I went to see Michael, the biographical film about Michael Jackson. The lead role is played by his real-life nephew, Jaafar Jackson. Some people say they could have simply used archival footage of Michael himself, but this was a completely different kind of experience. At first, I thought, “Hmm, he doesn’t really look like him.” But as the story went on, he gradually became Michael. His extraordinary physicality, the sharply refined movements of his body, and the sheer beauty of his life force were overwhelming. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who went home and immediately rewatched This Is It.

The central pillar of this film is Michael’s struggle to break free from his toxic father, Joe Jackson. Joe was an ambitious father who, while working at a steel mill, gave his sons intense training and led them to debut as The Jackson 5. There is no denying that his sharp eye helped bring Michael into the world. But even after his son’s success, he continued to act like the father in charge, trying to control him. I was honestly surprised by the force of Colman Domingo’s performance as Joe, portraying a father who treats his child as a possession. It is remarkable that the family approved such a depiction. That is how unsparing it is.

There are, however, some aspects that made me pause. Isn’t it a little too simple to reduce the life of such an extraordinary superstar to a single axis: conflict with his father? Michael’s complexity, loneliness, and the source of his creativity cannot be fully explained by the father-son relationship alone. Still, this film focuses only on the first half of his life. If a sequel is planned, there is a chance that this simplification will be overturned later.

Seen through the lens of Oyako Day, this film deals directly with a universal yet deeply difficult theme: the parent who discovers a child’s talent, and the child who seeks independence. Where is the line between recognizing talent and controlling it? Where does love end and possessiveness begin? Fuqua’s direction does not turn Joe into a simple villain, but tries to portray him as a human being. The film offers no easy answer. Instead, it asks each viewer to reflect on where that line lies within their own family.

With the energy of its live scenes, the persuasive power of its dance sequences, and above all the feeling that you are encountering Michael for the first time all over again, this is a cinematic experience worth having. Watch it as a father-and-son story, or as a testimony to pop culture history. Either way, it is a film to be experienced in a theater, surrounded by sound.

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The story begins with a single point of divergence.

Set in an alternate timeline where a Soviet cosmonaut steps onto the lunar surface before Apollo 11 arrives in 1969, For All Mankind is Apple TV+’s epic science-fiction drama exploring how history might have unfolded if the Space Race had never ended.

An unrelenting Cold War, the rise of Black astronauts, women walking on the Moon, a female president openly discussing LGBTQ rights, and even North Korea achieving the first landing on Mars—the series boldly reimagines major historical milestones. Yet alongside these sweeping changes, it gives equal weight to intimate human stories: marriages under strain, conflicts between parents and children, friendships, and betrayals. By presenting an alternate history, the show shines a revealing light on our own—asking why events unfolded as they did, and what aspects of human nature remain unchanged. That’s what makes it so compelling.

Another brilliant aspect of the series is its structure: each season advances roughly a decade, allowing viewers to watch the characters age over time. A father who was once an astronaut eventually finds himself quietly watching over the choices made by his children. The passage of time resonates deeply. As the story expands from the Moon to Mars and beyond, its scope grows ever larger. The production design and visual effects are first-rate, from meticulous recreations of the 1960s and ’70s to remarkably realistic spacecraft and spaceflight sequences. The scale of the budget and craftsmanship brings an extraordinary sense of authenticity.

Apple TV+ is also home to another masterpiece, Slow Horses, a British espionage drama starring Gary Oldman. Its story of misfit spies from a failed department becoming entangled in major conspiracies is tense, intelligent, and endlessly entertaining. Apple TV+ may not compete with Netflix in terms of sheer volume of content, but in intellectual depth and visual quality, it is arguably the hottest platform in streaming today.

For All Mankind is currently streaming its fifth season. This remarkable series continues quietly, outperforming countless more celebrated dramas. If you haven’t seen it yet, start with Episode 1 of Season 1 today. And if you’re watching with family, make it at least through Season 2. The story of fathers and children living out their own “space journeys” offers a uniquely rewarding experience for viewers of all generations.

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When I was in the first year of junior high school, my father took me to a packed screening of Elvis on Stage at the Marunouchi Piccadilly. That was my first encounter with Elvis. At the time, I thought I was just going to see a movie about some rock star from the past. What appeared on the screen, however, was something entirely different.

Dressed in a white jumpsuit, drenched in sweat, Elvis sang, electrified the audience, and seized control of the entire room in an instant. More than his extraordinary voice, it was the sheer force of his presence as a star that overwhelmed me. From that day on, I immersed myself in rock, soul, and pop music. Without question, Elvis was the starting point of my lifelong love of music. And that was nearly half a century ago.

Now Elvis has returned—on an IMAX screen, restored in stunning high resolution with extraordinary sound. That alone was enough to move me deeply.

But this film is much more than a collection of concert footage. Through the dynamic editing style of Baz Luhrmann, Elvis’s own voice serves as the narrative thread, weaving together childhood memories, private footage, and archival material as it traces the journey that led him to the grand stages of Las Vegas. This structure—allowing Elvis to tell his own story—is invaluable. It feels almost like a documentary extension of Luhrmann’s earlier film, Elvis, deepening and enriching its perspective.

The archival footage itself is astonishing. Fans may recognize some of the famous scenes, but what truly surprised me was the wealth of previously unseen material. Drawn from fifty hours of unreleased film and meticulously restored in 4K, performance after performance unfolds before us. A fleeting smile, a glance toward the audience, the smallest gesture of movement—all feel startlingly immediate, as though they had been filmed yesterday.

And then there is the sound. The sound is magnificent.

Not only Elvis’s voice, but also the harmonies of The Sweet Inspirations, the guitar work of James Burton and his fellow musicians, and the powerful orchestral arrangements are rendered with remarkable clarity and separation. In the latter half of the concert, as the music leans more heavily into gospel, the performances become overwhelming. It was impossible not to feel chills.

What struck me most was the realization that an Elvis concert was never simply a rock show. It was a vast musical experience that embraced gospel, R&B, country, and showmanship all at once.

The IMAX run may be over, but I already want to see it again in a regular theater.

The Elvis who pulled my thirteen-year-old self into the world of music nearly fifty years ago remains, even now, someone truly special.

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The film opens with “Chapter Three.” The world is heading toward collapse. Earthquakes, tsunamis, forest fires—catastrophe after catastrophe unfolds. Then mysterious billboards begin appearing across town:

“Thank you, Chuck.”

A sudden expression of gratitude toward a man nobody seems to know.

What is this?

At first, I assumed it was going to be some kind of global-scale disaster movie. But then the film quietly flips itself inside out. As the chapters count backward—from Three to Two to One—we begin tracing Chuck’s youth, and the mystery slowly unravels.

The “end of the world” turns out to be the end of one ordinary man’s life.

The 39 years of memories belonging to a man named Chuck—that tiny personal universe—is revealed to be equal in scale to a dying planet.

And that is something universal, something that will come for every one of us eventually.

What struck me most deeply was that the film is not about dreams fulfilled, but dreams left unrealized. The things every life quietly lets go of without even noticing. The movie neither condemns nor comforts us for this. It simply places that truth gently before us. And somehow, that sadness catches you off guard.

The characters, too, appear unrelated at first glance, yet are secretly connected by thin invisible threads. Life itself is like that, the film quietly suggests. And when Mark Hamill appears onscreen, visibly aged, the passage of time suddenly transcends fiction and overlaps with the audience’s own sense of years lived.

I was astonished that a writer nearing eighty could still possess this level of creative vitality.

This is not the kind of film where you walk out saying, “That was fun!” without hesitation. But perhaps that is precisely proof of its depth.

Among the human dramas adapted from Stephen King’s works, this has become one I won’t soon forget.

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The heroine of this film is Mabel, a college student. She chooses to become a beaver not out of environmental duty, nor from some grand creed of animal rights. No, her reason is more personal, more urgent than that: she learns that the beloved forest where she made treasured memories with her grandmother is about to disappear beneath a highway construction project.

This is the crucial point. The engine of this movie is not the abstract banner of “saving nature,” but something painfully concrete and small: memories of her grandmother. The sort of thing everyone probably carries somewhere inside them—that place, that smell, that person’s voice. It is nostalgia of that kind that hurls one young woman into a beaver robot. That the story begins from something so human gives the film its dignity.

Mabel, an ardent animal lover, uses a device invented by scientists that transfers human consciousness into robotic animals, and “hops” into a beaver model. At first she bursts with delight as she interacts with the creatures of the forest. But soon she is confronted with the severe laws of nature.

The animal kingdom, despite all its fluffy appearances, runs on the merciless logic of eat or be eaten. The romantic image Mabel had projected onto the forest is quickly chewed to pieces by reality’s sharp teeth.

But then the film takes one more admirable step forward. It refuses the easy comfort of self-righteousness. Believing unilaterally that you are right is dangerous. Mabel realizes she, too, understood nothing about the animals. Through regret, failure, and repeated mistakes, she tries to build relationships with them on equal footing. There is learning there. There is growth. She discovers firsthand how perilous it is to think that anything is justified so long as it is done “for the forest.”

Director Daniel Chong has said he drew inspiration from Isao Takahata’s Pom Poko (ah, memories!). You can feel it. The film squarely depicts the friction between humanity and nature, yet refuses to condemn either side as pure villain. That honesty toward complexity gives the story its depth.

The memories of Grandma are the film’s point of departure—but, in truth, also its destination. When people try to protect a cherished place, they often realize that what they are really trying to preserve is the relationship that place once held. What Mabel ultimately learns is not a methodology for conservation, but the patient persistence required to understand the other side.

That, perhaps, is something inherited from Grandma too.

複数の批評家がピクサーにとっての「原点回帰」と評した本作。笑いと冒険の皮を借りながら、その核心には、誰かへの愛から始まる小さな行動が世界をどう変えうるかという、古くて新しい問いが静かに宿っている。ピクサーの面目躍如と言えるだろう。

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