Star Wars (2020) #47-50

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#47 — “The Trial of Lando Calrissian (Finale)”

Before Hope Dies formally begins, issue #47 concludes the long-running Lando Calrissian treason arc. Lando confronts a Rebel tribunal questioning his loyalty due to actions taken during Mutiny at Mon Cala. His fate and relationship with the Alliance set the emotional stakes as the galaxy braces for what’s next.

*In Star Wars (2020) #48–50, the story shifts from military maneuvering to deeply personal reckonings about guilt, responsibility, and moral limits. Issue #48 centers on Leia Organa, haunted by recurring nightmares of Alderaan’s destruction and overwhelmed by the tension between rescuing Han Solo and leading the Rebel Alliance against a resurgent Empire. When contact is lost with the Alderaan Survivor Fleet, Leia joins Luke Skywalker and Evaan Verlaine on a rescue mission that turns into a trap laid by former Imperial commander Ellian Zahra. The mission ends in disaster: the fleet appears destroyed, Leia is wounded, Luke sacrifices himself to save her, and Leia is captured — reinforcing her fear that everyone she tries to protect ultimately pays the price.

Issue #49 escalates the personal conflict between Leia and Zahra, turning the arc into a confrontation over moral absolutism and vengeance. Zahra reveals how she survived their last encounter and how Leia’s refusal to kill her shattered Zahra’s belief in Imperial order, leaving her scarred, mutilated, and obsessed with proving Leia’s moral “hypocrisy.” Zahra intends to sell Leia to the Empire, but Luke intervenes, and together the Rebels sabotage Zahra’s operation. Luke spares Zahra’s life, believing she can still choose a better path — a decision Leia reluctantly honors until Zahra proves incapable of letting go of her hatred. Leia ultimately orders Zahra’s death when Zahra attacks again, affirming that mercy without accountability can become another form of harm. The issue closes with Leia learning that most of the Alderaanian survivors escaped after all, allowing her a measure of peace and clarity.

Issue #50 reframes the entire volume as a moral parable told years later by Luke to Ben Solo, focusing on the cost of choosing the “path of light.” Luke recounts a secret mission undertaken during Han’s captivity involving the Grim Rose — a mystical assassination device capable of killing Emperor Palpatine through a web of personal connections, at the cost of countless innocent lives along the way. Though the weapon could have ended the Sith, Luke realizes that using it would require embracing mass murder and abandoning hope for Vader’s redemption. By altering the weapon’s target to someone long dead, Luke neutralizes it without sacrificing his values. In the present, Luke explains to Ben that defeating evil by becoming evil only perpetuates darkness — a lesson meant to guide Ben away from the very fate the reader knows awaits him.

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Immortal Thor (2023) #11-15

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Immortal Thor Vol. 3: The End of All Songs thrusts Thor Odinson into an epic mythic quest after the Norse God of War, Tyr, mysteriously disappears under cosmic circumstances. Determined to retrieve a lost sibling, Thor calls together all the Children of Odin — from established heroes like Angela and Balder to obscure gods and even Loki — and they embark on a journey that traverses surreal, abstract realms linked to larger Marvel cosmology. The mission rapidly evolves from a missing-person hunt into a deep-mythos exploration, challenging the assembled gods with forces that defy conventional cosmic order. 

As the group tracks Tyr’s trail, their interactions expose tensions within the Odin family, particularly involving Loki’s narrative influence and Thor’s leadership under strain. The stakes grow beyond simply rescuing Tyr — they confront ancient forces, existential wheels of fate, and incursions from mythologies outside traditional Norse lore, including Greek deities like Hercules and Nyx. These intersections underscore the series’ ambition: to blend mythological weight with superheroic drama, threading Thor’s personal duty with sprawling cosmological intrigue. 

The arc culminates in a dramatic reckoning where Thor and his siblings must face the consequences of their quest, balancing interpersonal conflict with divine threats. Ultimately, Return of the King and the preceding chapters tie together the threads of familial loyalty, mythic heritage, and cosmic responsibility, pushing Thor to redefine what it means to be both a god and a hero amid forces that transcend conventional Asgardian challenges.

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Amazing Spider-Man (2022) #50-54

 

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In Amazing Spider-Man (2022) #50–54 — “Going Green” — the return of the Green Goblin becomes the centerpiece of Zeb Wells’ most unhinged escalation yet. A distress signal from the Living Brain leads Peter into a trap where Norman’s old Goblin persona resurfaces—and triggers secret conditioning Norman had implanted in Peter using the Winkler Device. With a single activation phrase, Peter is forced into a deranged new form called Spider-Goblin, a twisted fusion of Spider-Man’s agility and the Goblin’s cruelty. While Norman maneuvers legally and strategically to position Peter as his “successor,” Spider-Goblin goes on a violent spree, dismantling the Sinister Six and nearly killing Kraven, all while Peter’s true self is buried under layers of Goblin programming.

A small resistance forms around Kamala Khan, J. Jonah Jameson, Curt Connors, and a newly evolved Walking Brain, who uncover Norman’s deeper plot: the Green Goblin doesn’t just want revenge—he wants a new host. As Peter briefly breaks through the conditioning, he races to secure a mystical spear tied to the Goblin’s “sins,” hoping to use it to save Norman. But the Goblin in Norman stays one step ahead, eventually stabbing himself with the spear so that the sins—his essence—can forcibly transfer into Peter. This fulfills the Goblin’s long game: merging his evil with Peter’s body to create the ultimate Goblin-Spider hybrid, one capable of surpassing both men.

The final issue becomes a battle for Peter’s identity inside his own mind. With Norman mortally wounded and the Goblin’s essence trying to overwrite him from within, Peter is pulled into a psychological war where the Goblin insists that Peter is the perfect vessel. The Walking Brain helps anchor Peter’s sense of self, allowing him to reject the Goblin’s possession and break free from both the sins and the Winkler conditioning. The story closes with Peter restored but shaken, Norman alive but stripped of the Goblin once again, and Spider-Man left to reckon with how close he came to becoming the Goblin’s “true home” forever.

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Materialists (2025)

The Materialists is a surprisingly sharp, stylish, and enjoyable film — a modern romantic comedy that actually remembers to be both romantic and comedic. Chris Evans turns in one of his most charismatic performances in years, carrying scenes with effortless charm and emotional clarity. The supporting cast brings real texture, timing, and personality, giving the movie a lively rhythm that keeps it consistently engaging.

But the film has one undeniable weak link: Dakota Johnson. Her performance feels so muted and detached that it clashes with the energy the rest of the cast is generating. She delivers every line in the same soft, half-awake register she brings to all her roles, and the contrast becomes especially stark when she’s playing opposite Evans, who’s doing some genuinely great work here. Several scenes lose momentum simply because her emotional range never matches the tone or pacing of what’s happening around her.

The frustrating part is that The Materialists is genuinely good — it’s witty, well-shot, and confidently directed. With a different lead actress, it could easily have been great. As it stands, Dakota Johnson’s flat, monotone delivery keeps pulling the movie back just when it’s about to hit its stride. Still, the film is well worth watching; you just have to accept that one performance is doing a lot less heavy lifting than everyone else.

The Substance (2025)

The Substance (2024), directed by Coralie Fargeat (Revenge), is a bold, abrasive body-horror film that feels intentionally designed to make its audience uncomfortable. Starring Demi Moore as Elisabeth Sparkle, with Margaret Qualley in a physically demanding dual role and Dennis Quaid as a sleazy industry figure, the film blends satire, horror, and grotesque spectacle into something that is at once fascinating and deeply unpleasant. I ultimately enjoyed it—but it is undeniably odd, confrontational, and frequently gory in ways that feel excessive by design.

The story centers on Elisabeth Sparkle, a once-famous actress whose career has stalled as Hollywood discards her for being “too old.” Desperate to reclaim relevance, she turns to a mysterious black-market treatment known only as The Substance, which promises a younger, better version of herself. The catch is that this “new” self—played by Margaret Qualley—is not simply a rejuvenation, but a separate physical manifestation that must be carefully maintained and alternated with Elisabeth’s original body. What begins as a twisted second chance quickly spirals into obsession, resentment, and horrifying consequences.

As the film progresses, the relationship between Elisabeth and her younger counterpart becomes increasingly antagonistic, exposing the brutal psychology behind self-loathing, vanity, and society’s fixation on youth. The rules of The Substance are strict and unforgiving, and every violation pushes the film further into nightmarish body horror. Fargeat escalates the violence and gore relentlessly, often lingering on transformations and bodily decay in ways that feel intentionally punishing. At times, the excess feels unnecessary—but that excess may very well be the point, forcing the viewer to sit with the ugliness beneath the fantasy of eternal beauty.

Demi Moore delivers one of the most fearless performances of her career, fully embracing the film’s physical and emotional demands. Margaret Qualley is equally impressive, embodying youth as both intoxicating and monstrous, while Dennis Quaid leans into his role as a grotesque symbol of industry exploitation. Fargeat’s direction is uncompromising, with a slick, hyper-stylized aesthetic that contrasts sharply with the rawness of the body horror. The film’s sound design and editing amplify its sense of dread, making it feel almost claustrophobic in its intensity.

Ultimately, The Substance is not a film meant to be “enjoyed” in a traditional sense—it’s meant to provoke, disturb, and indict. Its gore can feel excessive, its tone abrasive, and its imagery hard to shake, but those qualities reinforce its central thesis about how cruel and dehumanizing the pursuit of perfection can be. While it won’t be for everyone, and may even repel some viewers outright, it’s a striking, memorable piece of horror cinema that commits fully to its vision. Love it or hate it, The Substance is impossible to ignore.

Weapons (2025)

Weapons starts with one of the most unsettling hooks in recent horror: an entire classroom of children vanishes at the exact same moment with no explanation. The story follows the ripple effects of that disappearance through the lives of parents, teachers, police, and the town itself, slowly revealing that the event isn’t just a random supernatural glitch. For most of its runtime, the movie does a great job building dread through atmosphere, unanswered questions, and a creeping sense that reality itself is fractured.

As the layers peel back, the film shifts from mystery-driven horror into something closer to cosmic or metaphysical terror. The idea that the children weren’t simply taken but were pulled into some kind of twisted, larger mechanism of fate or punishment adds a disturbing philosophical edge. The performances sell the despair and confusion well, especially the parents who are left trapped in emotional limbo—no closure, no certainty, just absence.

Where the movie really divides people is the ending. Instead of giving a concrete explanation or emotional resolution, it leans hard into ambiguity and symbolic horror, implying meaning without fully grounding it. I personally didn’t like the ending—not because it was bold, but because it felt like the film pulled back just when it needed to commit. After spending so much time investing us in the mystery and the emotional weight, the lack of real narrative payoff felt frustrating rather than profound.

Overall, I’d say Weapons is a strong, eerie film that mostly works—great setup, solid tension, and memorable ideas—but it could have benefited from a little more wrapping up at the end. The journey is compelling, the mood is heavy in the right way, and much of it sticks with you afterward. But the ending feels like a swing that didn’t quite connect, and I suspect a lot of viewers walked away feeling the same mix of admiration and disappointment.

Death By Lightning (2025)

 

Death by Lightning tells the tragic story of President James Garfield and his assassin, Charles Guiteau, in a way that feels far more personal and unsettling than most historical dramas. Instead of focusing on grand politics, the series zooms in on the psychological crash course toward inevitable violence. Garfield is portrayed as a deeply decent but overwhelmed man, while Guiteau is shown as unstable, narcissistic, and terrifyingly confident in his own delusions.

What really makes the series disturbing is how clearly it shows the systemic failures that help create the disaster. Guiteau is ignored, dismissed, laughed off, and repeatedly allowed to spiral without intervention, while a chaotic patronage-based government creates the exact kind of entitlement that fuels his obsession. When the assassination finally happens, it doesn’t feel shocking so much as tragically unavoidable.

I liked Death by Lightning because it refuses to romanticize either power or madness—it just lays them bare. The show is quiet, tense, and uncomfortable, but in a way that feels intellectually honest rather than sensational. It’s one of those rare historical dramas that leaves you unsettled not by violence itself, but by how easily everything slid into it.

Black Mirror S7

If you loved the classic, chilling style of the original series, you won't want to miss Black Mirror Season 7, now streaming on Netflix.

This season is a brilliant return to form, capturing that signature blend of technological anxiety, dark humor, and unexpected human drama that defines the show's best work. It manages to feel both comfortingly familiar and shockingly fresh.

Why You Should Watch It:

• Classic "OG" Vibes: Creator Charlie Brooker promised a return to the show's roots, and he delivers. The episodes feel distinct and experimental, ranging from unsettling sci-fi thrillers to emotional, character-driven pieces, with a consistently high level of craft.
• Star-Studded & Superb Acting: The cast is phenomenal. You have award-winning actors like Paul Giamatti, Emma Corrin, and Peter Capaldi delivering powerful performances that anchor the high-concept stories in genuine emotion.
• The USS Callister Sequel: For long-time fans, the much-anticipated sequel to the Emmy-winning "USS Callister" episode is a major highlight. It expands the world of the original while asking new, compelling questions about digital existence.
• Variety of Tone: The season masterfully avoids feeling repetitive. Whether it’s the chilling economic commentary in "Common People" or the reality-bending "Hotel Reverie," there's an episode for every type of Black Mirror fan.

Season 7 reminds us exactly why Black Mirror became a cultural phenomenon. It's thought-provoking, entertaining, and guarantees you'll be looking at your phone a little differently after the credits roll. It’s an essential watch for anyone who enjoys excellent speculative fiction.

Vikings S1 & 2

 

Review of Vikings – Seasons 1 & 2

(Spoiler-free • From the perspective of a fan who liked it)

Vikings hits the ground with a gritty, atmospheric energy that few historical dramas pull off. Seasons 1 and 2 form a tight, compelling arc that mixes ambition, family loyalty, faith, brutality, and political maneuvering into something that feels both mythic and grounded. If you enjoy character-driven dramas framed by believable world-building and just the right amount of historical flavor, these first two seasons deliver.

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⚔️ Season 1 – A Slow Burn with Purpose

Season 1 sets the tone: muddy villages, smoky halls, cold seas, and a culture that feels alive rather than textbook. The pacing is deliberate—but never dull—and the show earns every bit of tension it builds.

• Ragnar Lothbrok makes an incredible lead: curious, clever, stubborn, and quietly magnetic.

• The show leans heavily into Viking spirituality and mythology in a way that feels authentic rather than theatrical.

• The first raids and battles are visually raw, not Hollywood-glossy, which helps the world feel real.

• The family dynamics—especially Ragnar and Lagertha—are genuinely some of the best parts.

Season 1 is basically the rise of a man with a vision, and the show takes its time letting that vision clash with tradition. If you enjoy character development and cultural immersion, Season 1 is outstanding.

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🛡️ Season 2 – Bigger, Brutal, and Far More Political

Season 2 is where the show levels up. Everything gets more intense—relationships, rivalries, and the scale of power plays.

• More battles, more travel, and more exploration.

• Internal conflict ramps up, especially between characters who were allies in Season 1.

• The political scheming takes center stage and keeps the story unpredictable.

• Supporting characters get stronger arcs, which makes the world feel larger.

If Season 1 was about establishing the world, Season 2 is about expanding it—and it pays off. The stakes feel higher, the character choices hit harder, and the show gains momentum that carries directly into later seasons.

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🎥 What Makes Both Seasons Work

• Strong characters grounded in messy, human flaws

• Authentic atmosphere—the dirt, the danger, the rituals

• A believable Viking perspective, not filtered through modern sensibilities

• Beautiful yet harsh cinematography

• Just enough mysticism to feel mythic without turning into fantasy

It’s violent and raw, but not gratuitous; thoughtful but not slow; and character-driven without losing the epic feel.

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⭐ Overall Impressions

As someone who liked the show, these first two seasons feel like the perfect blend of grounded history and engrossing drama. The character arcs are memorable, the conflicts feel earned, and the Viking worldview is presented with surprising nuance.

If you’re looking for a historical drama with grit, heart, and a sense of destiny, Vikings Season 1 and 2 are a fantastic ride.

Frankenstein (2025)

Frankenstein (2025)

From the opening frames, it’s clear that Guillermo del Toro has brought a sweeping, gothic grandeur to this retelling of Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus that more modest adaptations rarely achieve. The production design, cinematography, and score all come together in a lush package that does full justice to the novel’s dark heart and del Toro’s own aesthetic. The creature’s design is haunting and human, and the performance from Jacob Elordi conveys intelligence, sorrow, and emotional breadth in a way that elevates the familiar monster myth.

What really struck me is how the film balances spectacle with emotion. Oscar Isaac as Victor Frankenstein is equally driven by hubris and grief, and the dynamic between creator and creation becomes the emotional core of the story. The narrative doesn’t shy away from the consequences of playing God, but it also makes the Creature a sympathetic figure rather than a mere horror trope. Reviewers have praised this reframing of the Creature’s journey.

If I have a critique, it’s that at times the film feels slightly overstuffed—plenty happens, and the themes of identity, otherness, forgiveness and vengeance are all present in force. Some viewers may feel the messaging is a bit heavy-handed. But if you’re willing to go along for the ride, the emotional payoff and visual ambition are more than worth it.

Overall: yes, I agree with you — it’s great. It takes the classic Frankenstein story, respects it, but also reinvents it in a way that feels fresh, emotionally grounded and visually rich. If you’re into big, bold cinematic reinterpretations of enduring myths, this one hits hard.

Vengeance of the Moon Knight #5–9 (2024)

 

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Vengeance of the Moon Knight #5–9 (2024)

Written by Jed MacKay, Vengeance of the Moon Knight picks up in the aftermath of Marc Spector’s death during Moon Knight (2021). The title becomes less about vengeance and more about resurrection—of gods, of faith, and of the fractured identity that defines Moon Knight.

Issues #5–6 find Khonshu imprisoned in an Asgardian cell, his influence cut off from Earth. Meanwhile, the remnants of the Midnight Mission—Reese and 8-Ball—continue Moon Knight’s legacy by fighting the growing vampire threat that’s crept into New York’s shadows. Their teamwork, shaky at first, becomes one of the human anchors of the series. It’s a reminder that the Mission endures even without its messiah.

Issues #7–8 shift focus to Tigra and the enigmatic Black Spectre, whose uneasy alliance leads to the breakout of Khonshu. The jailbreak sequence is one of the arc’s visual and thematic peaks: divine imprisonment meets mortal manipulation. Once freed, Khonshu’s return sets the stage for the series’ true resurrection—his champion’s.

By issue #9, the circle closes. Moon Knight is restored to life, but Khonshu’s control re-emerges in full force. The god demands vengeance not just on Moon Knight’s enemies, but on the false Moon Knight who has been operating in his name. Marc complies—but in a twist worthy of MacKay’s psychological nuance, he kills only the persona, not the man. The symbolic act restores Moon Knight’s autonomy while keeping his morality intact.
The final issue re-establishes Marc Spector as the living Moon Knight, servant of Khonshu yet again—but now wiser, tempered, and more self-aware. The cycle of death and rebirth feels complete, if only temporarily.

✍️ Review

Jed MacKay brings his long-running Moon Knight saga to a concise and thematically rich conclusion. Although Vengeance of the Moon Knight ran only nine issues, it reads like a spiritual coda to everything MacKay built in the previous series.


Tone and Writing: MacKay keeps the voice tight and moody, balancing mythic weight with street-level grit. His handling of Reese, Tigra, and 8-Ball gives the supporting cast more emotional depth than they’ve had in years. The pacing remains brisk, but the story never feels rushed—every issue advances both plot and character recovery.


Themes: Resurrection, identity, and autonomy dominate the arc. Moon Knight’s final act—destroying a persona rather than a person—perfectly encapsulates what separates him from Khonshu. It’s an elegant metaphor for reclaiming selfhood after divine manipulation.


Art: The artwork (by Devmalya Pramanik) maintains the stark contrasts and symbolic lighting that defined the earlier run. The use of whites and silvers against oppressive darkness feels both holy and haunted, matching the narrative tone.


Verdict:
Vengeance of the Moon Knight #5–9 closes out MacKay’s Moon Knight saga with precision and emotional clarity. Though short, it completes the resurrection trilogy—Khonshu freed, Marc restored, and the Mission renewed.
It’s less a superhero story and more a meditation on identity and servitude, told through capes, gods, and blood. Fans of MacKay’s previous Moon Knight run will find it a fitting and satisfying conclusion—melancholy, resolute, and strangely hopeful.

⭐ Overall: 8.5 / 10
A compact, character-driven finale that honors the myth while finally letting Marc Spector breathe again under the moonlight.

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Invincible Iron Man (2022) #18-20 (series finale)

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Over the course of the Duggan run, Tony Stark has been dragged deeper and deeper into the Orchis / mutant conflict. Orchis’ destruction of Krakoa’s base and the fallout for mutantkind has created a high bar for resolution. By #18–20, the story accelerates toward a reckoning: it’s not just a boardroom fight anymore, but a personal, lethal showdown. As many commentators note, #20 is being treated as Duggan’s finale on the title, tying into the end of the Krakoan era. 

In #18, Tony is already wounded but unbowed. He storms into Feilong’s stronghold, dragging the secretive rival into open conflict. Yet Duggan doesn’t lean on brute force alone — he layers in intrigue: Feilong’s A.I. entanglement, Nimrod’s insertion, and Magneto’s reluctant hand. Some reviews praise the dynamism and intensity of that action. Others (e.g. Weird Science Marvel) bristle at tonal swings and sudden plot pivots, calling the issue “corny.” 

Meanwhile, the sidelined threads (Rhodey’s frame, the Living Laser / Sandman alliance) begin to converge. Rhodey breaks out of prison by shrinking into a micro War Machine suit (a classic Stark trick) and enlists laser and sand to help. The jailbreak is tone-shifting—fun, chaotic, and a little absurd—which is precisely the sort of scene that divides readers.

In #19, Duggan pares away distractions and lines up the final confrontation: the allies, the betrayals, the logistics. It’s a connective issue, one that some critics say “ties off threads” before the emotional final push.


Then #20 moves into adjudication. Orchis is dismantled (or at least cut down), legal and extralegal consequences are meted out, and Tony must face both the personal and the structural costs of this war. Jennifer Walters removes the trumped-up charges against Rhodes; Emma offers Tony financial rescue—but in classic Frost fashion, with caveats. The twist ending sends Feilong into cosmic exile (on Mars, in a dome) and gives Tony & Emma a bittersweet break-up plus a lingering psychic bond.

The closing sequence, with Crimson Dynamo gatecrashing a book signing and Tony improvising a “gel amber” trap, feels like a postscript, but one earned through Tony’s style.

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Incredible Hulk (2023) #11-14

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Incredible Hulk (2023) #11–14

Reading issues #11 through #14, I kept waiting for the arc to cohere — and honestly, it never quite did for me. The story introduces Charlie (who has been traveling with Banner), only to trap her soul inside a Frozen Charlotte doll/construct, which forces Hulk/Banner to hunt for mystical help. In #12, they head to Strange Academy seeking Doctor Strange, but end up dealing with Doctor Voodoo and the dark Soul Cage ritual to rescue her. By #13, Banner and Hulk’s souls are literally separated and sent into a prison realm of magic and monsters to find Sumanguru (a sorcerer who can “weave souls into flesh”) and restore Charlie.

What worked (sometimes):
-When the arc leaned into horror, mysticism, and body/soul horror, there were flashes of promise. The concept of splitting Banner and Hulk to confront internal/mystical threats is compelling. #13, in particular, makes an effort to tie the monster hunts into a journey with stakes, rather than purely episodic slogs.


-The surprise of how Voodoo’s magic operates — forcing Banner’s soul into a cage, having Hulk hold off external threats — is an interesting twist, and gives something more than just brute force to the conflict.


-Artist Nic Klein’s return in #12 is often cited as a positive. Reviewers say his layouts and visual pacing elevate the issue.

What missed / what faltered:
-Lack of momentum / plot drift: The arc spends a lot of pages on “monster of the week” fights (Frozen Charlotte, other mystical creatures) without progressing the larger narrative thread (the Eldest, Mother of Horrors) in any meaningful way. Many reviews feel Johnson is stalling or sidetracking. Confusing magic rules & world-building: The soul cage mechanics, how Frozen Charlotte is formed or tied to Charlie’s soul, and the role of these mystical beings (Sumanguru, Flesh Weaver, etc.) often feel underexplained or dropped into the middle of fights. Sometimes the revelations come during combat, which undercuts pacing. Tone inconsistency / trying too hard: The series sometimes wobbles between cosmic/horror, monster action, and superhero melodrama in ways that don’t always mesh. Some emotional beats (Charlie’s plight, Banner’s inner struggle) aren’t given enough breathing space to land.


-Art inconsistency: The switch from Danny Earls (issue #11) to Nic Klein (starting in #12) is jarring. Issue #11 gets criticized for uneven figure work, weak layouts, and lackluster action until late in the issue.


-Emotional weight is thin: Charlie as a character hasn’t earned deep investment in many fans’ eyes, so making her soul the emotional anchor sometimes feels hollow. Some reviewers say she “feels unnecessary” in the narrative right now.
Final Word

I get why you’re struggling with this run — it feels like it’s trying to recapture the haunting power of Immortal Hulk (Ewing/Bennett) without fully committing to the consistency, pacing, or sense of dread that made that run resonate. There are good ideas here — soul splitting, mysticism, dark rituals — but they feel undercooked, episodic, and disconnected from a strong through-line.

If I were grading #11–14, I might land somewhere around a 6 to 6.5 / 10: not bad, interesting at times, but frustratingly uneven and often lacking cohesion. I hope the next few issues tighten things up (re-establish clearer rules, stabilize the creative team, and double down on stakes) so readers who want to get hooked will find a stronger foothold.

Not everyone is Al Ewing and Joe Bennett. It's ok to find your own way here. If I see a GREEN DOOR, I'm out on this series.

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Adolescence (2025)

Adolescence (2025)

(Spoilers ahead — read only after watching!)

Adolescence is a breathtaking feat of filmmaking — not just for its emotional depth, but for its sheer technical mastery. Each episode unfolds in one continuous shot, an ambitious choice that demands perfection from every performer and crew member. There’s no safety net here: every camera movement, every breath, every glance must be intentional. The result is an almost theatrical experience that pulls you into the characters’ world without interruption. You don’t just watch their pain — you sit in it with them.

The story itself is raw and deeply moving, exploring the ripples of tragedy through one family’s eyes. What makes it unforgettable is how the show balances restraint with emotional honesty. Scenes aren’t cut for convenience — they breathe, unfold, and build naturally, giving every moment a devastating authenticity.

One standout moment comes when Jamie decides to tell his father he’s changing his plea. The choice to stage this revelation during a phone call — with the rest of the family silently listening — is a masterstroke in direction and writing. The audience feels the weight of that silence; the heartbreak and shock reverberate through the car without a single line spoken. It’s one of the most quietly powerful moments in recent television, and it speaks volumes about guilt, love, and the limits of understanding.

The performances are uniformly excellent, but what elevates the series is its unity — the way the acting, directing, and cinematography fuse into one unbroken emotional current. It’s intimate and unflinching, yet tender in its humanity.

In the end, Adolescence is more than a story of a crime; it’s a meditation on family, grief, and forgiveness. Beautifully shot, brilliantly acted, and meticulously directed, it’s essential viewing for any parent — not because it’s easy, but because it asks the hard questions about what it means to love, to fail, and to try again.

Highly recommended.

28 Days Later (2002)

Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later is one of those films that proves you don’t need a massive budget to create something unforgettable. From the very first shots of a deserted London, it hooks you with its eerie, almost surreal atmosphere. The stripped-down, indie vibe gives it a raw intensity—you feel like you’re right there, stumbling through an emptied city with danger lurking around every corner.

The film is terrifying not just because of the “infected,” but because of the way it’s shot. The use of digital video gives the movie a gritty, unsettling realism, amplifying every shadow and every movement. Boyle’s choice to lean into minimalism pays off—it’s scarier precisely because it feels so plausible.

The story itself is strong and tightly paced, blending survival horror with deeper questions about humanity, morality, and what people become under extreme pressure. The characters feel real and flawed, which makes the horror hit that much harder.

All told, 28 Days Later is a landmark horror film—scary, stylishly shot, and surprisingly thoughtful. Its indie energy and low-budget edge give it a unique personality that still stands out today.

Deadpool (2024) #1-5

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Deadpool begins the arc in rough shape, trying to reorient himself after recent traughts, and he soon builds an odd but effective mercenary team around himself: Taskmaster as muscle and tactical backup; Doug, a nerdy accountant/organizer who keeps the logistics running; and Princess, an alien-symbiote/Deadpool hybrid dog (who he treats like a daughter). From the start, the series leans into both the absurd and the emotional: Wade’s efforts to be better (or at least repair some relationships) run in parallel with high-octane combat and weirdness.

Their first major obstacle is the magical cult group known as The Touch, who wield strange and mystical powers. The series steadily escalates as Deadpool and company clash with these cultists, culminating in confrontations with the chief antagonist who wields the Miramasa blade — a weapon that grants him near-immortality or regenerative strength, forcing Deadpool to outthink more than out-blast him. Along the way, Wade reconnects with his daughter, Ellie, who reveals her own latent abilities (notably a magical healing factor) and plays a key role in overcoming the villains. In the penultimate conflicts, she helps tip the balance, but in the final battle Deadpool—and by extension his team—achieves victory at a cost: Wade loses (or is stripped of) his healing factor. The arc closes with a bittersweet payoff: they’ve won, but it’s unclear how much Wade is changed (or vulnerable) moving forward.

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Review & Impressions

From start to finish, the arc works precisely because it leans into what makes Deadpool fun and surprising. Writer Cody Ziglar (and the creative team) balance the snark, the gore, and the heartfelt moments. The comedy is present but never undercuts stakes — the jokes serve to puncture tension rather than derail it. Early reviews of issue #1 praised that balance: the action is “swift and bloody,” the fourth wall breaks remain smart and not overbearing, and the villain (Death Grip, in #1) already shows promise. Art is a consistent plus—emotion in quieter moments, kinetic layouts in fight scenes, and clear character designs (especially for Princess and the mystical elements). 

By issue #5, the stretch of the arc is showing its strengths. Critics point out that Taskmaster gets a moment to stretch his powers (even doing a kind of “fake magic trick” by mimicking spell gestures) in a fun bit of subversion. And though some commentary (e.g. Comicon’s review) calls #5 a “mixed bag” in parts, many agree the world-building, character chemistry, and stakes are solid. One review of #5 notes Taskmaster’s grousing over budgets (humor grounded in their in-team dynamic) alongside the dramas of protecting Ellie.  Across the arc, commentators point out that this run is “definitely the best Deadpool has been since at least 2020” in its blend of humor, action, and heart. 

If I had to nitpick: sometimes the magical / mystical rules feel underexplored (how much of Ellie’s healing power comes from what source? Why exactly the Miramasa blade works the way it does?). A few emotional beats are telegraphed in advance, and the loss of Deadpool’s healing factor — while a gutsy move — is one of those bold premises where future follow-through will be crucial. But as an arc it mostly delivers.

All told, this feels like a high point. It captures the weirdness of Deadpool, the familial stakes (especially with Ellie and Princess), and the sense that in this universe, daring gambits come with consequences. On your scale, I’d land it at 9/10 too. It’s lively, surprising, and clearly sets up interesting directions moving forward — I’m excited to see where Wade goes next (especially now that he’s vulnerable).

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Black Mirror S7 Ep 2: Bête Noire

Black Mirror S7 Ep 2: Bête Noire

“Bête Noire” stands out as one of the more striking installments of Black Mirror’s seventh season, partly because of how confidently it balances unease, spectacle, and catharsis. Directed with precision by Toby Haynes, the episode builds its tension through psychological disorientation rather than obvious horror. Subtle shifts in memory, perception, and circumstance keep both the protagonist and the viewer on edge, creating an atmosphere where nothing feels entirely trustworthy.

The performances deserve a lot of credit. Siena Kelly anchors the episode with a portrayal that’s equal parts vulnerable and defiant, while Rosy McEwen delivers a performance that is as chilling as it is nuanced. Together, they embody the clash of guilt, memory, and vengeance that drives the story. Their dynamic keeps the narrative from becoming pure sci-fi spectacle; even as reality bends, the human element remains central.

What sets “Bête Noire” apart is its ending. Without giving too much away, it’s more uplifting—or at least more empowering—than the bleak conclusions Black Mirror is known for. There’s a genuine sense of catharsis in the resolution, even if it comes wrapped in layers of ambiguity and exaggeration. For a series that often ends with despair, this tilt toward triumph feels refreshing.

That said, the final act may feel over-the-top for some, as the story moves from subtle psychological tension into high-concept, almost fantastical territory. But whether you find that shift jarring or exhilarating, it makes “Bête Noire” memorable. It’s bold, weird, and deeply Black Mirror—and it may well stand as one of the season’s highlights.

Bad Guys 2 (2025)

The Bad Guys 2 swings back onto the scene with full comedic flair and heartfelt mischief, proving itself not just a worthy sequel but in many ways an upgrade.

From the start, the animation dazzles with its vibrant, kinetic style that keeps the energy high and the laughs coming. The voice cast, led by Sam Rockwell’s effortlessly cool Mr. Wolf, once again delivers, and the introduction of a rival crew raises the stakes in all the right ways.

The story leans into bigger, crazier territory, but never loses its heart. At its core, it’s still about friendship, redemption, and the joy of choosing good over bad, even when chaos is so much fun. The humor is sharp, self-aware, and full of moments that will keep both kids and adults entertained.

If you enjoyed the first film, this sequel doesn’t just repeat the formula—it expands on it, proving that this crew still has plenty of charm and tricks left up their sleeves. The Bad Guys 2 is a wildly entertaining ride that cements the series as one of the most fun animated franchises out there.

Paddington In Peru (2025)

Paddington in Peru is everything I hoped it would be and more—a warm, funny, and irresistibly charming adventure that reminds us why this little bear has captured so many hearts. From the moment it begins, the film radiates kindness and optimism, never losing the gentle wit and visual inventiveness that made the first two entries so beloved.

What really struck me is how it builds on the magic of Paddington 2. That film became something of a legend, often called “the greatest film ever made” after its viral shoutout in The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent with Nicolas Cage and Pedro Pascal. It’s a huge bar to clear—but somehow, Paddington in Peru doesn’t buckle under the pressure. Instead, it embraces the legacy and continues the tradition of wholesome perfection, adding new settings and emotional beats that feel just right.

This isn’t just a children’s movie; it’s a story for anyone who believes in kindness, family, and the small joys that make life beautiful. I walked out grinning, and honestly, I can’t wait to see it again. If Paddington 2 was a surprise masterpiece, Paddington in Peru proves it wasn’t a fluke—it’s the continuation of one of the most consistently wonderful film series of our time.

Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025)

Fantastic Four: First Steps delivers exactly what the title promises—a bold reintroduction of Marvel’s First Family that feels both classic and forward-looking. I really enjoyed it. The story balances heart, humor, and cosmic wonder in a way that reminds you why the Fantastic Four are so essential to Marvel’s universe. Each character feels true to their core while still leaving room for fresh dynamics, and the visuals absolutely pop. More than just a great standalone read, it sets the tone for what feels like the beginning of an exciting new Marvel era. I’m genuinely thrilled to see where this direction goes next.