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casino games download NFL on Netflix: Christmas Day games are a 1st for streaming giantStock market today: Dow closes at record, S&P 500, Nasdaq rise as Wall Street notches strong weekly gainsAs a critic, I'm sometimes asked about my note-taking habits: Do you take a lot of notes? (Almost always; my memory can get fuzzy fast.) How do you do this in a dark theater? (Absolutely no phone screens! I scribble furiously with a pen and paper and hope for the best.) What do you usually take notes about? To that last question, it truly varies, but I can say that I'm consistently being pulled in by words, spoken and unspoken. The profound, the funny, the relatable, the subtext-laden; the lines that reveal some kind of truth about the world on screen and thus the world we're existing in now. When I think of some of my most memorable film-going experiences of 2024 – a great year for movies! – these are some of the moments and performances that have moved me, and stuck even many months later. Gendered inequities become glaringly obvious very quickly in Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine's fascinating documentary about the long-running high school program known as Girls State. Like many before them, the ambitious civic-minded teens profiled here set out to build their own government from the ground up. But the film was shot in 2022, the first time the Missouri chapter hosted both the girls and boys programs on the same campus at the same time, and the girls spend much of their time observing how much attention is paid to the enforcement of dress codes and how little is given to discussing more substantial and urgent political issues. (Meanwhile, there's ample evidence the boys' ambitions are taken far more seriously. Among their advantages: being "sworn in" to "office" by the state governor.) In one scene some of the girls commiserate over their disappointment with the tenor of the program, with one of them calling it out as distracting "fluff." The moment speaks to the obstacles that still persist for women in politics and is a sobering depiction of young hopefuls getting an early taste of political disillusionment. The final lines of Jane Schoenbrun's challenging and mesmerizing transgender allegory are a wallop of a denouement, proffering both sadness and hope. The sadness comes from everything we've learned about the meek protagonist Owen (Justice Smith) to this point – how, out of paralyzing fear, they've made a deliberate choice to deny their true self, and live a depressing and unfulfilling life. Now working at the kind of job that can only be described as the stuff of nightmares – a Chuck E. Cheese-like amusement center – the crushing weight of their denial finally hits, and sends them into a panic attack in the middle of a child's birthday celebration. The beauty of Megan Park's coming-of-age dramedy is that it never attempts to explain how 18-year-old Elliott (Maisy Stella) comes to encounter her 39-year-old self (Aubrey Plaza), beyond a hallucinogenic mushroom trip the first time she appears. The obvious and more pressing question then is, What does my future hold? When older Elliott delivers the sobering news to younger Elliott – that life rarely plays out exactly as planned – the reality of many millennials and Gen Zers the world over is succinctly and wittily acknowledged. Own a house? Work a fulfilling job that also pays at least a living wage? LOL. Park's film mercifully doesn't dwell on such cynicism, but it is all the better for those little nuggets of pointed commentary peppered throughout, blending a healthy dose of lived wisdom with the energy of youthful optimism. Julia Louis-Dreyfus' Zora is unquestionably relatable — what person wouldn't do everything in their power to ward off a loved one's impending death, especially their child's? But ultimately, Zora's impulses are more harmful than good for her terminally ill daughter Tuesday (Lola Petticrew), who's already come to terms with her own fate. It takes several extreme attempts at "killing" Death, imagined here as a majestically baritone macaw voiced by Arinzé Kene, before Zora understands she must set aside her own fears of what's to come and live in the present. One night, inquisitive tween Lacy (Zoe Ziegler) asks her mom Janet (Julianne Nicholson) if she'd be "disappointed" if she dated a girl when she's older. Janet, an acupuncturist and total hippie, admits she'd be neither disappointed nor shocked if that came to pass. The clarity of the observation about her daughter reveals that Janet sees a quality in Lacy that doesn't exist within herself, namely that "forthrightness," a lack of interest in tamping down any part of who she is. There is nothing subtle about this movie, but in a sparse script overflowing with bluntly obvious points about the horrors of sexism and misogyny, this line is the most apt thesis statement. What makes Coralie Fargeat's astounding, seismic body horror so unique is that the external forces – men, the patriarchy writ large — are on the periphery. Instead, Fargeat is preoccupied with what those forces stir within Elisabeth (Demi Moore), a TV aerobics star resorting to the most desperate of measures to regain her youth, and Sue (Margaret Qualley), the other, younger half she gruesomely expels from her body with the aid of "the substance." There's so much narrative possibility packed into this throwaway line, spoken by tennis star-turned-coach Tashi (Zendaya). She's a ruthless striver wedged in the middle of a homoerotic love triangle because she married Art (Mike Faist) after first having dated his best friend Patrick (Josh O'Connor). Does she love either of them as much, if not more, than she loves the thrill of a little green ball connecting with a swinging racket in a game of "good tennis"? Doubtful. But she's dedicated her life to making sure Art does what she wasn't able to accomplish on her own after a career-ending injury, and she'll be damned if she'll let Patrick humiliate him on the court. Look, I never said this was a list of the best movies of 2024. M. Night Shyamalan's nepo-baby project starring Josh Hartnett as a hot and doting dad who's also a serial killer is truly one of the dumbest, most nonsensical things to come out of Hollywood in recent memory. But it's fun as hell, and the commitment to such a ridiculous premise is weirdly audacious: The F.B.I., led by a serial killer "profiler" played by Haley Mills, has trapped thousands of people at a pop star's concert to catch a guy who could be literally anyone. (That pop star is played by Shyamalan's daughter Saleka.) What does this killer look like? Who knows! Except if you've seen this movie and made it through to the end, you eventually realize that everyone hunting this guy down should've absolutely known. It makes no sense. The plot holes are abundant. This is cinema. Copyright 2024 NPR. To see more, visit npr.org .

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