HISTORY LESSON (SEASON 32)

 

Welcome to History Lesson, where we take a closer look at the movies that dare to tackle real-life events with varying levels of accuracy, drama, and WTF casting choices. These films promise to educate and entertain, but more often than not, they rewrite history with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. We’ll be your guide through the land of miscast biopics, dramatic embellishments, and historical  liberties, breaking down whether these flicks are Golden Reel Award-worthy masterpieces or just a big-budget version of a Wikipedia page. Either way, it’s more fun than your high school history class—and there’s popcorn.

This time around we will take a look at Season 32's fact-based slate....

HISTORY LESSON: SONGIRD

Songbird sets its sights on Joni Mitchell's iconic journey, with Taylor Swift stepping into the legendary singer-songwriter’s shoes—an admittedly big ask for a pop star with a very different musical identity. And yet, Swift surprises. While it takes a minute to shake off the novelty of seeing Taylor-as-Joni, she ultimately delivers a performance that captures Mitchell’s introspective charm and steely determination. By the time Swift is belting out “Both Sides, Now” in the Alberta finale, it feels less like cosplay and more like homage, proving she can carry the weight of Mitchell’s artistry—once you stop picturing her mid-1989-era tour.

Historically, the film hits many right notes, from Joni’s early polio struggle to her bittersweet Laurel Canyon years with Crosby, Nash, and the rest of the folk-rock elite. Paul Dano’s David Crosby is as grizzled and brilliant as you’d hope, while Josh O’Connor plays Mitchell’s controlling first husband with just the right amount of smarm. Cameron Crowe leans into the romance and creative highs of the era, but some biopic beats—drug montages, melodramatic arguments—feel a little predictable. Still, the film’s devotion to authenticity, from Joni’s DIY tunings to the smoky clubs and California vibes, helps ground it. Swift’s performance feels like a bridge between generations of musicians, proving she’s got more range than her detractors might admit. Songbird may not reinvent the biopic wheel, but it celebrates a towering talent with heart and undeniable flair.

HISTORY LESSON: A TALE OF LOVE AND DARKNESS

A Tale of Love and Darkness seems to be suffering from a serious case of déjà vu. Did we not just see this story tackled by Natalie Portman a few years ago? That version, while imperfect, at least had the novelty of Portman directing herself in a vanity project. This new adaptation, however, feels like it’s arriving at the party awkwardly late, bringing little that’s fresh or necessary to the table. If anything, it doubles down on the same issues—chiefly, its inability to decide who the story is really about.

Once again, Amos, the supposed protagonist, feels less like a full-fledged character and more like a quiet spectator to his own life. Sure, he’s there, but is he really there? While Carey Mulligan gives an emotionally raw performance as Fania, her tragic arc overshadows everything else to the point where Amos becomes more of a prop than a person. He’s essentially a wide-eyed tour guide to big historical moments and familial melodrama, but heaven forbid he have any agency of his own. It’s a shame, really, because the historical setting—a chaotic, pivotal time in Mandatory Palestine—deserves a film that isn’t just skimming the CliffsNotes of history. Instead, the nuanced socio-political complexities are flattened into a few heavy-handed monologues. If you’ve seen Portman’s version, congratulations, you’ve already done your homework. This one doesn’t even add extra credit.

HISTORY LESSON: ESCAPE

Escape turns the harrowing true story of Carolyn Jessop’s flight from the FLDS into a Fincherian descent into madness—if madness were powered by polygamy and Rulon Jeffs’ unhinged sermons. Reese Witherspoon trades her sunny rom-com persona for a steely, exhausted mom just trying to protect her kids from a cult that thinks "personal autonomy" is a four-letter word. She’s outstanding, especially in the quiet moments. Harrison Ford channels pure grumpy menace as Merril Jessop, a man so emotionally constipated he probably blames women for the weather. And Al Pacino’s Rulon Jeffs? A pitch-perfect blend of fire-and-brimstone preacher and your shady uncle selling you on his pyramid scheme. Jade Pettyjohn’s Betty adds an extra layer of heartbreak, as the child caught between a mother desperate to save her and a cult that’s already rewritten her brain.

While Fincher’s dark, meticulous direction keeps the tension cranked, the film does have moments where it feels like it’s lecturing you on the evils of the FLDS instead of letting the story breathe. The courtroom scenes are powerful—when Harrison Ford isn’t trying to burn Reese Witherspoon alive with his glare—but they drag on a bit, leaving you wondering if Carolyn will ever get to take a nap. Linda Hamilton’s Foneta is criminally underused, reduced to “stern wife #1,” and the God Squad feels more like a footnote than the all-seeing enforcers they’re supposed to be. That said, the film nails the cult’s stifling atmosphere, with its terrifying accuracy and jaw-dropping displays of male ego masquerading as divine authority. Escape leaves you both furious at the system and wanting to buy Carolyn Jessop a drink for making it out alive.

HISTORY LESSON: THE BALLAD OF DWIGHT FRYE

The Ballad of Dwight Frye sets out to shine a spotlight on a Hollywood legend who’s mostly been relegated to trivia night questions and horror conventions—and let’s be real, Barry Keoghan as Dwight Frye could probably win a Golden Reel Award if they ever create a new category for "Best Performance as a Guy Having a Breakdown in Front of a Mirror." The movie channels all the gothic drama of Dracula and Frankenstein, complete with fog machines working overtime and Richard E. Grant’s James Whale turning passive-aggressiveness into an art form. BJ Novak plays Universal Studios honcho Carl Laemmle Jr. like he’s an evil intern trying to impress Dad, and Alice Cooper shows up as a spooky asylum hallucination because… sure, why not? At least they’re embracing the absurdity.

But let’s talk historical accuracy—or lack thereof. Did Dwight Frye actually get haunted by Renfield in his bathroom mirror? Probably not. Did he attack a Frankenstein co-star mid-scene like a caffeinated method actor on the brink? Doubtful. But hey, it’s Hollywood, where everything has to be turned up to eleven, even at the expense of basic facts. What we really get is Dwight as a tortured artist who’s slowly morphing into the very monsters he portrayed, which sounds deep until you realize the movie is just one long fever dream with excellent period costumes. Stylish? Sure. Accurate? As accurate as Renfield’s bug-based protein diet.

HISTORY LESSON: DEAN

Dean dares to answer the question no one asked: "What if we made a two-hour movie about a guy whose entire legacy is a meme-worthy scream?" George Clooney takes on double duty as director and star, leaning hard into Howard Dean’s fiery underdog persona. Clooney’s Dean is all passion and conviction, shouting anti-war rhetoric in high school gyms while slowly realizing the DNC would rather chew glass than back him. Jessica Chastain brings gravitas as his fictional campaign manager, while Jeremy Strong plays Joe Trippi like every exhausted strategist begging their candidate to stop being “authentic” for five minutes. Spoiler alert: He doesn’t.

Yes, Dean hits the some of right notes when it comes to the campaign’s digital innovation and grassroots energy, but let’s be honest—did we need a biopic about a guy who peaked with an adrenaline-fueled "YEEAARRGH!"? The movie bends over backward to present Dean as a tragic hero, a man punished for standing by his principles, but let’s not pretend the 2004 campaign was a Shakespearean tragedy. It was more like a college improv show that got out of hand. Historical accuracy? Some. While Dean is mostly accurate as a character, the film surrounds him by fictional plot device characters. At the end of the day, this is a biopic about a guy best remembered for a soundbite that late-night comedians milked for weeks. It’s hard to feel inspired when the climax is less Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and more “remember that weird guy on YouTube?”

HISTORY LESSON: WAR OF THE CURRENTS

War of the Currents is what happens when you take the already entertaining enough real-life feud between Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla and decide to inject a fictional Lenape apprentice, Jakomis Tamack (Forrest Goodluck), into the narrative as a bridge to themes of social justice. Sure, Jakomis is a likable character, but his omnipresence in this historical showdown feels like it belongs in a creative writing workshop rather than a film supposedly rooted in history. When the actual story includes Edison frying animals in public demonstrations to discredit Tesla’s alternating current, who needs a subplot about organizing protests at the Columbian Exposition? Historical accuracy flickers like a poorly wired lightbulb here—plenty of the real drama is present, but it’s surrounded by narrative flourishes that don’t always feel necessary.

Nikola Tesla (Nikola Djuricko, equal parts manic genius and tragic loner) and Thomas Edison (Michael Keaton, turning corporate ruthlessness into an art form) are fascinating enough to carry the film without Jakomis coaching Tesla on workplace politics or mediating between investors. The actual War of the Currents—full of PR battles, lawsuits, and literal electrocutions—is compelling on its own, but the film can’t resist tangents like Jakomis striking a deal with Edison’s lawyer, Lewis Latimer (Forest Whitaker), to drop a lawsuit in exchange for a social justice protest. The narrative gets tangled trying to juggle a revisionist history lesson with the larger-than-life personalities of its real-life players. 

HISTORY LESSON: AMITYVILLE HORROR

Amityville Horror returns to 112 Ocean Avenue like a real estate ad for cursed colonial homes: six bedrooms, one portal to hell, and plenty of traumatized children! Vincenzo Natali manages to weave in both the Lutz family haunting and the DeFeo murder trial—because apparently, we needed ghosts and legal drama. Wes Bentley stares into dark corners with the intensity of a man two days into a juice cleanse, while Alice Eve plays the only rational adult in a house that very clearly wants them dead. There's solid historical nodding here (yes, John Ketcham was Salem-adjacent and Dawn DeFeo’s involvement in the murders has been debated), but don’t expect a Ken Burns documentary. This is a film where blood leaks from walls, flies scream like banshees, and a naked ghost girl wants you to kill your family—and have sex with you.

Nick Robinson’s Butch DeFeo spends most of his scenes sulking in court and screaming “It was the house!”—which, to be fair, is probably how most horror franchises are written. Meanwhile, the Red Room glows like Satan’s wine cellar while little Missy gets chummy with ghost-Dawn, who’s less Casper and more Carrie. By the time George starts sleep-digging and muttering about “fixing things,” it’s obvious no one’s making it to the mortgage payment. It's well-crafted, decently acted, and genuinely creepy—but let's not pretend it’s all “based on true events” unless your bar for truth includes blood-slick floors and demonic renovation. Still, compared to other Amityville cash-ins, this one actually feels like a proper horror movie and not a tax write-off.