Reviews (438)

  • The title pulled me in. The premise - a serial killer's daughter hiding her identity - had weight, tension, something dark and promising. And with Analeigh Ashford in the lead, I figured it had the bones to go somewhere. Episode 1 delivered. It leaned into the paranoia, the fear, the secrets.

    Then the show took a wrong turn. The original premise faded, replaced by a routine detective drama padded with forgettable side characters and even more forgettable subplots. Melissa, once a compelling center, spirals into something shrill and exhausting. Her husband - a blank. Her daughter - unbearable.

    But Dennis Quaid. He does something almost supernatural. As the serial killer - the actual murderer - he becomes the only one you want to watch. Charming, calm, and razor-sharp, he commands every scene with a twisted campy elegance. Somehow, he turns the monster into the magnet. You don't just understand him. You root for him.

    It's a masterclass in subversion. The killer becomes the hero. Everyone else fades. And by the end, you realize the most dangerous man in the story is the only one worth following.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    I missed "School Spirits" when it came out in 2023. Only caught it after seeing promos for Season 2 on Paramount+. Figured it'd be another forgettable high school supernatural drama - thin characters, recycled plot. I was wrong. What I got was a series with bite: smart, moody, and unexpectedly thoughtful. Season 1 laid the groundwork with originality and depth - enough to hook me. But Season 2? It leveled up. Characters who felt like background noise, Xavier included, turned into something real. This isn't just about ghosts and teenagers. It's about the living afraid to die, and the dead afraid to move on. And somewhere in between, that quiet ache - the choice between staying stuck in the past or risking what comes next. The show doesn't shout. It lingers. And it works.
  • Watching this movie taught me something I didn't expect: Timothée Chalamet isn't just a rising star - he's this generation's DiCaprio. And Bob Dylan? Turns out the man deserves every bit of the mythology. I never followed his music. He was never my kind of icon - not a Freddie Mercury, not a Paul McCartney. I've always leaned more pop than folk. But that's on me. Chalamet, sharp and unpredictable, pulled me in. And suddenly, Dylan - odd, poetic, maddeningly brilliant - made sense. The film didn't pander. No caricatures. No cheap mimicry. Just craft. Purpose. A reminder that great movies don't just honor legends - they introduce them, reframe them, make you care before you realize you've crossed over.
  • Brian Tyree Henry and Wagner Moura were all I needed to press play. Their past work had earned my trust. Add Ving Rhames - the legendary Marsellus Wallace himself - and this felt like a sure thing. Episode one delivered: a mystery wound tight, the pace relentless, the action precise. It pulled me in and refused to let go.

    But somewhere around the third episode, the wheels started to wobble. The story lost its focus, drifting from thread to thread, unsure where it was heading. The sharp edges dulled. The bite vanished. Momentum collapsed into a slow, heavy crawl.

    By the time the final episode arrived, whatever tension the series had built was long gone. Answers were tossed out carelessly, long after anyone cared to ask the questions. A promising start crumbled into a tedious, disappointing finish.
  • They never saw it coming - not the tension, not the silence, not the quiet decay of civility. "Speak No Evil" doesn't just rely on jump scares or gore. It twists the knife slowly, deliberately, in scenes so socially awkward they feel weaponized. From the first frame, the discomfort creeps in. And just when you think it can't get worse, it does - because the characters don't escape the tension. They feed it. They nod, smile, and swallow every instinct to speak up, and in doing so, they drag you down with them.

    Mackenzie Davis nails the role - her expressions alone are a clinic in controlled discomfort. Watching her face feels like watching a car crash in slow motion: you brace, flinch, and still can't look away. James McAvoy, meanwhile, doesn't just play unsettling - he exudes it. There's something about his performance that feels like Russell Crowe on the edge, a man too controlled to be safe.

    This isn't "Silence of the Lambs," but it knows what it's doing. There are echoes of "The Hand That Rocks the Cradle," that slow domestic unraveling where the horror isn't just what happens - it's how long it takes to happen. The burn here is slow, sometimes too slow, but it's intentional. And if you've got nothing queued up, this one's worth a watch. Just don't expect relief.
  • I'll watch anything with Adrien Brody. That's my bias. So when I saw "The Brutalist" - Brody, Holocaust-adjacent, second Oscar win - I was in. That's all I knew going in. No trailers. No spoilers. Just a gut feeling and six bucks on my streaming account.

    The movie is slow burn. No, slower than that. Obscure filmmaking - quiet, atmospheric, every scene humming like there's a secret just offscreen. You lean in, waiting for the moment it snaps. You wait. And wait. Intermission hits at one and a half hours. One and a half. It's over three hours long.

    I stayed because I was hooked on the promise. Something dramatic had to be coming, right? Some twist, something. But when it finally lands, it's... muted. Like a firecracker that fizzled instead of exploding. Tension? There. Payoff? Meh.

    That said, Brody delivers - moody, restrained, magnetic. Guy Pearce is sharp too. I didn't connect much with the wife. Something about her felt... one-dimensional. Like she was written into the fog but never stepped out of it.

    Bottom line? I finished it because it's Brody. And I paid for it. But if you're going in expecting fireworks, bring a warm drink and a blanket. You'll be waiting a while.
  • "Nine Bodies in a Mexican Morgue" hooks you with the title - sharp, ominous, impossible to ignore - and if you're the kind who leans into a mystery, it promises more than it delivers. The opening plane crash sets the tone, not in suspense, but in budget. It looks patched together, more green screen than grit. And once the survivors stagger into view, the illusion doesn't hold. The jungle feels like a stage. The stakes feel staged, too.

    The characters aren't written - they're sketched. Loud types, hollow arcs, the kind you meet once and forget twice. And still, you hang in, maybe because of Peter Gadiot and Ólafur Darri Ólafsson - two actors who know how to hold a scene, even when the writing gives them nothing but clichés to chew on. They show up. The script doesn't.

    By the time the story wraps up and slides toward its twisty, slightly unhinged finish, you're not gripped - but you're not checking out either. There's enough absurdity, enough sudden turns, that you don't need to pay close attention to stay mildly entertained.

    It's a mess, but a watchable one. And sometimes, that's enough.
  • The premise is strong - eerily plausible and unsettling enough to stick with you - but the execution never quite catches up. It wants to punch hard, but too often pulls its swing. Sophie Thatcher, fresh off "Yellowjackets," takes the lead and earns it. She's got presence, control, and just enough edge to keep you leaning in. Looking a bit like Anya Taylor-Joy doesn't hurt, but she holds her own without leaning on that.

    Lukas Gage is a fun surprise - bright, sharp, exactly where he needs to be. The rest? Less memorable. Rupert Friend, usually a wildcard of charm and menace, feels flattened here, lost in a sea of two-dimensional characters.

    The film flirts with brilliance - the kind that makes you glance over your shoulder and wonder how far off this future really is. But in the end, it's more a whisper than a roar. Worth watching? Maybe. Just don't expect it to leave a scar.
  • "Anora" is a solid film. Gritty, raw, and unflinching. It owns its subject matter and never apologizes for where it goes. But for Best Picture? "The Substance" had more weight, more bite. Demi Moore should've taken Best Actress - and in a way, Mikey Madison winning only sharpened what "The Substance" was really saying. That irony hits hard.

    "Anora" unfolds in three distinct movements. The first is unapologetically explicit. But it works - because that's the life we're dropped into. Mikey Madison is fearless - flipping from wild, high-octane dance numbers to perfectly timed comic turns that carry the second act. The supporting cast keeps the tension tight and the humor offbeat: a ferocious mother, bumbling enforcers, and a finale that hits you sideways.

    In the end, "Anora" reminds us: when life spins too fast, it rarely ends clean. Excess always comes with a bill - and this film makes sure you know it's due.
  • Nicole Kidman's back - relentless, polished, always just a little haunted. At this point, she's less of an actress and more of a presence. You don't stumble upon her work; it finds you. And when you add Matthew Macfadyen - yes, that Mr. Wamsgams - it starts to feel like a can't-miss setup. Two heavyweights, one glossy thriller, and the promise of a slow unravel.

    "Holland" opens strong. A sense of dread humming beneath its surface, the kind of menace that hides behind manicured lawns and calm morning coffees. It echoes "Nightbitch" - Amy Adams's descent into the quiet madness of domestic life - the same themes of women simmering in boredom, choking on the sterile routines they've been sold.

    But then it slips.

    What could've been sharp and unsettling buckles under the weight of its own ambition. The twist - if you can call it that - lands with a thud. Not clever. Not earned. Just... tired. And what followed, in those last 10, maybe 15 minutes? A mess. The kind that doesn't just spoil the end - it undoes everything that came before.

    A wasted potential. And in a story like this, that's the real crime.
  • I didn't know what "Adolescence" was about when I hit play. Didn't look it up. Didn't read the blurbs. Just dove in, figuring I'd give it ten minutes and bail if it didn't grab me.

    It grabbed me.

    First thing I notice? No cuts. Not a single one. I wait for the first camera break, but it never comes. Ten minutes go by. Twenty. Still no cuts. Then it hits me - this isn't just a clever opening. The entire episode is one continuous shot.

    One hour. No edits. No cheat angles. Just relentless, perfectly choreographed motion.

    And then comes episode two - the school episode.

    That's when it hits another level.

    We're talking dozens of characters, intertwining storylines, emotional collisions, all unfolding inside a school where chaos and quiet coexist. The coordination alone would make a Broadway stage manager sweat. The camera floats, it weaves, it breathes. The timing, the rhythm - it's so seamless you forget it's impossible. And just when you think you've seen the trick, the episode ends on a high-wire aerial shot that drops your jaw.

    And then, episode three.

    This one pulls off what should've been a trainwreck and turns it into a masterclass. A tense, uncut dialogue scene, the camera circling like a shark while the actors deliver blistering, uninterrupted performances on a very sensitive topic. No room to breathe. No way out.

    And at the center of it all is Owen Cooper - a kid making his debut, carrying this brutal, beautiful thing on his back like he's been doing it for years. Any veteran actor would be sweating bullets. Cooper doesn't flinch. He's locked in.

    And the other major players: the investigator, the father, the psychiatrist - they're not just supporting characters; they're anchors. Every one of them delivers.

    "Adolescence" isn't just a show. It's a stunt. A dare. A perfectly executed risk that no one had any business pulling off.

    But they did. And now the bar is raised.
  • "Toxic Town" has all the makings of a gripping drama - corporate greed, a poisoned town, parents fighting for their children's lives. The stakes are real, the outrage justified. But somehow, it fumbles the execution.

    The story itself is powerful. A working-class community, betrayed by the people meant to protect them, forced to fight a battle they never signed up for. It's meant to be raw, gut-wrenching. And in the right hands, it could have been. But instead of trusting the weight of the truth, the film leans too hard into melodrama.

    Brendan Coyle, stepping far from his Downton Abbey days, plays his role with an intensity that borders on theatrical, every gesture a little too big, every line a little too forced. The mothers at the center of it all - women who should feel real, layered, furious - are flattened into one-note performances, their pain swallowed up by heavy-handed direction.

    That's the real shame here. The story matters. The message matters. But instead of delivering a slow, inevitable punch to the gut, "Toxic Town" shouts its way through, hoping volume will make up for depth. It doesn't.
  • The movie opens with sweeping nature scenes, each frame a painting, each moment a breath of raw beauty. It's more than just a visual feast - it's a journey. A cat, alone in the wild, thrown into a world where survival isn't a choice, but an instinct. Every step is a risk, every encounter a test. Escape when danger looms. Trust no one. And yet, when kindness is offered, the cat - like all of us - must decide whether to reject it or embrace something greater.

    No words. No explanations. Just action, struggle, and fleeting moments of connection that speak louder than dialogue ever could. It's survival, it's instinct, it's the unspoken bond between species who, against all odds, learn to rely on each other. The film doesn't just tell a story - it pulls you into it, forces you to feel it. A bold, mesmerizing experience that lingers long after the final frame.
  • "Conclave" is a visual feast, a stage for some of the biggest names in the business. The setting? The Catholic Church - centuries of ritual, hierarchy, and power plays. But make no mistake, this isn't just a study of faith or tradition. Strip away the robes, the Latin, the solemnity, and what you have underneath is pure soap opera. And if not handled right, that kind of story can veer straight into eye-roll territory.

    But then you have Ralph Fiennes. Controlled, understated, magnetic. He carries the film with a quiet intensity, pulling you in without demanding attention. And the man speaks Italian. Fluently. It's the kind of performance that grounds the story when it threatens to spiral.

    Yes, some parts drag. The politics, the maneuvering - it gets heavy. But then comes the ending. A hard turn, a gut punch, a twist that flips everything. Some will hate it. I didn't. If anything, it's exactly what the film needed. Whether you see it coming or not, you'll feel it when it lands.
  • It's refreshing to see a young, handsome, charming, and kind portrayal of an American President in James Marsden. Fiction it is, and I'm here for it. "Paradise" is intriguing from the get-go, another apocalypse-themed show, but this one has whispers of what could happen in reality. I am hooked from the beginning, the show utilizing the talents of two other dependable actors, Sterling K. Brown and Julianne Nicholson. However, cracks begin to show in the middle episodes with some mediocre acting from supporting actors, the plot devolving into soap opera territory, and the cringe-inducing remakes of some 80s songs. It's a shame as this could be one of TV's best, as showcased in the riveting episode 7.
  • "The Calendar Killer" wants to be something different. From the title alone, it projects a sense of self-righteousness, an air of significance. I wanted to buy in - I really did. The dark, moody atmosphere, the German dialogue that demands full attention. It had promise. But as the mystery unfolds, so do its flaws, unraveling in ways that feel less like a carefully plotted puzzle and more like a slow descent into absurdity.

    The protagonist is sympathetic enough, the kind of character you're supposed to root for. And at first, I did. But then she makes choices - bewildering, frustrating choices - that seem completely divorced from reality. The kind that pull you out of the story rather than deeper into it. The film wades into sensitive territory, clearly aiming for depth, but it never quite lands the punch. Instead, it fumbles its message, leaving the protagonist delivering a speech that should resonate, should mean something. Instead, it frustrates.

    That's when it lost me. I can suspend disbelief when a story earns it, when the logic of its world holds together. But here? Here, the cracks are too big, the missteps too frequent. And for a film that wants you to think, to reflect, to feel something meaningful - it instead achieves something else entirely. An eye roll.
  • From the start, this series grabs your attention. Robert De Niro as a former president - 81 years old in real life and still bringing the heat. The irony isn't subtle. Here's a man who's been outspoken about today's political climate, now playing a version of the role himself. You have to wonder if that's the point. Maybe it is. Either way, you can't ignore his longevity. Decades in Hollywood, still standing.

    Then I think of Christopher Walken, his "Deer Hunter" co-star, also 81, also still at it, turning in a stellar performance in "Severance." And that's where the comparison stings. Walken lands a role in a critically acclaimed masterpiece. De Niro? He's stuck in a show that doesn't quite know what it wants to be. There are flashes of something better - moments that work, ideas that intrigue - but in the end, it's a mess. A watchable mess, sure. But a mess nonetheless.

    Six episodes. That's all it gets. That's all it needs. And honestly, that's just fine.
  • The reboot plays like a high-stakes impersonation game -- new actors stepping into familiar roles, each trying to make the character their own. Some pull it off seamlessly, others take time to settle in. Patrick Gibson and Molly Brown handle the Morgan siblings well, but the real revelation is Christina Milian as a young LaGuerta. She doesn't imitate; she inhabits the young version of the role, nailing her look, expressions, and presence. It's seamless. Unforced.

    This is the show fans have been waiting for. Not "New Blood" -- a stiff, forgettable attempt at revival -- but something sharper, smarter, more in tune with what made the original work. It leans into its early 90s roots, layering in the music, the atmosphere, the unmistakable aesthetic of a time gone by. The choice to let an iconic voice narrate the past, lacing the darkness with humor, is genius. The subject matter? Still grim. Always was. But somehow, in its own twisted way, it makes the ride feel exhilarating.
  • Keanu Reeves in "John Wick 4" was older than Dennis Hopper was in "Speed". Hard to believe. Watching "Speed" now, in 2025, knowing Keanu went from a fresh-faced heartthrob to an untouchable cinematic force, makes it even more surreal.

    But Keanu isn't the only reason "Speed" still holds up. The movie is built to last - tight cinematography, relentless pacing, action that starts at a hundred miles an hour and never slows down. The dialogue? Crisp, fast, effortless. Every character, from lead to background, feels lived-in. Keanu and Sandra Bullock? Pure movie-star energy. Gorgeous, likable, magnetic together.

    And then there's the music. It doesn't just play in the background - it drives the tension, sets the stakes, makes your pulse race in time with the speeding bus. Some movies are just movies. "Speed" is an event. The kind that happens once. And if anyone ever dares to remake it? Don't. Just don't.
  • From the start, "Lioness" sets itself apart from the other Taylor Sheridan productions running at the same time - "Yellowstone," "Tulsa King," and the rest. You can tell this is the one he truly cares about. The dialogue is fast, the plots are layered, and the characters have depth. It's a big-budget production with big names - Nicole Kidman, Morgan Freeman. And at the center, Zoe Saldana, delivering a performance with force. She's not playing the typical Sheridan eye candy. She's tough, determined, and carrying something extra - a need to prove herself. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it feels like she's trying a little too hard. Maybe that's the point. Maybe it's part of the character. Either way, the weight she's carrying is noticeable.

    The series has its wins. The supporting cast - especially Two Cups and Bobby - brings good vibes and energy. The action is solid. The cinematography works. The family subplot? Less so. The military realism? Take it with a grain of salt. But if you let go of the details, let yourself sink into the story, "Lioness" will hold you to the end.
  • I went into "Heretic" for one reason: Hugh Grant as a villain. The man oozes charm in every role, so the idea of him playing something darker was irresistible. And he delivers - better than I expected. He's mesmerizing, his every word laced with that signature British lilt, his presence commanding in a way that makes you almost root for him.

    The story itself? Engaging enough. Sophie Thatcher of "Yellowjackets" fame gets a solid showcase for her talent. She's got that Anya Taylor-Joy vibe - sharp, enigmatic, impossible to look away from. Hopefully, Hollywood takes notice and hands her some leading roles soon.

    The film keeps its grip for most of the runtime, tension crackling just beneath the surface. But then it stumbles at the finish line. The ending-awkward, unsatisfying - takes some of the wind out of its sails. Still, if you're here for Hugh Grant doing something different, it's worth the watch.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    I wanted this to be great. How could it not be? Richard Gere, Jeffrey Wright, Michael Fassbender, Hugh Bonneville - names that carry weight, the kind that promise something special. The setup is there: action, sharp dialogue, cinematography that pulls you in. But somewhere along the way, it loses itself.

    The script drowns in its own cleverness, burying tension under a mess of acronyms and coded jargon that make you wonder if the characters even know what they're saying. The Coyote subplot? Dead on arrival. You don't care, not even a little. The other two subplots show promise, flashes of something gripping, but they're shoved aside, lost in the shuffle, as if the writers forgot about them too.

    Then there's the ending - a cliffhanger, a last-ditch effort to hook you for season two. It almost works. Almost. But in the end, this isn't "Homeland" in its prime. It's a misfire, a spy thriller that forgets the thrill.
  • Family dramas are a dime a dozen on networks like Lifetime or Hallmark, the kind you watch once and forget by morning. But this movie? This one's different. It's proof that when a story is told with care, with thought, with a commitment to getting it right, it can rise above the noise and grab you by the heart.

    Sunny Pawar, a newcomer, carries the first half of the film with a performance so natural, so raw, you forget you're watching a kid act. The camera loves him, and the direction frames every moment with purpose. Then there's Dev Patel, stepping in to remind us just how good he is, while Nicole Kidman delivers another masterclass as a mother torn between love and struggle.

    This isn't just a movie - it's a story that pulls you in, holds you tight, and won't let go. It'll grip you, move you, and leave you thinking long after the credits roll. A rare gem in a sea of mediocrity.
  • Denzel Washington steals the show, no question about it. His villainous turn is bold, loud, and dripping with menace. Then there are the twin emperors, played deliciously by two actors we know - one who played a brooding teen in "White Lotus," and the other who recently portrayed a buttoned-up type strolling in terror with Lupita Nyong'o in "A Quiet Place." And let's give props to the production quality of "Gladiator II" as it is impeccable: big-budget sets, effects that scream 'epic.' But then you get to the leads: Pedro Pascal and Paul Mescal. And here's where the cracks show. Mescal, a guy whose talent has shone so brightly in his past work, feels like he's coasting. Pascal? Same deal. Neither one lights up the screen. Add to that a storyline that meanders like a second-rate soap opera, dragging itself to an ending so weak it almost feels like a joke, and what you have is a sequel that doesn't just fail to live up to the original - it feels like it doesn't even try.
  • In "Landman," Taylor Sheridan doesn't just dip into the well of rugged Americana - he dives headfirst, boots and all. This is a world where men are unapologetically macho and women are exaggerated to the edge, sometimes to the breaking point. The polarization is deliberate, even provocative, but it's not without nuance. Sheridan balances it - just barely - by giving us some women who are sharp, grounded, and more than capable of holding their own, and some men who, despite the bravado, show flickers of tenderness and decency. Still, the over-the-top portrayal of the wife and daughter as bimbo caricatures knocks the show down a peg.

    Ali Larter tries her best, and she's good, no doubt about it, but there's only so much she can do with what she's given. And then there's the nostalgia bait - Billy Bob Thornton owning the screen, while Demi Moore pops in for a blink-and-you-miss-it role. It's clever casting, sure, but frustrating when Moore, fresh off a Golden Globe win, barely gets a chance to remind us why she earned it.

    Sheridan's knack for diving into the hidden corners of America - the ones city dwellers conveniently ignore while they binge on cheap oil and manufactured goods- is on full display here. He pulls back the curtain on a world most of us will never touch, let alone understand. There's grit, there's beauty, and there's philosophy-Sheridan's signature mix of big ideas and blunt force. But this time, he strays too close to the line where thoughtful commentary turns into a soapbox speech. And while "Landman" has its moments, it's that inconsistency that keeps it from being great. Still, it's Sheridan - watchable, flawed, and unmistakably his.
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