Schmear Hunter's Brainwash [89]
Unpacking the Hype, Elevating the Unknown: 'Too Much', 'Sorry, Baby', 'Cloud'
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Hunters,
BEEN A MINUTE! After an amazing collaboration at Cannes together, Sena Adjei and I have teamed up with everyone’s favorite film page, The Cinegogue, to launch a brand-new venture called NO NOTES.
This is not a podcast, it’s not a newsletter—it’s a brand-new, evolved reimagining of video-based film and TV coverage—think an unapologetic “anything goes” variety show talking about the latest and greatest with irreverence and discernment.
Follow here for what’s going to be an AMAZING ride.
Don’t worry, Schmear Hunter will continue unabated, as will the SchmearCast.
This week, I was joined by Superman experts Brock Engi (Movie Talk with Brock) and Sean Byrne (Modern Mythos) to debate James Gunn’s latest film. We were genuinely split, so it made for a VERY compelling conversation. Listen here:
Elsewhere, I highly recommend Ari Aster’s new film Eddington, which I’ll go deep on this weekend. Karsten Runquist and I already podded about it, but that won’t release until next week, so do go check it out before then. You can watch his excellent video review in the meantime.
Now let’s get into today’s edition:
The Hype
TOO MUCH (TV) is a messy, hysterical, winning star vehicle for Megan Stalter
The Unknown
SORRY, BABY (Movie) is a funny, moving, if a little overrated debut from Eva Victor
CLOUD (Movie): Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s latest is a thrilling, bleak techno-satire that shouldn’t be missed
Too Much (Netflix)
What’s it about? After a breakup, New York workaholic Jessica moves to London, planning on being alone. She meets Felix, who causes her to reconsider finding love again.
Who it’s for? Fans of Megan Stalter, Lena Dunham loyalists, if you like modern riffs on classic rom-coms, viewers who like flawed characters, fans of British-American culture clashes, if you love ensemble casts
Who should avoid? People allergic to Lena Dunham’s voice/style, if you dislike cringe humor, fans of more traditional rom-coms
Watch if you like: Girls, Hacks, Fleabag, Bridget Jones’s Diary, Materialists
News and Notes:
Released on July 10th
10-episode season
Schmear’s Verdict: Too Much stumbles early but blossoms into a messy, magnetic, and emotionally rich series, held together by a killer ensemble and the beating heart of Stalter and Sharpe.
If you've watched even a single episode of Hacks, you know who Megan Stalter is—a lightning bolt of pathos, humor, ridiculousness, and absurdity. So when I found out she was getting her own TV show—Too Much, developed, written, and directed by Lena Dunham—I was elated.
The series follows Jessica (Stalter), an American recovering from a bad breakup who impulsively moves to London and finds herself falling for a soft-spoken British musician (Will Sharpe) with his own emotional baggage.
The first two episodes of this new Netflix series worried me. The show initially fails to stand out, cycling through the kind of tropes and roteness you find in basically any romantic dramedy from the past few years. You can name ten different shows just like it. I wondered to myself, how and why is this a Lena Dunham series? When will it start to stick out? While Dunham’s direction is sound, the flatness of the colors does Too Much no favors—I hoped for more visual pop.
Something happens, though, around the third or fourth episode as the series clicks into place. Maybe it’s the consistency of the hysterical, heartfelt writing. Maybe it’s the commitment of the performances. Maybe it’s the enviable, super-stacked cast—including but not limited to Richard E. Grant, Naomi Watts, Janicza Bravo, Michael Zegen, Rita Wilson, and Emrata—all of whom bring exciting elements to the series.
It also might have to do with Sharpe, best known for The White Lotus S2, who plays Megan Stalter’s love interest. He’s a fully formed, three-dimensional character. His soulful, puppy-dog eyes reflect so much pain and love. He plays a struggling musician and recovering addict with intimacy issues but still manages to be a new definition of what it means to be a gentleman.
This series is clearly inspired by the books of Jane Austen and the Bridget Jones and Love Actually films—filtered through an American party-crasher like Stalter. Without her being as magnetic as she is, the show just wouldn’t work. She’s a deeply empathetic person. Characters around her are always commenting on how alive she feels, how in-the-moment she is. She speaks out of turn constantly, but for every faux pas, she also knows exactly the right thing to say.
It’s no surprise that Lena Dunham has created such an amazing female character after rewriting the blueprint of feminism on TV with Girls—a show that, just look around, is everywhere. Each generation wakes up to realize just how brilliant it was.
I don’t watch Emily in Paris, but I do watch “Jessica in London.” And this show—based on Lena Dunham’s own experience moving to London and falling in love with a British man—really speaks to what it means to be an outsider. The thrill of that, the fear of that. What it means to let new people into your life, along with all the baggage they bring—and all the baggage you bring too.
It’s a very real series that often has me cackling with laughter. It feels modern, even though its yearnings are classic. And it shares some DNA with Materialists—another story set in the present day but steeped in the spirit of British romcoms and class anxiety like Howards End or Pride and Prejudice. It’s interesting to see the romanticism in our hearts bump up against the real-world issues of society.
Too Much gets at that in a delicate, unshowy way—with big laughs, soaring emotion, and a central beating heart in Stalter and Sharpe. The supporting cast is stacked, the writing sharpens, and what starts off shaky becomes one of the most honest, surprising, and alive shows of the summer.
Sorry, Baby (Theaters)
What is it: Something bad happened to Agnes. But life goes on—for everyone around her, at least.
Who it’s for? Supporters of female-led indie debuts, A24 devotees and Sundance loyalists, fans of literary, dialogue-driven films, viewers drawn to campus-set dramas, those with a dry sense of humor
Who should avoid? Viewers expecting narrative urgency or formal inventiveness, those tired of the Sundance dramedy formula
Watch if you like: The Worst Person in the World, Girls, The Chair, Happening, I May Destroy You, The Souvenir
News and Notes:
Premiered at Sundance 2025
Released wide in theaters today
Schmear’s Verdict: Sorry Baby is a sharp, well-acted debut with literary bite and emotional insight, but despite its strengths, it feels more like a promising first step than the seismic Sundance standout it's been hailed as.
Sorry Baby, the directorial debut from Eva Victor, was the proverbial belle of the Sundance ball—snatched up by A24 and hailed as one of the festival’s best. Is that true?
It’s an acerbic, literary-minded dramedy with the scathing, singeing severity of a Joan Didion novel—Didion being one of many authors referenced in this intensely bookish film. The story unfolds in non-chronological order, following a young woman, a grad student at a chilly Northeastern college, as she tries to bounce back and cope after a sexual assault perpetrated by a presiding professor.
Our lead, played by Eva Victor, is Agnes, and she has an insolent sense of humor. She’s both sure and unsure of herself, and while her intelligence is obvious, she also harbors a devastating sense of self-deprecation and depression. Her world is thoroughly academic—Susan Sontag and Virginia Woolf are referenced, and books are everywhere.
Her professor, played by Louis Cancelmi, is one of many great character actors here. With his great hair and a handsome five o’clock shadow, he’s a little wolfish—untrustworthy yet alluring. What happens between them isn’t shown graphically but implied through a sustained shot that lets us fill in the gaps. The pain and confusion play out on Agnes’s face in a stark close-up in the bathtub, evoking the pained expressions of a female Josh O’Connor.
The film is full of well-observed moments—an awkward doctor’s visit where bedside manner is in short supply, a meeting with school administrators who vaguely pronounce, “We are women,” as if that somehow resolves what happened.
It also captures the ways we cope—both rational and irrational. A kitten enters the picture, and within seconds, Agnes is proclaiming her love for it. Her warm, thoughtful friend, played by Naomi Ackie, sees the situation and, without hesitation, simply affirms it: “Whatever you need.”
Ackie is a standout, as are the other supporting performers. John Carroll Lynch delivers a soulful moment over sandwiches. Lucas Hedges, in a real Where have you been? appearance, brings some much-needed warmth to an otherwise frosty story.
And yet, for all its strengths, Sorry Baby is a little Sundance-y—one of those quiet movies about personal, social, or political struggles and the process of moving past them. That’s not to say the film lacks importance—what happens is horrific, and the process of healing is meaningful and truthful. But it still feels like a debut, stepping up to the plate not to swing for the fences but to connect for a solid single or double.
I’m glad Sorry Baby is being received so rapturously, but I couldn’t help feeling like I’d seen it before. A stronger film that came to mind was Audrey Diwan’s Happening (2021), a period drama about a woman seeking an abortion in 1960s France, which had more urgency and formal rigor.
I recognize the glibness in saying these films are a dime a dozen, but it’s not untrue. I can see where Eva Victor’s original voice comes through, but it’s not yet resounding enough to crown her the next princess of indie film. Sorry Baby is a solid debut, but let’s slow our roll and contextualize its rapturous reception.
Cloud (Theaters)
What’s it about? Yoshii, a young man who resells goods online, finds himself at the center of a series of mysterious events that put his life at risk.
Who it’s for? Fans of Kiyoshi Kurosawa (Cure), those fascinated by internet-age ethics, if you like slow-burn psychological thrillers, admirers of bleak satire, if you enjoy modern Hitchcock riffs
Who should avoid? If you’re expecting fast-paced action, if you dislike ambiguity, if you struggle with slow first acts, those looking for redemptive characters
Watch if you like: Cure, Black Mirror, The Social Network, Enemy, Perfect Blue
News and Notes:
Released today
Premiered at Venice 2024
Schmear’s Verdict: A bleak, slow-burn descent into virtual cruelty and real-world fallout, Cloud plays like Kurosawa’s grim, glitchy answer to David Fincher—where the game stops being fun and starts drawing blood.
Count how many times characters in Cloud call what they’re doing a "game," and you’ll see how Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s new thriller deftly demonstrates the awkward collision of the virtual and real, along with the messy consequences in an increasingly miserable world.
Kurosawa—enjoying a deserved bump thanks to Longlegs fans rewatching Cure—writes and directs this clever thriller, transposing Hitchcock’s “wrong man” morality onto the internet age.
The slow-burn film follows cold and rapacious online trader Yoshii (Masaki Suda), a resale king of sorts. Yoshii buys goods—some fake, some real—and upsells them online, with each notification offering a soothing ding that feels more like a drug hit than a monetary gain.
Naturally, this predatory line of work pisses people off, and Yoshii soon learns someone’s messing with him—dead rats on his stoop, a wire set to trip his bike. He knows what he’s doing is shady, but he’s hooked, needing the hit. In one darkly comic moment, he frantically buys out toy figurines from a shop, leaving customers miserable and empty-handed.
The molasses-slow first half lets us lean back until we're jarred awake by a violent, loud, and clumsy second half. The chickens come home to roost as Yoshii’s enemies stalk and dox him, bringing virtual grievances into stark reality.
The composed direction turns chaotic as Cloud shifts into an action film—at least Kurosawa’s version of one. The violence is sparing but impactful, driven by a troublingly realistic, full-steam-ahead male myopia. Balletic gun-fu this is not, and it’s all the more jarring for that.
What starts as a game becomes all too real as we spiral down with Yoshii and those his selfishness affects. By the film’s ludicrous end, we’re left asking, “What was it all even for?” The satanically beautiful, feel-bad coda hits hard.
Though resistant to easy comparisons, Cloud’s worldview evokes David Fincher at his most comically bleak. The film has a wickedly morbid, unsettling sense of humor, arguing that behind our screens, in this digital age, it’s all “fun and games” only up to a point.
Thanks for reading!