Sharper

There is a specific kind of thrill in realizing a movie is smarter than you are, and Sharper spends its first forty minutes practically gloating about it. It arrives with the polished, cold-to-the-touch surface of a high-end Manhattan gallery, inviting you to look closely at the brushwork only to realize the entire gallery is a hologram. We don't get many of these mid-budget, adult-oriented "puzzle box" thrillers in the 2020s—at least not in theaters. Instead, they’ve migrated to the sleek, slightly sterile ecosystems of streaming platforms like Apple TV+, where they risk becoming "content" rather than "cinema."

I watched this on a Tuesday night while my cat, Barnaby, spent the entire second act trying to chew through my laptop’s charging cable. The literal sparks flying from my floorboards added a layer of "will-they-won't-they" tension that director Benjamin Caron probably didn't intend, but it fit the vibe of a movie where every character is one short-circuit away from total ruin.

The Art of the Chaptered Con

The film is structured as a series of nested dolls, with each chapter named after a different character: Tom, Sandra, Max, and Madeline. It kicks off with a deceptively sweet meet-cute in a dusty New York bookstore. Justice Smith (who I last saw getting chased by dinosaurs in Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom) plays Tom, a sensitive soul who falls for a PhD student named Sandra, played by the magnetic newcomer Briana Middleton.

If you’ve seen a single neo-noir in your life, you know this "boy meets girl" setup is a trap. But Sharper is clever about how it springs that trap. Just as you think you’ve settled into a standard indie romance, the film yanks the tablecloth out from under the fine china. We pivot to Max—played by Sebastian Stan with a sleazy, high-energy desperation—and the movie begins to reveal its true DNA. It’s a lineage that traces back to 90s gems like The Grifters or even the twisty mechanics of Confidence, but with the high-gloss finish of Succession.

A Masterclass in Manhattan Malice

What keeps Sharper from feeling like a hollow exercise in "gotcha" storytelling is the caliber of the ensemble. Julianne Moore is, predictably, the sun that everything else orbits. Whether she’s playing the supportive wife to a billionaire or a woman who could dismantle your entire life with a single phone call, she brings a terrifying poise to the role. I’ve loved her since Boogie Nights, but here she trades the vulnerability for a diamond-hard exterior that is fascinating to watch.

Then there is John Lithgow as Richard Hobbes, the billionaire mark. Lithgow has this incredible ability to project both immense power and pathetic frailty simultaneously. You spend half the movie wondering if he’s the ultimate victim or the ultimate architect. Sebastian Stan has perfected the art of playing a man you want to punch in the face within thirty seconds of him appearing on screen, and I mean that as a sincere compliment. He brings a jagged, frantic edge to Max that balances out the more calculated moves of the rest of the cast.

Why Did This One Slip Through the Cracks?

In the current landscape of franchise fatigue and "Legacy Sequels," a movie like Sharper should have been a bigger deal. It’s an original IP with a star-studded cast and a script that actually respects the audience's intelligence. So why did it vanish into the "Recently Added" abyss so quickly?

Part of it is the "Streaming Void." When a film bypasses a wide theatrical release, it loses that week-to-week cultural oxygen. Sharper was an A24 production, but it doesn't have the "Elevated Horror" hook of a Hereditary or the indie-darling status of a Lady Bird. It’s a straight-up, unapologetic genre exercise. Furthermore, it was released during that post-pandemic transition where audiences were still deciding what was "worth the trip" to the theater. A twisty thriller about rich people being mean to each other apparently didn't make the cut, which is a shame.

The film also benefits from a gorgeous score by Clint Mansell (the genius behind Requiem for a Dream), which trades his usual intensity for a cool, electronic pulse that feels like a midnight drive through the Upper East Side. The cinematography captures a version of New York that feels both aspirational and deeply lonely—lots of glass, steel, and shadows.

The Twist-Ending Fatigue

If I have one gripe, it’s that the modern audience is almost too conditioned for twists. We’ve been "Shyamalan-ed" to the point where we stop engaging with the characters because we’re too busy trying to outsmart the screenwriter. There's a moment in the final act where the film almost overplays its hand, leaning into a theatricality that feels a bit "movie-ish" compared to the grounded chilliness of the opening hour.

However, even when the plot contortions get a bit extreme, the performances anchor it. You stay for the way Julianne Moore pours a glass of wine, or the way Briana Middleton shifts her entire persona with a change in posture. It’s a film about the masks we wear, and in an era where everyone is curated to death on social media, that theme feels sharper than ever.

Sharper is a sleek, cynical, and highly entertaining reminder that the "con artist" genre still has some life in it. It’s the perfect "I want to watch something smart but not homework" movie for a Friday night. While it might not rewrite the rules of the crime thriller, it plays the game with such style and venom that you won't mind being fooled. Just keep an eye on your charging cables while you watch.