Send us a text

It’s time to close the book on 2025 and look ahead to what’s coming next.

In this episode of Excuse the Intermission, we each count down our Top 10 favorite movies of 2025, breaking down the films that stuck with us, surprised us, and sparked the most debate. From awards contenders to genre standouts, we revisit a year that delivered big swings and unforgettable moments.

Then, we turn our attention to 2026, previewing the upcoming releases we’re most excited about — the directors, franchises, and originals that could define the year ahead.

Disagreements, hot takes, and plenty of movie hype included.

What were your top movies of 2025? Let us know and tell us what you’re most excited for in 2026.

Support the show

Max's Letterboxd

Alex's Letterboxd

ETI Instagram

Send us a text

A monster is born, a father is made, and a legend gets a new pulse. We brought filmmaker Justin Robert Vinall into the studio to dive headfirst into Guillermo Del Toro’s Frankenstein, pulling apart what this adaptation embraces from Mary Shelley and what it boldly rewires. We start with the immediate gut checks—why the production design is breathtaking, how the exteriors can feel oddly digital, and where the Arctic bookends unlock fidelity to the novel while straining the final act’s momentum.

From there, we go deep on performances. Jacob Elordi’s creature emerges as the film’s soul: empathetic, physically mythic, and quietly devastating as he learns language, kindness, and cruelty. Oscar Isaac’s Victor is a lightning rod—baroque and volatile, thrilling for some and cartoonish for others. Mia Goth brings poise and spark but isn’t given enough runway to leave a mark beyond one standout confrontation. We parse the lecture hall resurrection, the companion request, and the rushed father-son reconciliation, asking whether the story earns its closing warmth or retreats from the abyss Shelley dared to face.

This conversation keeps one eye on awards season—production design, hair and makeup, and a potential best picture play—while tracking where the film sits in Del Toro’s body of work. Is this a companion to Crimson Peak and Nightmare Alley, or a mid-tier entry lifted by an all-timer creature performance? Along the way we explore the themes that make Frankenstein evergreen in 2025: consent, responsibility, otherness, and the cost of creating life without love. Hit play, then tell us—did the ending land, and where does this monster rank in your GDT canon?

If you enjoy the show, follow the pod, share with a friend, and leave a quick review. Your support helps more listeners find conversations where movies still matter.

Support the show

Max's Letterboxd

Alex's Letterboxd

ETI Instagram

Send us a text

Five conversations. One weekend that proves short films can carry more than most features. We sat down at the Gig Harbor Film Festival with filmmakers who turned everyday pressure into unforgettable cinema—starting with a travel-phobe who literally becomes a shoe. That hybrid live action-animation pivot wasn’t a gimmick; it was a smart, budget-aware way to visualize dissociation, sharpened by a one-man animation army and razor-sharp improv that had audiences grinning at micro-expressions and airline absurdity.

We then move into a quiet chill that lingers: a brother and sister return home in The Graves, where delayed grief sneaks up like a reflection you’d rather not catch. Built from a deeply personal experience, the film embraces constraint as design—an Airbnb with character, a ghost born from a flashlight test, and sound that makes broad daylight feel haunted. The lesson travels beyond festivals: think audience-first, from thumbnails to retention, because distribution is a creative choice.

Around a campfire, I Hope You’re Happy maps the stages of grief onto friendship under the shadow of the opioid crisis. Tight writing, Zoom rehearsals, and a score woven from a diegetic ukulele tune create an “earned silence” when credits roll—proof that intimacy and careful sound can carry weight in minutes. Float and Fly lifts that intimacy into the sky with community-fueled aviation: first-time actors, wing-mounted cameras, and Gig Harbor vistas that remind you how place can become subtext for healing and courage.

Finally, An Old Friend delivers a cathartic twist: an imaginary friend assigned to a man at the end of his life. The crew let improvisation breathe, then sculpted time in the edit with sound design that thins the world to breath and memory. With a shelf of festival awards and an Oscar-qualification push underway, the team shares the unglamorous truth—DCPs, captions, qualifying runs, and the real costs behind a campaign—while still savoring packed rooms and new colleagues made along the way.

If you love craft talk, practical hacks, and stories that punch above their runtime, press play. Subscribe, share this with a filmmaker friend, and leave a review with the short you’d expand into a feature—we’ll read our favorites on the show.

Support the show

Max's Letterboxd

Alex's Letterboxd

ETI Instagram