Reviews

By the end, it’s hard to tell the twelve soldiers apart since character development is virtually nonexistent. Without the real-life photos shown during the credits, you'd be hard-pressed to believe this was based on true events. Casting talents like Michael Shannon and Michael Peña in such forgettable roles feels like a waste.

A tired, low-budget thriller that checks all the clichés without adding anything new. The plot is paper-thin and entirely predictable, and the filmmaking lacks flair. Its only saving grace? A mercifully short runtime that makes the ordeal just barely tolerable.

Adopting a classic thriller framework, the film follows FBI agent Terry Hesketh as he uncovers the layered conspiracy behind the cult-like group known as "The Order." The investigation unravels with mounting tension, while the film also probes into the roots of extremism, showing how dangerous ideologies can flourish in specific historical and social contexts.

The script is disappointingly shallow, with underdeveloped conflicts and paper-thin characters. Even the flood—supposedly the film’s centerpiece—is staged without much imagination. It is too draggy, squandering a strong cast. This film marked the beginning of a downward turn for Darren Aronofsky.

To its credit, the film avoids a simplistic hero-villain dichotomy. It treats the gunman with a degree of empathy, exploring his motives through dialogue with both the hostages and negotiators. The performances are quietly compelling, humanizing a man shaped by alienation and the struggle for belonging as an immigrant in Europe.

I was especially taken with Joe Wright’s use of lighting—it often creates a soft, romantic vibe that suits the period beautifully. The era’s reserved expressions of love, distances kept in the name of formality, and the honesty in their glances come through vividly. Wright clearly has a fascination with complex tracking shots, which add a distinct visual signature. The art direction is stunning, from lavish interiors to scenic exteriors, all captured through exquisite cinematography.

The film blends genre conventions with remarkable ease while offering sharply drawn characters and well-expressed themes. With gorgeous visuals and a stirring score, it’s the kind of original storytelling that truly deserves to be seen on the big screen. Highly recommended.

Eight episodes feel like a stretch for this kind of story. The show often spins its wheels, repeating the same family conflicts—especially between Natalia and her relatives—without pushing the story forward. The repetition wears thin fast.

The series nails the tone of a classic crime drama. Conrad Harrigan’s tailored suits reflect his stature as patriarch of the family, while Harry Da Souza’s sharp casual wear suits his role as the gang’s pragmatic fixer. The moody London backdrops and menacing interiors create a palpable sense of dread and danger.

The production design does an excellent job capturing the opulence of New York’s upper class. From Coop’s immaculate suits and Mel’s dazzling gowns to the lavish homes filled with art and designer furniture, the visual details reinforce the world of privilege the characters inhabit.

There are moments of interest, particularly in the twisted dynamic between Elmer and La China Jurado, which offers real dramatic tension. Cecilia Suárez stands out in an otherwise bland ensemble, and the technical execution is competent. Still, the series overall is forgettable—viewers might be better off revisiting "Hannibal" or "Dexter," or even watching a gardening documentary.

While the script is built on an intriguing premise, the dialogue falls flat. Madolyn’s lines are dominated by dry commands and radio chatter, which quickly grows monotonous. Meanwhile, Winston’s sitcom-style one-liners feel painfully out of place, undermining the tension rather than relieving it. This disconnect in tone disrupts both the film’s coherence and its immersive quality.

All the good parts were in the trailer. After such a long wait, the film is a letdown. The werewolf effects are surprisingly dated—less "thrilling transformation" and more "Planet of the Apes in cosplay." The creature could have been anything—an alien, a serial killer, a mutant—and the story wouldn’t have changed. The characters are flat, the plot paper-thin, and the editing a mess.

Viola Davis gives a commanding performance, balancing presidential authority with maternal empathy and fierce resolve. Her presence grounds the film, even when she’s throttling villains with an assault rifle in hand. That said, the script suffers from clunky pacing, muddled storytelling, paper-thin villains, and underwhelming visual effects.

Director Jaume Collet-Serra, known for horror fare like "House of Wax" and "Orphan," adopts a subtler approach this time. He avoids jump scares and loud cues, instead building dread through quiet, unnerving moments, like the mysterious woman sitting silently in the yard. This restraint only deepens the unease.

A star-studded voice cast brings richness to this biblical retelling. Oscar Isaac lends Jesus a voice steeped in melancholy and gravitas—his quiet conviction during scenes of preaching makes the character feel grounded in both faith and purpose. Kenneth Branagh, voicing Charles Dickens, brings warmth and intimacy, his narration drawing viewers in with a personal touch. The film’s vocal performances give clarity and depth to its interwoven storylines.

A delightful spectacle, Renoir’s film views its chaotic world with warmth and humanity. The frenzied energy of the final cancan is thrilling, but behind the spectacle lies quiet resignation—a celebration tinged with compromise. Renoir’s eye for spatial choreography is unmatched: scenes are filled with bustling bodies and rich detail, often unrelated to the plot, but are always charming. The color palette is especially pleasing.

Like a lavish Renaissance painting brought to life, Luchino Visconti’s film captures the passions and betrayals of the Risorgimento era with operatic grandeur. Every frame is a visual poetry where history and emotion intertwine. The lighting itself feels like a metaphor—time passing in shadows and bursts of light—revealing the fragility and resilience of the human spirit under the weight of desire and power.

Both Jean-Pierre Melville and Stanley Kubrick made films about failed heists undone by women in 1956, but their approaches couldn’t be more different. Melville’s take is introspective and subdued, focusing less on suspense and more on character development. It’s a cooler, more existential affair—sometimes to the point of feeling inert.

Possibly Yasujirō Ozu’s most socially conscious work, this film captures the dreary, joyless routine of Japan’s postwar white-collar class. From fresh-faced new hires to weary retirees, Ozu presents every stage of the salaryman’s life as a quiet prison of monotony and melancholy. A pervasive sense of fatigue and disillusionment hangs over the entire film.