Vox Lux Today

Portman is terrifyingly good—not in a glamorous way, but in a way that captures the exhausted, drug-dulled, narcissistic meltdown of someone who peaked at 14. She struts, snarls, and slurs her way through the role. You can’t look away, but you also don’t want to get close.

★★½ (2.5/4) Recommended if you like: Requiem for a Dream, The Idol (but good), crying in the club. Vox Lux

Grade: B+ (for ambition) / C- (for enjoyment) Portman is terrifyingly good—not in a glamorous way,

The film is split into two distinct acts. is devastatingly raw. We meet teenage Celeste (Raffey Cassidy) as she survives a school shooting. At a memorial, she sings a haunting original song, and the world mistakes her trauma for talent. Suddenly, she’s not a victim; she’s a product. This first hour is gripping, uncomfortable, and features some of the best child acting in years. ★★½ (2

Watching Vox Lux feels like standing too close to a speaker at a stadium pop concert: it’s loud, disorienting, occasionally brilliant, and ultimately numbing. Brady Corbet’s operatic tragedy isn’t really a music biopic. It’s a horror film about the birth of modern fame—specifically, the kind of fame that eats its young and spits out a hollowed, sequined shell.

Portman is terrifyingly good—not in a glamorous way, but in a way that captures the exhausted, drug-dulled, narcissistic meltdown of someone who peaked at 14. She struts, snarls, and slurs her way through the role. You can’t look away, but you also don’t want to get close.

★★½ (2.5/4) Recommended if you like: Requiem for a Dream, The Idol (but good), crying in the club.

Grade: B+ (for ambition) / C- (for enjoyment)

The film is split into two distinct acts. is devastatingly raw. We meet teenage Celeste (Raffey Cassidy) as she survives a school shooting. At a memorial, she sings a haunting original song, and the world mistakes her trauma for talent. Suddenly, she’s not a victim; she’s a product. This first hour is gripping, uncomfortable, and features some of the best child acting in years.

Watching Vox Lux feels like standing too close to a speaker at a stadium pop concert: it’s loud, disorienting, occasionally brilliant, and ultimately numbing. Brady Corbet’s operatic tragedy isn’t really a music biopic. It’s a horror film about the birth of modern fame—specifically, the kind of fame that eats its young and spits out a hollowed, sequined shell.