THE WEIGHT (2026)

I don’t feel bad about having gone to support The Weight in the theaters. After all, it's the kind of movie that a certain type of Movie Understander warns us is almost extinct: midbudget fare, with an original story that isn't a sequel or reboot, that has no connection to any existing franchise and doesn't set out intending to establish a new one; a film pitched unmistakeably to grownups without completely giving up on thrilling genre trappings or the charisma of (affordable) stars. It's the kind of movie that's easy to root for, that you can watch and think to yourself "why aren't all movies made like this?"

And yet you can also come away better understanding exactly why films of this sort have some trouble drawing people to the theater. Its characters are sturdy but also a little familiar; the acting is consistently strong but also a little safe. The story is well-wrought but also a little tidy; the moments of suspense or violence are capably presented but also a little boring. You can be enjoying yourself the whole time, in other words, and still find yourself missing that thing that really captivates your attention or provokes your imagination—a terrific bit of dialogue, an indelible quality to a performance, an iconic shot, an ambiguous detail, a WTF moment: whatever cinematic epiphenomenon it is that gets you to tell someone "you have to see that movie!" (A few almost-but-not-quite contenders: Julia Jones working on Hawke's swollen finger; Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen's concussed stare; the oddball score, full of ominous post-industrial groans.)