Very few times can I recall actually sitting in a movie theater and thinking “This was a mistake,” but the thought did indeed cross my mind a time or two during Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (though to be completely fair, it may have had something to do with the screaming toddlers running amok through the theater the entire time).
I only saw the first film based off of the popular Sega character once, and while I don’t remember much standing out about it at all, it was harmless and even like-able enough. But for some reason, this second entry just seemed so tired and tedious, even with the addition of the Tails (Colleen O’Shaghnessey) and Knuckles (Idris Elba) characters this time around.
In a nutshell, Dr. Robotnik/Eggman (Jim Carrey) has enlisted the help of Knuckles to seek out his revenge on Sonic (Ben Schwartz), and Tails more or less comes from out of nowhere to come to Sonic’s aid. The “adventure” that ensues is anything but captivating, and the majority of the jokes fall flat (though the one Carrey manages to squeak out on Limp Bizkit was rather amusing).
To the flimmakers behind this; put more effort into the next installment’s story line. And to the parents who had to bring their brats to the theater the same night I was there; please spare the rest of us, and wait until they’re old enough to have attention spans that actually last a bit more than just a few seconds.
I really wanted to like Netflix’s attempt at appealing to the metal community with this new teen comedy/drama. But while the film is harmless enough, I couldn’t help but shake the feeling there was just something missing from it the whole time.
The plot follows high school outcasts Kevin (Jaeden Martell) and Hunter (Adrian Greensmith) as they navigate through bullies, parents, and trying to find a bass player for their would-be metal band in order to play their school’s “battle of the bands” contest. They eventually find some camaraderie via an equally awkward social misfit (Isis Hainsworth), but not before some predictable “but she’s a girl!” arguments first.
While the music is spot on and the metal references are heavy, nearly everything feels driven by cliche and predictably. Not even some cameos (and some fairly bad acting) from metal greats Rob Halford (Judas Priest), Scott Ian (Anthrax), Kirk Hammett (Metallica) and, um, Tom Morello (Rage Against the Machine) can save things in the end.
Is Metal Gods a bad movie? No. But is it really anything we haven’t already seen before? Not really. In the end, it really is “just there,” and the world would not miss a beat with or without its existence.
Tony Hawk was the stuff of absolute legend growing up in the ’80s, and literally everyone and anyone with a board wanted to be him (I have vivid memories of my older brother and his friends putting on full shows of tricks, jumping ramps and whatnot for the entire neighborhood). This documentary details nearly every moment of his life with total transparency and grace.
From his fast and steady rise to stardom, to his sudden fall in the ’90s during skateboarding’s decline, to his eventual comeback and peak as a pop culture phenomenon, no stone is left un-turned (except, that is, his appearances in such ’80s films as Gleaming the Cube and Police Academy 4: Citizens on Patrol, which Hawk has since addressed more or less on his socials). Fellow contemporary pro skaters such as Lance Mountain and Duane Peters also appear to help the story along.
The drama of his experiences are very much real, and at times completely relatable (his relationship with his father and eldest child are a couple that strike some definite nerves on a personal note), making him actually seem human. Even if you’re not a huge skateboarding fan, it’s hard to not see some sort of reflection of yourself in a story as compelling as this one. Definitely worth investing the time in this rollercoaster ride.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; I am not a big comic book/superhero flick kind of guy. I could honestly care less about the majority of these self-indulgent, overly-complicated films and their confusing, numerous “multi-verses.” But like Spider-Man, Batman is one superhero that I’ve tried to follow since my childhood, though I gave up on the character after Ben Affleck’s portrayal of him in 2016’s Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice (apparently he even reprised his role in a couple more crossover films, which just goes to show how little I keep up with the over-saturated superhero film market).
And I didn’t hold out much hope for The Batman, either (adding a “The” to the title before “Batman” really didn’t seem all that original to me). But early on in the film, I suddenly understood what the hype was all about. This new interpretation of Batman (this time played by Robert Pattinson of Twilight fame) creates a world of pure neo noir escapist entertainment with the ability to take one away into another reality, for better or worse.
It’s definitely a commitment to sit through the entire film (which reaches nearly three hours in running time), which finds our hero (or anti-hero?) teaming up with the Catwoman (Zoe Kravitz) to tackle the seedy corruption of Gotham’s underbelly, as well as play along to the sick games of The Riddler (Paul Dano), who is more sadistic than ever portrayed on screen before (and even reminiscent of Slipknot frontman Corey Taylor) this time around.
And for the majority of the film, they actually had me invested. That is, until Kravitz’s character had to utter a disgusting line about “white privileged men.” In an instant I felt both deeply alienated, and personally attacked, as these know-it-all Hollywood elitists (in this case, lead by a white man surely more “privileged” than myself, director Matt Reeves) once again managed to insult a good portion of its own audience all at once, just in order to get their own ignorant opinions across in a film.
What people like Reeves who incorporate these types of sentiments don’t seem to understand is, they’re actually doing nothing for “equality,” but causing further division and harm among our society as a whole. Hatred towards anyone (yes, even white men) should never be accepted, yet it’s becomes more normalized now than ever before in Hollywood thanks to this type of subtle brainwashing being injected into media, and is doing nothing more than taking us all backwards. Had it not been for these underlined racist tones in The Batman, I would have definitely rated it a higher score than I did.
My interest in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise as a whole has steadily been waning for years. But this latest incarnation/wanna be direct sequel to the original (Tobe Hooper already did that in the mid-’80s, and much better at that) is almost as painful to watch as that last sorry excuse for a Halloween movie.
Never before has a franchise film felt like such a waste of time, with characters I could not care less about. The weak storyline involves a bunch of (surprise!) obnoxious influencers going to small town Texas to shoot some videos or something, and of course they unwittingly come across good ol’ Leatherface (who looks more like Wrinkles the Clown this time around), and Sally Hardesty (originally played by the late Marilyn Burns, but this time by Olwen Fouere), the lone survivor from the original film.
It’s also annoyingly obvious what audience the filmmakers are playing towards here (should have just called it The “Woke” Chainsaw Massacre), and nearly every scene is cliched and predictable. The writing is lazy, and there’s nothing of redeeming value here. What’s left of any menace from the Leatherface character at this point is long gone, too.
The problem with shameless “retcons” like this, that ask you to forget all its other sequels that came before it, is there’s absolutely no artistic value to them. The people who make this kind of trash are literally counting on you, the audience, to be stupid, and not care about the fact they’re using cheap gimmicks to appeal to your emotions (Think, “If we use an already established franchise, who cares if it’s actually any good or not, these morons will keep coming back for more, because we TELL THEM TO.”) Save yourself the time; this is one pitiful excuse for a film that should not even exist (give it a few more years and I’m sure they’ll just retcon and redo this garbage again soon, anyway).
I went into the new Scream relaunch/reboot (requel?) admittedly not expecting much at all. But to my surprise, it was actually a much more enjoyable ride than I had imagined; far from a cinematic masterpiece by any means, but an improvement over its past two disastrous predecessors combined nonetheless (they couldn’t just seriously throw a “5” at the end of the title though?! Come on, stop taking yourself so seriously Hollywood).
In this round (which directly follows the events of 2011’s Scream 4), a new group of Woodsboro teens, many with their own unique connections to the original town killings, become the targets of yet another Ghostface killer (or killers?), with estranged sisters Sam (Melissa Barrera) and Tara Carpenter (Jenna Ortega) at the center of it all. When Sam and her new boyfriend Richie (Jack Quaid) enlist the help of former sheriff Dewey Riley (David Arquette), it quickly leads to more faces from the original reuniting and coming to the rescue, including Sidney Prescott (Neve Campbell) and Gale Weathers (Courteney Cox). Even Skeet Ulrich is somehow able to make a brief return as Billy Loomis, but I won’t elaborate any further to avoid spoiling anything.
Long time fans of the series should appreciate all the sly references to the original (as well as other Wes Craven films, including A Nightmare on Elm Street) thrown in, while younger generations should appreciate the more modernized take. The acting isn’t always the greatest, and the gore is at times excessively over the top and unnecessary, but again, this is far from Shakespeare here.
All in all, what directors Tyler Gillett and Matt Bettinelli-Olpin have assembled here is a fairly spot-on homage to Craven’s original work (“For Wes” is promptly displayed over the end credits), and at times I found myself so lost in the plot, I honestly felt like I was that kid sitting in the theater with my friends back in the ’90s all over again. This ship finally seems to be steering in the right direction again; let’s hope those calling the shots keep it that way.
Aside from Batman, Spider-Man has always been one of the few superhero characters that I don’t mind watching on screen. But as just a casual fan, these newer films with Tom Holland as the titular hero have been much harder to enjoy than the early 2000’s films starring Toby Maguire and directed by Sam Raimi.
I’ll try to sum up No Way Home (what’s with all of the “home” references in the title of every one of the Holland flicks, anyway?) as simplified as possible for fellow outsiders such as myself; Spider-Man/Peter Parker is basically hated by the world for the events in the last entry, Far From Home, and enlists the help of Dr. Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) to erase everyone’s memory of it. In doing so, it allows other previous foes from other dimensions into his world.
It does allow for some exciting moments, and it was interesting to see some of the actors and characters from the Raimi films appear on the big screen again, such as Maguire, Willem Dafoe as the Green Goblin, and Alfred Molina as Dr. Octopus. But eventually it just became as clunky as all of the other ridiculous superhero films these days that I could care less about (like the Avengers or Wonder Woman), and the plot was far too similar to the 2018 animated feature Intothe Spider-Verse. And I get there are people really into these movies, but it’s lost on me how they possibly maintain the time and energy to know all of the ins and outs of all these countless characters and storylines (I’d be exhausted if I tried).
I also made the mistake of taking my kid to see it in 3-D, which is the most absurd and shameless gimmick by Hollywood these days, and not only completely pointless for most films (such as this one), it has completely taken away any magic from the concept entirely. But look, it’s not that NoWay Home is a bad film per se (it was still better than that new Matrix film, something so disappointing I elected not to even review it at all), it’s just not what someone like me is looking for from a Spider-Man movie. I think I’ll just stick to the simplicity of those old Raimi films next time I’m in the mood for one.
When the original Home Alone was released in 1990, it caught lightning in a bottle, and to this day the film remains a holiday classic (if you get a chance, take a look at the 30th anniversary piece I did for Rewind It Magazine just last year). Since then, numerous sequels have tried with varying results to recapture that magic of the first film, largely missing the mark in most cases. Home SweetHome Alone, the latest retread of this all too familiar storyline, is definitely no exception to it.
Despite a promising cast lead by the young Archie Yates of Jojo Rabbit, this sixth entry never really finds its footing. The thin plot is based around two parents (played by Ellie Kemper and Rob Delaney) on the brink of financial ruin who, after listing their house for sale, discover they possess a rare doll worth a small fortune. When the doll comes up missing, they believe the child (Yates) of one of the parties that recently viewed their home, stole said doll from their house. This of course leads them to the kid’s place, who by now has been left home alone and must defend himself from the intruders.
What ensues feels so forced and devoid of any real humor, it’s almost too painful to watch. Even small throwbacks to the original film, such as the brief return of Devin Ratray as Buzz McCallister, do little to liven things up here. Somehow even the last film, 2012’s Home Alone: The Holiday Heist (which was made for TV), had more heart than this one (the one thing I will give it though, it’s still better than Home Alone 3, forever the lowest point of the franchise).They say you can’t go home again, and this latest installment to an all-too tired series, pretty much proves it.
It’s exceptionally rare for a sequel or reboot to an already beloved, established franchise like Ghostbusters to come close to comparing to its the source material. But Ghostbusters: Afterlife, the long-awaited third follow up to the first two films, both breathes life back into the series, and redeems the entire franchise after that painfully embarrassing reboot in 2016, which I hope we all can agree by now was a mistake no matter who was cast in it.
Produced by original director Ivan Reitman and directed by his son, Jason, Afterlife does its best to wrap up and explain many questions fans might have about the original characters’ whereabouts, as well as introduce a host of new, yet surprisingly likable ones.
The plot is no huge stretch of the imagination; the daughter (Carrie Coon) of recently deceased Ghostbuster Egon Spengler (originally portrayed by the late Harold Ramis) is forced to pick up the pieces of her father’s past life and move into his decrepit old farm house. Meanwhile, her genius daughter Phoebe (Mckenna Grace) and rebellious teenaged son Trevor (Finn Wolfhard) slowly uncover their grandfather’s mysterious past, and the small town’s ghostly secrets, all with the help of some newfound friends (played by Paul Rudd, Celeste O’Connor, and Logan Kim, respectively). What ensues is all-out escapism entertainment that allows viewers to get completely lost in.
Along the way there’s numerous references and throwbacks to the original films that’s every die hard fan’s dream come true. And yes, there’s appearances from series alumni Bill Murrary, Dan Aykroyd, Erine Hudson, Annie Potts, and Sigourney Weaver, and of course a beautifully constructed tribute to the late Ramis (and I’m pretty sure this is all already public knowledge by now, so technically those aren’t spoilers!). Blink and you might miss some of the many subtle throwbacks weaved within the ongoing proceedings, too (like a ghost from the old animated series that I actually had the action figure of when I was still young!).
I’ve heard rumbles from other critics that the film panders to fans. But what would you rather have, another heap of total garbage like the last misfire of a film, or something with some actual heart like Afterlife?! This is the film that fans have deserved for decades now, and the one I’ve personally been waiting for since I was a kid sitting wide-eyed in the movie theater during Ghostbusters II all those years ago. Check the bonehead mentality at the door, and just enjoy what has been put together for us here.
Last Night in Soho is one of the most visually impressive films I’ve seen in a while. Its vibrant cinematography, sweeping camera movements, and gorgeous colors effectively recreate London during the Swinging Sixties. Though set in present day, the movie shifts back to a different time and place through multiple dreamlike segments, while presenting the mysterious and tragic downfall of an ambitious singer caught up in the glitz and glamour of a bygone era.
We don’t see movies like this too often, an entirely original concept with a large budget and backing of a major studio (Universal). It’s not related to any franchise or pre-existing property. As a psychological horror film, it’s also not associated with the Blumhouse “horror” assembly line or A24 cerebral art house fare. The story was conceived by British writer/director Edgar Wright. And how much you enjoy his film is based on how willing you are to get immersed in its world.
Like any worthwhile art, Last Night in Soho is inundated with symbolism. There’s a lot going on in every scene. On the surface, the serpentine story unfolds as a full-length Twilight Zone episode. It’s unlike anything Wright has ever done before, and if you know his versatile body of work, you can appreciate how far he’s come.
Wright is known for the comedy horror film Shaun of the Dead and its equally farcical action counterpart Hot Fuzz, featuring the dream team of British comic actors, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost. Both films are notable for their striking wit, over-the-top violence, and fast-paced editing, for starters. Wright then went on to make the superbly crafted and hilarious Scott Pilgrim vs. the World based on the comic series of the same name. His unique brand of fast-paced British humor was established early on with the TV sitcom Spaced, also starring Simon Pegg and Nick Frost.
For movie lovers and film buffs alike, Wright remains the gift that keeps on giving. Even with a misfire such a Baby Driver, in my opinion, his artistic talent is clear. His films can also be bombastic and tend to go haywire in the third act. I was expecting as much in Soho. I can’t say that it doesn’t fall into the same trap, but what I witnessed overall was any cinephile’s dream. The abundance of clever camera shots that masterfully blend its real world and dream world segments together must be seen to be believed.
In a time of unending corporate factory filmmaking, Soho stands on its own. The characters are appealing, the suspense is brooding, and the payoff is well earned. It’s an unlikely film from an unlikely director, made with the careful precision as love letter to 1960’s cinema and music. The soundtrack thunders along with songs of the era and even more recent songs reimagined as sixties tracks. But Wright also doesn’t shy away from reality as he demystifies nostalgia to present a nightmarish underbelly that existed during that time. Through it all, the movie is a tour de force of sight and sound with excellent performances of its two female leads.
The plot involves an aspiring fashion designer named Ellie (Thomasin McKenzie), who gets accepted into the London College of Fashion. After some friction with her inconsiderate dorm roommate, Ellie rents a room from an elderly landlady named Ms. Collins (Diana Rigg). The room, however, turns out to be haunted, and Ellie vividly dreams of a mysterious singing beauty from the 1960s named Sandie (Anya Taylor-Joy). The dreams grow more intense as time goes on, and Ellie finds herself engrossed in a murder mystery that she’s unable to separate herself from.
By sheer quality alone, Soho should be destined to become a classic. Its enthralling visuals, carefully selected period music, and topnotch storytelling form an exciting two-hour tale of macabre. It might just be one of Wright’s best films. There were some moments that tested my patience, but the abundance of imagination on display won me over. I walked into the movie knowing nothing about it beyond being an Edgar Wright film. The gamble paid off, and I was pleasantly surprised. Movies like this breathe life back into cinema, making that trip to the theater well worth it in the end.
