I had to turn this off halfway through as I was fighting back tears. This is a gut-wrenching exploration of systemic failure, so intense it’s almost unbearable. The claustrophobic cinematography keeps you on edge, creating a suffocating sense of inevitability. While undeniably effective at eliciting emotion, the film occasionally leans into heavy-handedness, which somewhat undermines its subtlety. The word "relevant" feels too distant to fully capture the weight of the story. Still, the harrowing depiction of a bureaucratic nightmare is enough to leave you shaken—so much so, that you might find yourself unable to watch it all in one sitting.

Within the first minute, the film rushes through a barrage of themes, images, and tones—none of which ever quite come together. It never lands emotionally, leaving you adrift. The performances are sweet, and the character is there, but I’m left with little understanding of who they really are. Is this film about worker exploitation in India? Female empowerment? Breaking out of your economic situation to transform your life? Sisterhood? Sure, it’s all of that—but none of it sticks, because the film never commits fully to any one idea.

It relies too heavily on the visual impact of its surroundings, leaning on the raw discomfort of exploitation to carry the story. But that doesn’t work. The idea that “greatness exists everywhere, no matter how small” feels tired, almost hollow. It’s a message that doesn’t have enough weight to sustain even a 20-minute film, let alone something longer. And by the end, I was left feeling nothing.

To harness a concept as ridiculous this is and still find the humor and humanity is exciting as a viewer. The intentionally stale reflection of a woman trying to confirm her own humanity had me smiling the whole time.  

Her humor grows as she realizes she is artificial; I loved this shift. 

The immense sense of technologic malaise felt instantly relatable. 
The film screeches to a halt with such a great punctuation. 
I really feel for her. I want her to feel release.  

I wish there was more.

I appreciated how to the point it was, but ultimately, it amounts to a predictable narrative with a slight twist. It focuses entirely on the snapshot moments of regret we have for not taking action when we could have—what you’d remember twenty or thirty years later. While that comes across fine, it didn’t seem to aim for anything beyond making that statement. I would have liked more.

I tried with this one, I really did. I started watching it nearly four times, and only on the fourth try was I actually able to get through The Last Ranger. The first half, unfortunately, feels more like an ad for tourism than anything else. When it does pick up its pace, it becomes jarring and disjointed from the rest of the film. It is emotionally effective but doesn’t fully deliver. This subject matter is inherently stark and bold. But it really only boils down to “conservation works, and poaching is bad”—a statement that, hopefully, a good portion of the world can agree with, which makes the culmination of the story fall flat. Poachers aren't going to see this. Those are the people you should be trying to persuade to not kill rhinos. The Last Ranger isn’t going to dissuade someone from going out and killing a rhino; no one with a gun in hand is going to watch this and say, “Damn, I see the error of my ways now” after seeing this.  It’s more likely to make the viewer feel better about themselves for not supporting the killing of rhinos. While that’s not an apparent problem, it doesn’t make for a compelling film. This isn't to say I have any issue with the brave people defending these rhinos, I support them, but I would rather see a documentary about them than a film that feels like it’s made by the "VISIT SOUTH AFRICA" tourism board.