Cherry (2021)

Cherry is the kind of bruising, big-swing American drama that grabs you by the collar and refuses to let go, powered by a fearless Tom Holland performance that burns away any lingering notion of him as just a charming kid in a superhero suit. The Russo brothers film it with a restless, stylized energy—part darkly funny, part aching and intimate—so the story moves like a fever dream of love, war, and the seductive lies we tell ourselves to survive. At its center is a relationship that feels messy, specific, and heartbreakingly human, giving the movie a pulse even when it plunges into uglier territory. It’s not for everyone—this is graphic, relentless, and often hard to watch—but if you can handle its intensity, it offers raw emotion, flashes of poetry, and a hard-earned sense that redemption is possible.

Cherry is clearly aiming for a big, bruising portrait of how war trauma and America’s opioid crisis can shred a young couple, and it wants to hit you with the full ugly sweep of that descent. The problem is it often feels like it’s trying too hard to impress you with flashy, self-aware style and long, repetitive stretches, which undercuts the emotional truth it’s reaching for. Tom Holland commits and there are moments of raw intensity, but the characterization can feel thin and the movie’s “look at me” approach makes the tragedy feel more like a montage of misery than a lived-in story. If you’re sensitive to graphic drug use and violence or you want a restrained, believable drama rather than a loud, overlong one, this probably isn’t worth your time.