Challengers

All’s fair in love and tennis: it’s a brutal, animalistic tussle that leaves no one unscathed.

Guadagnino knows how to make people very, very attractive. But that’s not the same as interesting.

Challengers hails the voyeuristic spectator at every turn: It’s a movie as much about watching as about performing, as much about scopophilia as exhibitionism.

There are times you want to fight Challengers—to take its sliced-and-diced timeline and put everything in its proper order—but resistance is futile.

For all of its heat and copious amounts of kissing, there are no sex scenes – except that sweaty, ecstatic tennis match.

Challengers is much more than a sport movie... But it would be wrong to say that this story isn’t about what tennis does to normal people: the ways it binds them inextricably to one another.

Where sports cinema has recently either leaned toward schmaltz or just fallen short, Challengers is, refreshingly, all sex, sweat, and spite.

[The] stylistic approach to aesthetic glamour, the immaculate surface, and the mystique of individual effort, push aside what could have been a more complex and exciting romantic story. [Full review in Spanish]

While technically accomplished, Challengers essentially treats queerness as a punchline or fan-bait.

What makes the film so compelling is its sharp and deliberate atmosphere and tone. Each frame feels carefully constructed, with moments of sudden slowdown and acceleration that draw out the emotional tension and power struggles in the narrative.