate's belief in the basic decency of humankind. Hig flies to the state capital for fuel and supplies, some of which he gives to a remote Mennonite community that he has befriended. There's also Jasper, the German shepherd who's been a trusted sidekick since he got the pooch as a puppy. All while he circles deep loss that he has not fully processed.

The parallels between “The Dog Stars” and the superior, Will Smith-fronted “I Am Legend” are hard to ignore, but what sets Scott's film apart is the filmmaker's relative disinterest in the tropes that propel dystopian thrillers. What makes the director's ears perk up is the chance to explore this people's inner lives.

After tragedy strikes, Hig sets out for Grand Junction on the sole basis of a faint radio signal, and that's when he crosses paths with Cima (Margaret Qualley) and her father Jack, aka “Pops” (a gruff, bearded Guy Pearce). It's here where the movie hits its stride.

It's a bumpy road, for the characters and the movie, as Hig and the new people in his life navigate challenges of various shapes and sizes. These obstacles give Scott an opportunity to harness diverging tones and narrative strands, and the “Gladiator” and “Blade Runner” auteur lassoes the disparate elements with a ranch hand's firm grip.

Even when “The Dog Stars” takes a bizarre, Lynchian detour, it's a messy jumble that doesn't overstay its welcome because the bleakness on display is not of the oppressive kind. Underneath its majestic, elegantly lensed desolation is the easygoing bonhomie of a hangout movie. Scott is clearly trying to make familiar material interesting for himself.

Not all the choices Scott makes work, like retaining the book's title title. It may have conveyed the novel's essence on the page, but it just feels awkward as a moniker for its screen adaptation, and it may have helped contribute to its underwhelming box office performance. Elordi is an adequate, albeit occasionally bland choice for Hig. Most of his co-stars act circles around him with Brolin and Pearce the clear standouts.

But the choices that do connect outweigh the ones that don't. By my count, this is Scott's first halfway decent feature since the 2021 historical drama “The Last Duel.” Here's hoping more people willing to take a chance catch up with this strangely absorbing genre-bending effort at home.

“Coyote vs. Acme”: But I have saved the best for last, because this exhilarating hybrid of animation and live-action, an underdog tale with its own David-versus-Goliath backstory, is a real unicorn. It's the most satisfying time I've had catching a new movie in theaters this year to date.

Actually, not all that new. This Looney Tunes caper, starring one of the most instantly recognizable cartoon predators, was frozen in suspended animation after Warner Bros. Discovery CEO David Zaslav opted to shelve the film in order to obtain a tax write-off, a move Daffy Duck would accurately call desssspicable. Following an uproar from fans, some from within the industry, the indie distributor Ketchup Entertainment took the film out of the studio's hands.

Three years after its original release date, audiences can finally enjoy this crisply paced gem on the big screen where it belongs. Adapted from Ian Frazier's 1990 New Yorker article, “Coyote vs. Acme” asks the question, “What if Wile E. Coyote sued the Acme Corporation over decades' worth of defective products?”

Director Dave Green's buoyant comedy is no mere nostalgia trip. Think “Who Framed Roger Rabbit,” reconceived as an irreverent conspiracy thriller. No, it's not quite in the same league as Robert Zemeckis' film noir riff, but it has one notable difference. Unlike the older film, in which the new animated characters take center stage and the classic characters are relegated to fun cameos, “Coyote vs. Acme” uses Looney Tunes characters in important roles. For instance, Foghorn Leghorn is Acme's brassy CEO and, in an inspired touch of Tinseltown magic, animated Peter Lorre plays a scientist turned whistleblower.

The film's setting, like in “Onslaught,” is New Mexico, where Wile has had enough of being crushed and plummeting to the ground (cue that signature cloud of smoke). So he seeks out Kevin Avery (Will Forte), an Albuquerque-based injury lawyer who's lost that idealistic spark that led him to pursue law in the first place. Kevin looks at his hirsute prospective client, and he sees a settlement of a couple of hundred dollars.

But Kevin's niece Paige (Lana Condor), an Oxford law student interning at her uncle's firm, sees the potential for a massive lawsuit. That sets up a showdown between Kevin's firm and the corporate behemoth, represented by high-powered attorney Buddy Crane (John Cena, never better).

The premise is swell, but also susceptible to be flattened into high-concept pablum. So the film is striking, not only what it does with its clever conceit, but for what it doesn't do. Meaning that while it's nimble and funny, it opts for inventive sight gags and inspired word play as opposed to the more sustained laugh-out-loud jokes that comprised the classic Wile E. Coyote/Road Runner cartoons. I smiled more than I laughed.

 

And that's all right, because “Coyote vs. Acme” works on its own terms. Credit the film's MVP, screenwriter Samy Burch, for inserting all kinds of movie references, which go beyond legal dramas like “A Few Good Men,” “The Pelican Brief” and “Erin Brockovich” to the paranoia of '70s films like “All the President's Men” and “The Parallax View.” Yes, there is a Deep Throat reference. But even more rewarding is how well developed the relationship between Kevin and Wile is. It goes to the core of their existential angst, how their dilemmas become mirror images and how Wile's relentless quest to catch that supersonic birds can find its roots in Greek mythology.

You could take issue with “Coyote vs. Acme” on a number of things. The animation, a blend of 3-D and more conventional 2-D, is a bit of a mixed bag. Also, the scenes dealing with Kevin's staff lack seasoning and cause the film's energy to flag. But the film is still a breath of fresh air. It not only nails the classic cartoons' distinctive comic sensibility; that sensibility is distilled to create something that feels at once old-fashioned and new. The result is a deep dive into the past that, in its indictment of corporate greed, also feels very much like a movie of the moment. It gives this critic a little hope for the future of movies and moviegoing. Don't wait to stream it. Watch it on the biggest screen you can find. Take your friends. Meep to it. You might just be reminded of how good going to the movies can feel.

“Onslaught,” “Tony,” “The Dog Stars” and “Coyote vs. Acme” are now playing across South Florida, including at AMC Aventura, AMC Sunset Place, Silverspot Cinema Metsquare, CMX Brickell City Centre Dine-in and Cinépolis Luxury Cinemas Coconut Grove.