Rejoice! Paul Thomas Anderson has saved cinema! Okay, perhaps that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but his new film, One Battle After Another, is a breakthrough. As though it were 1975 and not 2025, Warner Bros. took an auteur, gave him free rein and a big budget, and said, “Do your thing.” And man, did PTA do his thing.

At nearly three hours long, the film is a roller coaster ride—literally and figuratively. It’s exciting, funny, audacious, and politically trenchant. As is his wont, Anderson borrows a lot from Robert Altman and a bit from Stanley Kubrick, while in this case throwing in a touch of Quentin Tarantino and even Wes Anderson. The film is also loosely based on Thomas Pynchon’s novel, Vineland, but it’s a creation all of PTA’s own—a combination of the kind of loosey-goosey, shaggy film style he demonstrated in Inherent Vice and Licorice Pizza with the disciplined craft of Phantom Thread and There Will Be Blood. In other words, the auteur is firing on all cylinders. It doesn’t hurt that he has Leonardo DiCaprio, America’s best living actor as his lead. (Fight me!)

DiCaprio plays “Ghetto” Pat Calhoun, a reluctant member of a resistance group called The French 75. He’s an explosive expert—good at creating diversions—but he’s not a committed revolutionary. He’s tagging along with his lady, the fierce true believer, Perfidia Beverly Hills (Teyana Taylor). When she gets pregnant, he wants to slow things down a bit, settle into a domestic life, but she wants no part of it. Her devotion to the cause—various causes in this case, mostly involving protecting immigrants from inhumane treatment at the hands of an ICE-like agency—is too deep. One of the most memorable images of the film is Perfidia, extremely pregnant with her belly on full display, shooting a machine gun. “Bitch, I feel like Tony Montana!” she shouts.

Fast forward 16 years later and “Ghetto” Pat, now in hiding and going by the name Bob, is raising their daughter, Willa (Chase Infiniti) on his own. By his own admission, his brain has been fried by drugs and alcohol, but even in his desiccated state, he’s a protective and devoted father. (He even tries to understand the pronouns of Willa’s nonbinary friend. “They, them, Dad,” Willa sighs. “Why is that so hard?”)

Trouble comes in the form of Colonel Steven J. Lockjaw (Sean Penn), a sadistic military man who had an encounter with Perfidia years earlier and has become dangerously obsessed with her. He is now being recruited by a powerful, cloak-and-dagger white supremacist group called the Christmas Adventurers Club (“Hail St. Nick!” is their greeting) and needs to find Bob and Willa to tie up some loose ends from his past.

Bob has no desire to get back in the game, but when Lockjaw kidnaps Willa, he goes into dad-bod Rambo mode. Sporting a bad goatee and a flannel robe—soon to be as iconic as The Dude’s Pendleton sweater—and carrying a 1G (and therefore untraceable) phone that is desperately in need of a charge, he goes after her.

He gets help from the super Zen local karate teacher known as Sensei (Benicio Del Toro) who also runs a so-called “Underground Railroad” for Latin immigrants. (The vastness of Sensei’s network will prove to be useful to Bob down the road.)

Anderson is dealing with larger-than-life archetypes here. Bob is the hapless father desperate to find his daughter, played by DiCaprio with a hilarious franticness and touching pathos. Sensei is the unflappable resistance leader, brought to life by an effortlessly cool Del Toro. Lockjaw, played by Penn with a bow-legged gait and a maniacal look in his eyes, is the perverse villain. Dazzling newcomer Chase Infiniti is the beautiful, free-spirited daughter with more than a touch of her mother’s moxie and defiance. Regina Hall also memorably plays a member of the French 75 who is as committed as Perfidia but with a gentler touch.

It’s impossible to overstate how much fun this thing is, with twists and welcome detours along the way. And the filmmaking! Such verve. Such confidence. Whether Anderson is filming that already famous undulating chase scene, following Bob’s desperate attempt to charge his phone through the chaos, or showing us that top secret Christmas Adventurers Club with their Patagonia Vests and smug bonhomie, you know you’re in the hands of a master.

Movies are so back, baby!

Moonlight ruined everything. I know that seems like an odd thing to say about a heartbreaking gem of a film that bucked the odds to best frontrunner La La Land and win the Best Picture Oscar—but that’s the thing. It gave us hope. It made us believe that the Oscars had turned over a new leaf and were actually willing to vote for beautiful, challenging, original works of art that didn’t necessarily center straight white people.

But, in fact, since Moonlight won two years ago, the Academy has chosen two rather accessible, middlebrow films, both which celebrated diversity in a somewhat pat and paternalistic way.

Two years ago was The Shape of Water. I liked the film well enough—and lord knows Guillermo del Toro is an Oscar-caliber director—but found its odd mixture of whimsy and menace slightly off-putting. What’s more, its message of embracing the “other” was simplistic to say the least. Still, that was a masterpiece compared to last year’s Green Book, one of the most baffling Oscar wins in recent years.

The point is, neither of those films was the best of its year—or even the best film nominated (last year gave us Roma and A Star is Born; the year before gave us the embarrassment of riches that was Phantom Menace, Call Me By Your Name, and Dunkirk).

Which brings us to this year. As the Oscar race has come into focus, it seems like two films are duking it out for Best Picture: Parasite and 1917.

Let me make something clear: I917 is a good film. I gave it a good review. I recommend it to friends. I liked it! But it’s no Parasite, a singular masterpiece that is one of the most original, smart, and genre-smashing films I’ve ever seen.

In this scenario, 1917 is the La La Land—the good film that also seems like the safe and predictable choice. Parasite is Moonlight (obviously, an even better comparison would be Roma, another foreign language film that was nominated for Best Picture, but let’s stick with my analogy here).

Were this 2018, the year after Moonlight won, I would’ve confidently chosen Parasite. But the Shape of Water and Green Book have mucked up the works. My head is spinning. I don’t know who to believe!

Anyway, with that confidence-inspiring introduction under my belt, here are my best guesses for this year’s Oscars, including how secure I am with each pick.

Best Picture

Ford v Ferrari

The Irishman

Jojo Rabbit

Joker

Little Women

Marriage Story
1917
Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood
Parasite

Who will win: 1917

Who should win: Parasite, Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood, or The Irishman

How confident am I in my prediction? I had to make prediction, and a prediction was made.

Best Director

Martin Scorsese, The Irishman
Todd Phillips, Joker
Sam Mendes, 1917
Quentin Tarantino, Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood
Bong Joon-ho, Parasite

Who will win: Sam Mendes

Who should win: Bong Joon-ho

How confident am I in my prediction? Moderately?

Best Actor

Antonio Banderas, Pain and Glory
Leonardo DiCaprio, Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood
Adam Driver, Marriage Story
Joaquin Phoenix, Joker
Jonathan Pryce, The Two Popes

Who will win: Joaquin Phoenix

Who should win: Leonardo DiCaprio

How confident am I in my prediction: Is there a word greater than “extremely”?

Best Actress

Cynthia Erivo, Harriet
Scarlett Johansson, Marriage Story
Saoirse Ronan, Little Women
Charlize Theron, Bombshell
Renée Zellweger, Judy

Who will win: Renée Zellweger
Who should win: Saoirse Ronan

How confident am I in my prediction? Does a bear relieve itself in the woods?

Best Supporting Actor

Tom Hanks, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood
Anthony Hopkins, The Two Popes
Al Pacino, The Irishman
Joe Pesci, The Irishman
Brad Pitt, Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood

Who will win: Brad Pitt

Who should win: Joe Pesci

How confident am I in my prediction? Bet the house confident

Best Supporting Actress

Kathy Bates, Richard Jewell
Laura Dern, Marriage Story
Scarlett Johansson, Jojo Rabbit
Florence Pugh, Little Women Margot Robbie, Bombshell

Who will win: Laura Dern

Who should win: Scarlett Johannson

How confident am I in my prediction? Tattooing it on my arm confident

Best Adapted Screenplay

Steven Zaillian, The Irishman

Taika Waititi, Jojo Rabbit
Todd Phillips & Scott Silver, Joker

Greta Gerwig, Little Women

Anthony McCarten, The Two Popes

Who will win: Jojo Rabbit

Who should win: The Irishman

How confident am I in my prediction? Not wildly

Best Original Screenplay

Rian Johnson, Knives Out

Noah Baumbach, Marriage Story

Sam Mendes & Krysty Wilson-Cairns, 1917

Quentin Tarantino, Once Upon a Time…In Hollywood

Bong Joon Ho, Han Jin Won, Parasite

Who will win: Parasite

Who should win: Marriage Story

How confident am I in my prediction? My palms are sweaty.

Best Documentary Feature

American Factory

The Cave

The Edge of Democracy

For Sama

Honeyland

Who will win: American Factory

Who should win: Honeyland

How confident am I in my prediction? I mean, the Obamas produced it.

International Film

Corpus Christi, Poland

Honeyland, North Macedonia

Les Miserables, France

Pain and Glory, Spain

Parasite, South Korea

Who will win: Parasite

Who should win: Parasite

How confident am I in my prediction? Brad Pitt confident

Best Cinematography

Rodrigo Prieto, The Irishman

Lawrence Sher, Joker

Jarin Blaschke, The Lighthouse

Roger Deakins, 1917
Robert Richardson, Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood

Who will win: 1917

Who should win: Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood

How confident am I in my prediction? Not Brad Pitt confident, but confident all the same.

Animated Feature

Toy Story 4

Missing Link

I Lost My Body

How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World

Klaus

Who will win: Toy Story 4

Who should win: Toy Story 4
How confident am I in my prediction? I don’t really see—checks notes—Klaus pulling the upset here.

The Oscars air this Sunday, February 9 on ABC. Check back to see how I did

When it was first announced that Quentin Tarantino was going to do a film centered around the Manson Family murder of Sharon Tate and her three houseguests, there was immediate concern that the film would be an exploitative blood bath. I, for one, wasn’t all that worried. For all his punkish aesthetic, fetishization of violence, and bad boy posturing, Tarantino has a rather strict moral code (think about his recent slate of revisionist history films where the oppressed take down the oppressors). In that sense, he’s downright old-fashioned.

It’s the old fashioned Tarantino who takes center stage in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, which, it turns out, is less about the Tate murders and more about a particular time in Hollywood history—when black and white turned to color, when films about cowboys and police officers grew more morally complex, when pants-legs got wider and sideburns got longer, when youth and drug culture exploded, and, yes, when the hippies came to town.

Tate, played by Margot Robbie, is a character in the film but not the main one. We see the young starlet arrive in Hollywood, with her new husband, the director Roman Polanski. She’s beautiful and filled with optimism. There’s a poignant scene where she goes to a downtown movie theater and gets a ticket for The Wrecking Crew, the Dean Martin film she has a supporting role in. We watch the pride and happiness wash over her as the audience laughs at the antics of her klutzy character. As her face glows beatifically from the light being cast off the screen, it feels like a benediction of sort, a moment of bliss for a doomed character. So yes, Tate, and what we know of her awful fate, hovers over the film, giving it a slightly ominous edge, but she’s not the film’s primary focus. Instead, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is a classic buddy film, and an homage to the Hollywood of old.

Leonardo DiCaprio plays Rick Dalton (perfect name), a strong, silent type of Hollywood actor, who specialized in Westerns and Nazi-hunting WWII flicks. His TV show, Bounty Law, has been cancelled and he’s now doing guest spots on other TV shows, usually playing the heavy. When he’s approached by a Hollywood broker of some sort (Al Pacino) to make spaghetti Westerns in Italy, he begins to process the depressing truth: He’s on the downside of his career, his Hollywood leading man days are behind him. Beset by self-loathing, he begins drinking (even more) heavily.

At his side, loyal as ever, is his best friend and stunt double Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt). Cliff is a war vet and a certified cool guy—with his moccasin-style shoes, aviator sunglasses, and Hawaiian shirt, he’s clearly lot more laid back than Dalton. Cliff lives with his adorable and obedient pit bull in a trailer that overlooks the Van Nuys drive-in movie theater (I’m not exaggerating when I say that some of the film’s best scenes involve Cliff feeding his dog). And he’ll do just about anything for his buddy Rick.

Tarantino plays to both actor’s strengths, and they are both wonderful. Pitt gives Cliff a “been there, done that” weariness, coupled with a cocksure grin, and an unrushed way about him. He’s almost comically strong and brave and righteous, but Pitt plays him with so much lived in, natural charisma, you believe in him—or at least, want to believe in him.

DiCaprio’s role is much more dark and complex—and the actor is nothing short of brilliant. He deftly switches from his “hey there little lady” style public persona to the tormented, self-doubting, twitchy alcoholic he is in private. “You’re Rick Dalton!” he screams at the mirror, all but begging himself to channel the confidence of his screen roles into his real life.

Tarantino’s style for the past several years has been to incorporate lengthy set pieces—almost short films within his films—into his movies, which he does here. In one, Cliff gives a pretty hitchhiker a ride to Manson Farm, a converted film set, where he meets many of the famous Manson players and insists upon checking up on his old friend, the ranch’s aging owner George Spahn, played by Bruce Dern. We’re worried for Cliff, but he’s so half-amused, half-disgusted by the Manson Family members and so languorously confident, we go along for the ride with him.

In another, Dalton finds himself on the set of a cowboy show where he’s guest starring as the bad guy. It’s here that he meets a precocious child actress (Julia Butters) who first takes pity on him and later gives him a much needed confidence boost. “That was the best acting I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” she says, and it tells you something about Dalton’s fragile state that the words of an 8-year-old mean so much to him.

The film looks incredible. You truly feel like you’re in Hollywood in the ’60s, with the neon signs and tacky, faux-Mexican restaurants and shiny convertibles. The film has a wonderful golden glow about it—a beauty that suggests that the old Hollywood Dalton longs for was worth preserving. And although it has a staggering 2 hours 45 minute runtime, it’s impossible to resist the way Tarantino luxuriates in the world he has recreated—from parties at the Playboy Mansion to film sets where a young Bruce Lee (Mike Moh) picks a fight with Cliff to joy rides on the Sunset Strip.

Honestly, I could’ve watched the film for two more hours, but I do have one small quibble: There’s an inexplicable narration that pops up once, early in the film, and then again, for an extended period of time late in the second half. Narrations are generally lazy devices, and this one seems particularly arbitrary. (I almost wonder if Tarantino is referencing something I don’t understand. Were sporadic narrations a staple of B movies in the 60s?).

As for the film’s ending, some will love it, some will hate it. (I loved it.) I will say that it provides that burst of absurdist violence we were all waiting for. The rest of the film is less hopped up on Red Bull and show-offy than most of Tarantino’s works. It has a confident, leisurely pace. If this represents the beginning of a new, more mature era for the aging phenom—his Cliff Booth phase, if you will—I couldn’t be more excited for it.