One of my closest high school friends is a gay trucker, so the idea of marginalized voices within the industry is not entirely foreign to me. Writer/director David Drake’s The Long Haul explores another underrepresented perspective through the eyes of CJ Montague (Margo Martindale), a veteran driver who has spent 35 years running her own company, CJM Trucking. In an field still overwhelmingly dominated by men, brash CJ remains behind the wheel well into her seventies, fiercely independent, unwilling to compromise, and answers to no one but herself. Happy to be called a “cunt,” foul-mouthed, and entirely no-nonsense, she lives as a low-maintenance vagabond, dyeing her hair in gas station bathrooms and drifting from one job to the next. Martindale fully inhabits the role, delivering a performance so compelling that at times CJ feels more carefully crafted than the movie surrounding her.

Much of the narrative revolves around CJ’s resistance to change. She dislikes modern technology and remains stubbornly old-school, without even an email address, making it difficult to secure work in a rapidly evolving industry. Although underutilized, Cole Sprouse’s Junior starkly juxtaposes her worldview. He represents a younger generation of truckers who embrace social media and operate by the book with an unreasonably strict set of rules. Junior’s presence encourages CJ to consider retirement, though his role ultimately feels more symbolic than essential to the plot.

Beneath CJ’s hardened exterior lies profound grief. Years after the murder of her daughter, Starling, she remains unable to move forward. Her daughter’s bedroom remains frozen in the 90s, complete with bead curtains untouched by time. Unable to confront her loss, CJ isolates herself from those who shared that chapter of her life. Instead, she takes trucking jobs that keep her constantly on the road, running from an existence she has never fully reconciled.

The strongest moments emerge from CJ’s desperate search for human connection. After the loss of her daughter, she spends time speaking over a truck intercom with an ex-colleague, using the conversations to reflect on life and loneliness. Later, she rescues a Spanish-speaking woman (Yalitza Aparicio) from a man appearing to sexually harass her, and impulsively invites this complete stranger into her home. Drake makes the intriguing choice not to provide subtitles, placing viewers directly in CJ’s perspective. Neither woman fully understands the other’s language, yet they gradually find ways to communicate. The relationship functions both as an expression of CJ’s protective instincts, shaped by what happened to Starling, and as an attempt to fill the emotional void left by years of solitude.

When Starling’s murderer, Wayne (Jefferson White), becomes eligible for parole, CJ is forced to confront the reality she has spent decades avoiding. Predictably, her first instinct is to flee rather than face her unresolved trauma head-on. 

Visually, Drake frequently emphasizes the immense scale of CJ’s truck, often framing her as small beside the massive vehicle. The imagery subtly reinforces how insignificant she feels in the face of her grief and the changing world around her. Communication with the outside world largely occurs through voicemails, further underscoring her isolation.

The pacing, however, may prove divisive. Long stretches are devoted to winding highway roads and expansive warehouses. The deliberate rhythm effectively captures the slow-moving nature of a trucker’s life, but it can also test one’s patience. Martindale herself spoke enthusiastically about the measured pace during the Q&A, viewing it as one of the project’s strengths. 

Additional flashbacks depicting happier moments with Starling may have provided greater emotional context for CJ’s loss and deepened the audience’s understanding of her grief. Likewise, Junior and the Purvis Freight storyline occupy a substantial portion of the opening act, only to have surprisingly little impact on the overall narrative beyond their thematic significance.

While The Long Haul is clearly aimed at an older audience grappling with an increasingly fast-moving world, its emotional core remains universal. While perhaps too slow and understated for some, Martindale’s remarkable performance and CJ’s moving journey through grief and loneliness make it worthwhile.

Join CJ on the road to self-discovery when The Long Haul premieres at the 2026 Tribeca Film Festival on Sunday, June 7.

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Nearly two months ago, my boyfriend and I dove headfirst into the world of puppy breeding while searching for a new companion following the loss of my 16-year-old yorkie, Lexi. After extensive research and more conversations about breeding standards than I ever imagined having, we ultimately found our perfect apricot toy poodle, Mila. In the process, I learned far more about ethical breeding practices, bloodlines, and breed preservation than I ever expected.

For that reason, Alex Goyette’s Breeder immediately became one of my most anticipated entries of the festival. Despite choosing a breeder with overwhelmingly positive reviews, our experience was far from perfect. Mila is wonderful, but the breeder herself was difficult to communicate with and eccentric enough to make the process far more stressful than expected. Naturally, I assumed there couldn’t possibly be a poodle breeder stranger than ours. Then Patti (Dot-Marie Jones) entered the picture.

On paper, Patti is the ideal industry expert. With multiple Westminster and AKC poodle wins to her name, she presents herself as the pinnacle of professionalism. Her home is a shrine to the breed. Poodle-patterned wallpaper covers the walls, poodles decorate the front gate, and paintings and artwork celebrating the dogs fill nearly every available space. She kisses her dogs, baby talks to them, and appears utterly devoted to their well-being. The illusion cracks the moment she proudly displays her taxidermied champion black miniature poodle. This genuinely chilling image is the first sign that something is deeply wrong.

Rather than focusing solely on breeding dogs, Patti has set her sights on something she believes will have a greater impact on society: breeding humans. She approaches her human breeding program with the same tactics she applies to her dogs. Prospective mates are placed on carefully curated diets, monitored for optimal results, and subjected to endless infantilizing baby talk. 

What makes Breeder particularly clever is how thoughtfully it adapts real breeding terminology to its human eugenics framework. Concepts familiar within the dog breeding world are repurposed in unsettling ways. Patti condemns “backyard breeders,” those who breed irresponsibly for profit rather than to improve the breed, yet fails to recognize that she embodies the very definition herself. Though she frames her efforts as advancing the quality of the human race, her babies exist solely as commodities. The stud and bitch, or father and mother, are treated as breeding stock rather than people, forced to endure abusive conditions in service of her business.

Admittedly, I was hoping for more actual puppies before pivoting fully into the darker human-breeding narrative. Still, I enjoyed the ride. Recently acquired by IFC Films and Shudder with a theatrical release promised later this year during the introduction, Breeder feels like a natural fit for the distributor. Positioned somewhere between thriller, dark comedy, and horror, it lands squarely within my wheelhouse.

Jones proves to be inspired casting. Her performance is deliciously unhinged, balancing genuine menace with absurd humor. She’s clearly having the time of her life, and her commitment elevates every scene.

The predominantly female cast, aside from one major male character, strengthens the allegorical intent. What Patti is ultimately orchestrating amounts to sex trafficking, and the inclusion of manipulated orphans who eventually became complicit in her crimes adds a disturbing layer of realism. It is also notable a man is placed at the center of its sexual victimization narrative, as male victims are often taken less seriously.

Breeder often draws similarities to The Handmaid’s Tale, particularly in its regimented mating rituals designed solely to produce children of a specific caliber. Unlike the show’s obsession with fertility and appearance, here, intellect is prioritized above all else. Because Patti’s adopted daughters are portrayed as near-geniuses, the premise occasionally stretches credibility. Intelligence is influenced by both nature and nurture, making it difficult to believe that so many exceptionally gifted children could be consistently sourced from the foster system. There is also an interesting reversal of societal norms as men are treated as more expendable than women, a dynamic rarely explored in this manner.

Although the team spent seven years bringing the project to its final form, some narrative threads still feel underdeveloped. Patti’s mommy issues are introduced, but never fully examined beyond references to her own absent mother. Given she spends her time creating artificial families, collecting daughters, and selling babies, there seems to be fertile psychological territory left unexplored. The connection between her childhood experiences and obsession with control remains frustratingly vague.

Atmosphere is effective throughout. The dark cinematography immediately establishes unease, contrasting sharply with the clean, sterile, and brightly lit environments typically associated with reputable dog breeding operations. Combined with a creepy score and genuinely funny moments, Breeder succeeds in making a remarkably edgy premise entertaining.

Its biggest weakness is the amount of suspension of disbelief required. Russell (Daniel Doheny) is far too trusting, law enforcement barely investigates missing persons, and multiple characters repeatedly ignore glaring warning signs. A long-term fiancée is remarkably quick to believe a complete stranger over her own instincts, while the timing of several deceptions aligns a little too perfectly. The puzzle pieces fit together with such precision that the plot occasionally feels engineered rather than organic.

The logistical questions are even harder to ignore. Where are the social workers checking in on Patti’s adopted daughters, especially Manon (Isla Spencer), who is clearly a minor? Why does no one question the circumstances under and qualifications required which she continually acquires these girls? How has she concealed so many missing men, particularly those with families and loved ones actively looking for them? Russell is clearly not the first person to agree to these arrangements, yet the broader system surrounding Patti’s operation remains surprisingly absent.

Those unanswered questions prevent Breeder from fully realizing its potential, but the entry remains an entertaining, darkly funny, and unsettling examination of obsession, control, and the commodification of human life. Anchored by Jones’s wonderfully deranged performance, it leaves a lasting impression despite its uneven edges.

Get acquainted with Patti’s kennel of horrors when Breeder premieres at the 2026 Tribeca Film Festival on Saturday, June 6.

Covering festivals is not easy and small sites like Rachel’s Reviews need help to provide such extensive coverage of film and theatre. Make sure you check out the patreon for perks, exclusive reviews and to be part of our monthly events and watch-alongs. If you value honest criticism, check it out. Find out more here.

As a kid, I used to envy my neighbor across the street for her cool dad who custom-built realistic Halloween decorations and elaborate, standing monsters. I can only imagine how jealous I would have been of Caity (Chiara Aurelia), whose young-at-heart father, Paul (Morgan Spector), created an entire haunted park. However, it’s hard to know what’s going on with families beneath the surface. From the opening dedication, “for my dad,” and a brief home video before the credits roll, it is clear writer/director Lindsay Calleran is telling a story rooted in her own experience. Caity manages to find a balance between celebrating a tender father-daughter bond and exposing the devastating toll substance abuse relapse takes on loved ones.

According to a 1998 study published in Archives of General Psychiatry, children of individuals with substance use disorders may be up to eight times more likely to struggle with addiction themselves. With that in mind, it is no surprise that 16-year-old Caity exhibits early warning signs of her own struggles, while refusing to acknowledge that her father has lost his grip on sobriety. 

Aurelia continues to prove herself one of the most compelling young performers working today. At just 23, she has already tackled challenging material involving rape, sex trafficking, and now substance abuse. Her ability to authentically emote is on another level, and she is ultimately what elevates the material. As Paul’s longtime second-in-command, a position earned largely through sheer longevity, Todd (Zach Cherry) becomes an invaluable source of support for Caity, whether she welcomes it or not. Patient and good-natured, he allows her misdirected insults to roll off his shoulders. Cherry balances the role’s humor and emotional weight with ease. 

World-building surrounding the Clark Family Haunt is so well done that one wishes it existed in real life. Cinematography is uniquely creative and quintessentially indie in nature. Split screen is almost overused, but the execution feels unlike anything seen before. Smaller squares zoom in on facial expressions and are overlaid onto larger scenes, while fractured frames, glitches, and sudden flashes of black depict an intoxicated character fading in and out of consciousness. 

Flashbacks to happier father-daughter home videos serve as transitions between days. Though these sequences eventually become repetitive, they effectively place the audience in Caity’s mindset as she clings to her fondest memories from before things fell apart. The decision to end without resolution is a powerful one. Addiction is not something that can be neatly cured; for many, sobriety is a lifelong struggle, and the film wisely refuses to suggest otherwise.

Pick out your Halloween costume and pay a visit to the Clark Family Haunt when Caity premieres at the 2026 Tribeca Film Festival on Sunday, June 7.

Covering festivals is not easy and small sites like Rachel’s Reviews need help to provide such extensive coverage of film and theatre. Make sure you check out the patreon for perks, exclusive reviews and to be part of our monthly events and watch-alongs. If you value honest criticism, check it out. Find out more here.

As someone who finds it difficult to connect with police and drug themed cinema, Clean Hands caught me by surprise. A tender father-daughter relationship at the core elevates standard addiction fare to something much more powerful. From the second one presses play, intercom conversations play over the opening studio logos, eventually transitioning to follow a police chase from the very first frame of action. No time is allotted here for boredom, as it all moves too fast. 

Brooke (Esther-Rose McGregor) and Kevin (Zach Braff) share a convincingly close bond, with an on-screen dynamic that feels genuinely sincere, due in large part to Braff’s compelling performance. Abigail Spencer is equally strong as Brooke’s mother, Dana, though the role ultimately feels underutilized. Their performances collectively suggest a deep emotional investment in the subject matter, whether rooted in personal experience or a genuine passion for addressing America’s drug epidemic. 

Kevin, in particular, is provided substantial character development. Upon his introduction, he appears far removed from any likelihood of redemption for the cop community. Brash, condescending, and manipulative, he is more consumed by arrest statistics than meaningful social impact. Those he cuffs as viewed as subhuman low lives, unworthy of his empathy or time. When his daughter’s behavior directly contradicts his no tolerance career mission to crack down on drugs, Kevin is in a state of internal upheaval. 

We experience the ups and downs present in a traditional, bleak addiction drama, but a revenge subplot to criminalize those responsible for Brooke’s demise adds another layer to the narrative. Insurance commentary is even weaved in to demonstrate how poor the status of healthcare is in America; profits are chosen over vital medical care. Color grading puts the audience in the troubled mindset of protagonists at their lowest. Darker blue and green tones are utilized to depict drug use or illegal activity. 

Perhaps Clean Hands’ success lies in its origin as a true story with genuine emotions and people to draw from in performances. The inclusion of players from real life, such as the woman leading the substance abuse class, as actors in the cast even further amplifies authenticity. 

The only significant critique is that the launch of Brooke’s House is included too late. While there is clearly much more to explore surrounding the organization’s inception, impact, and construction, only fifteen minutes of screen time are given. Given the success of this real life organization is likely the reason this movie even exists, its development deserved greater depth and attention to avoid feeling rushed. 

Step into a morally complicated landscape where empathy and long-held convictions collide when Clean Hands premieres at the 2026 Tribeca Film Festival on Sunday, June 7.

Covering festivals is not easy and small sites like Rachel’s Reviews need help to provide such extensive coverage of film and theatre. Make sure you check out the patreon for perks, exclusive reviews and to be part of our monthly events and watch-alongs. If you value honest criticism, check it out. Find out more here.

A meditation on death and moving exploration of friendship, I Spy With My Little Eye is a breath of fresh air and warm hug all in one. Rarely do friendships last from early childhood to adulthood, but somehow Solveigh (Saskia Rosendahl), Lou (Svenja Jung), and Yalda’s (Soma Pysall) ties survive. Amongst hardships of health (diabetes and eating disorders), assimilation, familial disconnect, and disparate careers, the trio act as support systems for one another, despite general cattiness between young girls. When single mother Solveigh unexpectedly passes, Lou and Yalda are left to pick up the pieces, and plan daughter Sina’s (Marlen A.) future. 

Performances are wonderful across the board, but the child actors for the lead girls in their youth are particularly talented. Adult Yalda, played by Pysall, recalls famous French actress, Adèle Exarchopoulos, both in mannerisms and in her appearance. This starring cast is absolutely stunning, as are their childhood counterparts. 

Transitions between the past and modern day are seamless: a distracted background blurs to reveal a memory or girlish laughter is heard off to the distance in the bushes. A hazy, light flared aesthetic reminiscent of vintage home videos stylizes happier times, where life was simple and spontaneous. Sheets sway in the wind, as the clouds pass by, relaxing in the freshly cut grass. These flashbacks exist as a 90s time capsule. Wardrobe perfectly captures this nostalgic aesthetic with butterfly clips, space buns, tattoo chokers, eye glitter, and braids buried beneath beachy waves. Stunning landscape cinematography aptly perceives childlike wonder in lazy summer days and silly conversations. Varied saturation reinforces the mood of each scene, whether sullied with tragedy or exploding with joy. 

Alisa Kolosova’s drama focuses more on a deconstruction of the girls’ friendship rather than who should take responsibility for Sina, and why. Oddly enough, grandmother Eske (Meret Becker) seems to have no interest, and her rocky relationship with Solveigh is more accepted than genuinely explored. No matter how poor their mother-daughter bond was, Sina is still blood, and the only piece of her daughter remaining. In fact, Elke goes as far as to say, “I only have one daughter, and now there’s nothing left of her,” when speaking with the organization responsible for her burial. This is a bizarre statement to make, given Sina is still in her custody. This extreme lack of connection could have been explored further. 

Even the reasoning behind Solveigh’s suicide is barely probed; an eating disorder, diabetes, mommy issues, and a daughter she seems genuinely excited to raise as a single mother don’t seem to be enough evidence. Perhaps this is intentionally left vague, given many real suicides are a surprises to loved ones. The film title itself playfully evokes a double meaning: “I Spy” is played in one sequence by the preteen girls, but the diction also draws on what lies unseen. Friendship ties weaken from issues lying beneath the surface and nuance in language not perceived. Lou and Yalda missed the relatively obvious signs, and as a result, were unable to save their beloved friend before her untimely end. 

I Spy With My Little Eye will tug on one’s heartstrings when it premieres in the International Narrative Features Competition at the 2026 Tribeca Film Festival on Sunday, June 7th. 

Covering festivals is not easy and small sites like Rachel’s Reviews need help to provide such extensive coverage of film and theatre. Make sure you check out the patreon for perks, exclusive reviews and to be part of our monthly events and watch-alongs. If you value honest criticism, check it out. Find out more here.

While well made with top notch cinematography, Via Negativa’s slow, meditative nature makes it hard to fully engage. Acting performances in these reflective moments are definitely powerful, but the script may land better for a viewer more in touch with religion. Introspective narration conveys Dan’s (Young Mazino) disillusionment, as he analyzes life through unconventional interpretations of bible scripture. He did everything right by committing himself to the cloth, but catholicism hastily disposes of him upon a first crisis of faith. 

Notable talent Mamoudou Athie is sorely wasted with little screen time in only the final few minutes. Seems like a waste of budget to cast this caliber of actor for a background role. 

Creativity is not lost here. In the opening sequence, a group of mourners of mixed sexual orientation move in a manner evoking contemporary choreography. This sets the scene for the emotional conflict to come. Blue toned color grading enhances the emotion behind Dan’s crippling depression. 

Anna (MiMi Ryder), a sideshow owner’s delinquent daughter along for the ride, provides a sly quote, “you’re on some sort of fucked up American pilgrimage,” which best describes the wandering, road trip storyline. A revenge subplot to avenge a protagonist’s loved one is most compelling, yet the payoff of its resolution couldn’t be much weaker. 

We see Dan’s crisis of faith progress through his wardrobe. As he proudly wears the collar for all to see, he accepts confessions and requests for prayers from strangers. Once he separates himself from his faceless job, and unearths his individual identity, he wears a jacket that hides his attire to be perceived as a civilian. It works so well that at one point, a fellow diner offers to acts as Dan’s savior in a flip of perspective, as well as a peer to lean on. An injured wolf-dog picked up off the street early on acts as a metaphor for Dan in this manner of character evolution. The animal represents his untamed yet wounded persona itching to escape and run free. 

Overused shots where the camera follows Dan’s car driving down a dark road excessively pad the runtime. This makes one hour and forty minutes feel endless. Those who enjoy talky films will likely take to Via Negativa better, as not much happens aside from emotionally challenging conversations. 

Via Negativa asks its flock to patiently follow along for the ride when it premieres at the 2026 Tribeca Film Festival on Friday, June 5.

Covering festivals is not easy and small sites like Rachel’s Reviews need help to provide such extensive coverage of film and theatre. Make sure you check out the patreon for perks, exclusive reviews and to be part of our monthly events and watch-alongs. If you value honest criticism, check it out. Find out more here.

Attending an elite college is a privilege afforded to few, but memories of one’s collegiate experience remain deeply nostalgic for people from all walks of life. Writer/director duo Carlos Key and Kalijah Rowe’s Kingston peeks behind columned doors to transport adults back their time on campus, while offering pointed commentary on the state of modern society. Even the most intelligent and privileged of Gen Z graduates face an increasingly bleak future.

Kingston feels structured like a television show in the manner which it follows three separate storylines simultaneously. Atlas (Rose Badiru) is an extremely passionate, first-generation, low-income scholarship recipient; Amber (Leann Gardner) and Marcos (Nick Snipes) are a budding dating app couple manipulated by their friends to avoid commitment; and Professor Liu (Michael C. Liu) is a Mandarin teacher working with failing student Cyrus (played by co-writer/co-director Carlos Key) to pass the course and graduate. Fans of Netflix’s Dear White People will find a lot of commonalities, particularly in the way both astutely capture the rhythm of campus culture.

Despite the level of intelligence of its gifted student body, Kingston reminds us that these are still naive teenagers portrayed by their irrationally poor decisions in romance. A great scene alluding to “Summer Nights” in Grease bounces back and forth between casual hangouts of each gender, revealing reactions to a blossoming summer fling between Amber and Marcos. Because this is, after all, a nerdy, Ivy League setting, both groupings attempt to rationalize relationships through mathematical formulas and graphs designed to convince the two to avoid settling down. Characters cleverly analyze perceived utility value in the search for a romantic partner, weighing the possibility of finding a best possible match of the highest caliber against the risk of losing someone genuinely worthwhile already present. This results in the funniest part by far: intelligently written, sharply observant, and amongst the most culturally relevant at Tribeca yet this year.

Bureaucracy and student disinterest is the topic at hand in the Chinese language education subplot. School administrators are just as concerned as ever with ticking boxes for testing over ensuring their students actually learn something. My father was an educator for much of his life, and these problems have been omnipresent for decades. As Liu endeavors to teach differently to break through rebellious Cyrus’ walls, his methods are criticized at every turn, even though they finally seem to be successful. Cyrus’ alcoholism, entitlement, and resistance don’t help the situation either.

Atlas’ story focuses on her inability to fit in with her more financially secure classmates, despite possessing a deeper passion for Kingston than nearly anyone she encounters. Though her experience may be the least personally relatable, she eventually becomes the epicenter of particularly relevant cultural discourse. A greater question ultimately emerges to evaluate whether belonging within these spaces is rooted in genuine connection and a thirst for knowledge or merely in proximity to privilege and opportunity shaped by racial and socioeconomic inequality.

Political commentary surrounding the corporate interests tied to prestigious internships, environmental concerns, gentrification, artificial intelligence, and vastly differing viewpoints among students is explored head-on. Conversations become so heated that the dialogue occasionally fades beneath the power of the performers’ facial expressions and body language.

Editing here is aptly timed, as scenes impeccably clip on a deliciously awkward or uncomfortable segue. As a result, each scene is ever more compelling. Fast moving sequences allow the audience to spend the perfect amount of time with each protagonist before any have overstayed their welcome.  Camera angles and framing are consistently sharp, with fluid and inventive movement that incorporates techniques such as fisheye lenses and exterior window shots to observe characters from a distance. The score is equally well done, emphasizing the conflict or discomfort in each emotionally perceptive scene.

Architectural cinematography rapidly cutting between locations allows for seamless transitions between the trio of subjects. The fictional campus itself is portrayed so stunningly that it comes as little surprise that this was filmed at Columbia University, where Key was a senior at the time of production. His perspective as an active undergrad lends an unmistakable sense of authenticity that resonates throughout.

Kingston opens blue balloon decorated doors to prospective students when it premieres at the Tribeca Film Festival on Thursday, June 4^th.

Covering festivals is not easy and small sites like Rachel’s Reviews need help to provide such extensive coverage of film and theatre. Make sure you check out the patreon for perks, exclusive reviews and to be part of our monthly events and watch-alongs. If you value honest criticism, check it out. Find out more here.