Zhenia (Alec Utgoff), a mysterious masseur who has healing powers, arrives at a Polish town with a bed in tow to massage the wealthy townspeople. One by one, he massages them, hypnotises them and uses his magic touch to heal them.

      Never Gonna Snow Again is hard to describe by its plot alone because it's more than the sum of its parts. On the surface, it's a simple story about a man who heals people who are suffering, but there's a lot more going on beneath the surface. Co-writers/directors Malgorzata Szumowska and Michal Englert don't provide a lot of backstory to Zhenia except for a few bits and pieces from his past, like the fact that he survived Chernobyl and that he lost his beloved mother in Chernobyl as ash fell from the sky like snow. There's a subtle melancholic tone to the film which suggests that there's a deep sadness lurking under the surface. The screenplay isn't very unflinching when it comes to depicting that sadness, but it's there. The mystery being Zhenia's true identity is what makes Never Gonna Snow Again intriguing. The filmmakers grasp that less is more by not revealing too much and leaving a lot to the audience's imagination. At times, to be fair, it feels repetitive and it's hard to connect to any of the characters emotionally because they remain at a cold distance from the audience, especially when it comes to the character of Zhenia. If you're a patient audience member who likes understated films, you'll be able to appreciate Never Gonna Snow Again as an elliptical, unconventional blend of sci-fi and drama with an undercurrent of melancholy.

      Alex Utgoff gives a charismatic performance and holds your attention even during the silent moments of which there are many. The pace moves slowly, sometimes too slowly, but at least there's exquisite cinematography to keep you from getting very bored. The images speak louder than words in Never Gonna Snow Again, and it would be fair to say that they're poetic. Also, the filmmakers use the theme song from Eyes Wide Shut in the beginning of the film which is quite fitting. Perhaps they were trying to use that as a nod to Eyes Wide Shut which is also a mysterious film that asks questions and provides few answers to the audience. Both films are cold, hard to categorize in one particular genre, and use symbolism in a thought-provoking way. At a running time of 1 hour and 53 minutes, Never Gonna Snow Again is well-shot, enigmatic and lyrical with an undercurrent of melancholy, but it's emotionally cold and occasionally tedious.

      Will (Winston Duke) interviews human souls in an isolated house in the middle of a desert to decide which of them will be born on Earth. The unborn souls include Mike (David Rysdahl), Emma (Zazie Beetz), Kane (Bill Skarsgård), Anne (Perry Smith) and Maria (Arianna Ortiz). His assistant, Kyo (Benedict Wong), brings the souls to him. They each have nine days to complete the test that will determine their fate.

      The screenplay by writer/director Edson Oda takes a very provocative concept and turns it into a poignant, haunting profoundly human story. Oda takes his time to present the audience with exposition to explain the film's sci-fi premise without bombarding them with information. The first images are just the videos that Will watches on TV screens. Who are they people that he's watching? Why is he watching them? Who is Will? Those questions get answered eventually, but it takes some patience. Oda knows how to introduce characters without spoon-feeding the audience. He eschews voice-over narration which would've dumbed down the film, so he trusts the audience's intelligence and, most importantly, their emotions. This isn't the kind of sci-fi movie that has a twisty, convoluted plot with special effects. It's far more grounded in humanism than some dramas that aren't science fiction. Each of the characters feel like human beings and they're each worth rooting for despite their flaws. Will asks them a challenging question which won't be spoiled here, but the answers that each of them are different and reveals a lot about each of the characters. Will himself has a very interesting backstory that's gradually revealed until the very powerful, cathartic ending. The dynamics of the relationship with Emma in particular makes the film increasingly compelling. There's a well-written scene that provides some comic relief when Will gathers with Kyo and some of the human souls for a dinner outside as they discuss some stories from their past. Oda also does a great job of showing the passage of time without any text that state "2nd day" or "4 days left"; he incorporates that into the dialogue instead, so it's important for the audience to pay attention because every details matters in Nine Days.

      Winstone Duke gives a breakthrough performance that's mesmerizing on many levels. Will has an inner life, and it's remarkable how Duke manages to display that even without words. His monologue, though, at the very end is one that will be remembered and rewatched because of how much emotion Duke put into it. It's just as moving as the cathartic ending of Departures. The final words that he says after a long pause after the monologue are simple, yet very profound. There are quiet moments throughout the film which are just as powerful if not more than the scenes with dialogue. Oda clearly grasps the power of images. For example, there's a slow-paced scene when Will walks outside at night and another when one of the human souls walks in the desert toward Will's office. Oda takes the mundane and makes it profound which is no easy feat. The music composed by Antonio Pinto should also be commended because it compliments the mood very effectively without being obtrusive. His filmmaking style is reminiscent of Ozu and Kore-eda, especially Kore-eda's After Life which would make for a great double feature with Nine Days. At a running time of 2 hours and 4 minutes, which feels more like 90 minutes, Nine Days is one of the best films of the year. Winston Duke deserves an Oscar.

      After his estranged mother, Honey (Susan Sarandon), dies, Leif (Jake Johnson) learns that she left him a conditional inheritance. He will inherit her cabin in the woods only if he completes a specific set of tasks to teach him valuable life lessons. At the cabin, he listens to his mother's instructions she recorded on video and obeys one of her orders by calling his ex-girlfriend, Audrey (D’Arcy Carden), to reconnect with her. He also bumps into his mother's neighbor, Carl (J.K. Simmons), who used to be her lover and didn't even know that she died.

      There's nothing inherently wrong with a movie about a dysfunctional mother/son relationship with inspiration lessons about life and growing up. Harold & Maude managed to pull it off with wit, warmth, depth and a dark sense of humor. Leif and Harold both have a lot of growing up to do and suffer from a toxic relationship with their controlling mothers, but their similarities end there. Writer/director Trent O'Donnell and co-writer Jake Johnson leave too many questions unanswered which would've been fine if they weren't so distracting. What did Leif's mother do to him that was abusive and caused him to become estranged from her? It's not very clear and, when some of it is mentioned, it's too brief and incomplete. It's as though the filmmakers were afraid to go to darker territory. Imagine a more lighthearted version of Ordinary People without the therapist and you'll get an idea of what Ride the Eagle is like. Ordinary People tackles the mother/son relationship between Beth and Conrad with much more complexity and insight than this film shows between Leif and Honey.

      If Leif doesn't complete one of the tasks that his mother gives him, then who would know that he didn't complete it? Who's monitoring him to make sure that he completes it? Why are there no estate lawyers involved? Why would Audrey want to reunite with a man who still has unresolved issues with his mother and who hasn't become emotionally mature enough to be able to learn his life lessons on his own without his mother's instructions? Audrey seems like she's too naive, and her newly-kindled relationship with Lief comes across more as a fairy tale than as reality. How does the audience know that Lief's mother has truly changed and isn't just trying to control her son beyond the grave? Also, Leif goes through each task very quickly as though it were a laundry list, so it's unclear if he has truly changed by the time the end credits roll. A lot of those lessons are huge concepts that usually take years to learn, not days or weeks. The character of Carl seems to be just there because the screenplay requires him to be; he, too, seems underwritten, and he's a distracting and even annoying subplot that just makes Ride the Eagle even more clunky.

      The performance of Jake Johnson is decent, but the screenplay doesn't breathe enough life into him or any of the characters. There aren't any scenes that feel genuinely moving, although the instructional video that Leif's mom leaves behind does add a modicum of poignancy, but not nearly enough. Although it's refreshing that Ride the Eagle is a cabin in the woods story that doesn't veer toward horror, it would've been great if it at least veered toward a more serious and organic drama rather than just going through the motions like Leif does with his mother's list of tasks. At a running time of 1 hour and 28 minutes, Ride the Eagle is too undercooked, contrived and shallow to make an emotional impact or to be inspirational. You'll have to wait until the third act to find out the meaning of the film's title.