Shin Kamen Rider (2023)

Shin Kamen Rider feels like a pop-art thunderclap: Hideaki Anno takes a beloved tokusatsu icon and shoots it with the urgency of a rebellion, turning rubber-suit spectacle into something strangely tender and morally restless. The action is bold and deliberately stylized—more live-action anime than gritty realism—with kinetic fights, striking compositions, and a pulsing sense that every punch is also an argument about what it means to stay human when power is forced on you. Sosuke Ikematsu brings a bruised sincerity to Hongo, while Minami Hamabe gives Ruriko a cool, wounded intelligence that gradually warms the film from the inside, making the drama land amid the mayhem. It won’t be for everyone—Anno’s pacing and heightened, old-school tokusatsu textures can feel idiosyncratic—but if you’re open to a superhero movie that’s equal parts operatic, weirdly heartfelt, and fiercely directed, this one revs like a dream.

Shin Kamen Rider is clearly trying to be a moody, mythic re-introduction of a classic hero, mixing tokusatsu nostalgia with Hideaki Anno’s brooding, talky obsession with identity, loneliness, and what “justice” even means. The problem is it often feels more like a stylized concept album than a gripping movie: the pacing drags in the middle, the plotting can veer into awkward or “trying too hard” territory, and the CGI-heavy action sometimes looks cheaper than the drama deserves. If you want sleek modern superhero momentum or crystal-clear storytelling, this will test your patience; if you’re up for weird, earnest, occasionally messy vibes with some striking imagery and a sincere emotional core, you may still find it worth the ride. Expect blood and violence (sometimes knowingly fake-looking), and a film that prioritizes tone and homage over polish.