Takashi Yamazaki’s Godzilla Minus Zero, the direct sequel to his brilliant Godzilla Minus One, is the second straight film—and third if you go back to 2016’s modern reboot of Shin Godzilla from the directing team of Hideaki Anno and Shinji Higuchi–-that stands as superior and concrete proof that no non-Japanese studio or filmmaker should ever touch this historic kaiju character again.

With its arrival in limited theatrical release, this sequel expands one of the most unexpected and satisfying indie film offerings into an official trilogy. This series has become gilded, not in golden box office riches, but in a shiny red varnish of the bloody good fun these movies have shed, squirted, and sprayed across so many of its frames for six years now.  

A movie like Jimmy could recreate highlights for two hours, and audiences would welcome the show—and likely forgive mild caricature—if it meant snuggling up to that famous droll and some of his well-worn stories. But there was more to the Pennsylvania native and a motivation of greater purpose than what was projected on the silver screen.

The last engaging trait of a good walk-and-talk movie like Crossing a Dawn is the ability to create an approachable and honest experience. While you want to be drawn to the appeal of the combined potential couple in question as they fully speak and recognize that a version of Before Sunrise is happening to them, you, the viewer, want to play your own “what would you do with the chance” mental game.

The movie is unafraid to shift ways to see and feel beauty, even through—and especially through—artificial sources. What makes her happy makes him happy, and not the over-traditional other way around, and that simple stance speaks volumes. Wicker’s lifts given to a woman’s independence and the proper devotion a spouse should give their partner create harmony sorely missing in the world.

One cinematic trait, among a great many, that the fine animation artists at the Portland-based Laika Studios consistently demonstrate is visual sweep. When you see one of their films, it’s like no other filmgoing experience. The precision movement and jaw-dropping detail poured into the production house’s 17-year, six-film catalog, which began with Coraline, is beyond impressive, and with Wildwood, that sense of sweep only gets bigger.