Jules (2023)

Jules is the kind of small, tender sci-fi that sneaks up on you: it takes an outlandish premise—a UFO in a quiet backyard—and uses it to tell a deeply human story about loneliness, dignity, and the strange ways friendship can arrive when you least expect it. Ben Kingsley gives Milton a lived-in vulnerability that’s often funny, sometimes aching, and always believable, while Harriet Sansom Harris and Jane Curtin turn what could’ve been quirky sidekicks into a warm, bracingly sincere little community. The film’s vibe is gentle and whimsical with a grounded suburban texture, more about companionship and being seen than about spectacle, though it does contain one upsetting burst of violence that may catch sensitive viewers off guard. If you’re in the mood for something kind-hearted, actor-driven, and quietly poignant rather than action-heavy sci-fi, this one is easy to recommend.

Jules is clearly aiming for a gentle, small-town sci-fi fable about aging, loneliness, and being dismissed when you need help most, and it does that with a warm, unhurried touch. The catch is that the story plays out exactly the way you think it will, and the movie often leans on cozy sentiment rather than sharper comedy or deeper sci-fi ideas, so the premise can feel oddly underused. It’s also visually modest and a bit low on comic spark, with an ending that may leave you feeling like the film sidestepped the harder emotional and narrative payoffs. If you want a quiet, kindhearted Ben Kingsley vehicle with a soft odd-couple bond, it’s an easy watch; if you’re expecting memorable sci-fi, big laughs, or a truly satisfying wrap-up, this probably isn’t your stop.