Reviews

Well, well, "She Came to Me" sure came... and it sure left me wondering why I didn't just stay home and watch paint dry. This romantic comedy is like a magic trick that somehow turns an A-list cast into B-movie performances. Peter Dinklage, Marisa Tomei, and Anne Hathaway deserve so much better than this cavalcade of rom-com clichés strung together by the thinnest of plots. Imagine every predictable trope you can-now add a tugboat. That's this movie.

The dialogue in this film feels like it was randomly generated by a broken computer from the '90s. Dinklage's character, a supposedly quirky operetta composer, has lines so wooden you could build a deck with them. And every scene between him and Hathaway is like watching two very charming people read the phone book to each other-with less chemistry. When your movie makes audiences root for the characters to get a divorce, you might have missed the mark on the whole 'romance' thing.

Let's talk pacing: if this film moved any slower, it would be going backwards. It's a series of awkward scenes stitched together with all the finesse of a toddler's first sewing project. The movie tries to juggle comedy with heartfelt moments and drops both on the floor. Watching "She Came to Me" is like attending a stranger's wedding: you don't know anyone, nothing makes sense, and you just keep waiting for it to be over so you can leave.

"The Tomorrow War" (2021) feels like it was concocted during a late-night, caffeine-fueled brainstorming session that was all buzzwords and no backbone. Picture this: time travel, aliens, and Chris Pratt as your everyman turned savior. Sounds cool, right? Well, strap in-not for excitement, but for a convoluted ride through plot holes big enough to drive a truck through. It's like someone threw darts at a board of sci-fi tropics and just ran with wherever they landed.

Chris Pratt brings his usual charm, which feels about as out of place as a penguin in the Sahara, considering the chaos unfolding around him. The film tries to juggle family drama, futuristic warfare, and a crash course in "How to Save the World 101," and ends up dropping all the balls. The aliens are menacing, sure, but they can't scare off the feeling that you've seen this movie before... and that it was done better the last time.

In summary, "The Tomorrow War" promises a thrill ride but delivers more of a scenic route through every sci-fi cliché in the book. It's a lukewarm 2.5-star affair that might entertain you if you're into seeing time-traveling soldiers battle it out with ugly aliens on a lazy afternoon. Otherwise, it's perfect for when you want some background noise while you scroll through your phone-because let's be honest, that's probably more engaging.

Jumping into *The First Omen*, I expected some standard spook-fest fare, but what I got was a prequel that practically reinvents the wheel - if that wheel were crafted in the deepest pits of hell and rolled uphill both ways. Director Arkasha Stevenson turns the creepiness dial past the usual horror benchmarks, planting it firmly in "nightmare fuel" territory. This film doesn't just haunt your dreams; it buys real estate there, builds a mansion, and throws a housewarming party.

The cast is absolutely killer - literally and figuratively. Nell Tiger Free leads with an unsettling grace that makes you wonder if she's plotting your demise or just really into her role. And the ensemble around her? They're like the Avengers if the Avengers were in the business of birthing antichrists instead of saving the world. Bill Nighy's performance is a particular standout; he delivers lines with a chill that could freeze hell over, which, in this context, might just be a plot point.

In the end, while *The First Omen* might not entirely escape the shadow of its iconic predecessor, it carves out its own dark little niche in the horror genre. Sure, it occasionally trips over its own ambition, trying a bit too hard to be ominously profound, but it's a wickedly enjoyable ride. So grab your holy water, keep a priest on speed dial, and prepare for a film that's as fun as it is frightening. Four stars for making me laugh nervously in between yelps of terror.

"Shiva Baby" is like being trapped at the most awkward family reunion imaginable, except it's not your family, and you can't stop watching the chaos unfold. The film tosses you headfirst into a shiva where Danielle, a bisexual college student with more secrets than a soap opera, encounters her sugar daddy and ex-girlfriend among the mourners. It's a recipe for disaster deliciously baked to perfection, with every cringe-worthy moment seasoned just right for maximum discomfort.

Director Emma Seligman masterfully turns a tight, almost single-location set into a pressure cooker of social faux pas and anxiety. You can practically feel the walls closing in with each probing question from Danielle's relatives and each awkward encounter. The dialogue snaps and sparkles with authenticity, capturing the unique horror of being judged by family members who think they know everything about you. Rachel Sennott as Danielle delivers a knockout performance, embodying every glance and gulp like her life depends on escaping this suburban nightmare unscathed.

In essence, "Shiva Baby" is a masterclass in how to craft a comedy of manners that feels like a thriller. With its razor-sharp wit and excruciating tension, it's like watching a juggler at a circus, except the balls are potential catastrophes waiting to happen. It's hilariously unsettling, brilliantly acted, and uncomfortably relatable.

If ever a film deserved to be dragged through the mud, it's "Madame Web" (2024), a mind-numbing disaster that makes you question if the screenwriters were actually a bunch of monkeys banging on typewriters. This turd of a flick swings from baffling scene to baffling scene with all the grace of a drunken elephant on a tightrope. Dakota Johnson does what she can, which isn't much given that the script probably arrived on set scribbled in crayon on the back of a napkin. The characters are about as deep as a puddle in the Sahara, and the story? What story?

The CGI looks like it was done by a high schooler on a pirated copy of Photoshop, circa 2001. Every scene that's supposed to be "epic" is about as compelling as watching paint dry, if the paint were also insulting your intelligence every minute it fails to dry. The villain, Ezekiel, has the menace of a soggy paper bag, and every line of dialogue he spews is cringe-worthy enough to be considered a war crime. The action sequences are a jumbled mess where it's nearly impossible to tell who is punching whom, but you'll find yourself rooting for them to just knock each other out so the movie can end.

In conclusion, "Madame Web" is a cinematic abomination that should be flung into the deepest, darkest pit of forgotten films. It's a perfect storm of awful - a catastrophe that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. If this movie were a web, it'd be the kind that you walk into accidentally that sticks to your face and ruins your day. Save yourself the agony and avoid this pile of garbage at all costs.

"Eileen" slinks into the cinema like the creepy cat that ate the canary, and boy, does it deliver a bite! This isn't your run-of-the-mill psychological thriller; it's a slow-burning, fog-filled ride through the weird and wonderfully warped. Thomasin McKenzie, playing Eileen with all the unsettling charm of a Wednesday Addams in adulthood, absolutely nails the role. And Anne Hathaway? She's magnetic as Rebecca, a femme fatale who could make you spill all your darkest secrets with just one glance.

Set against a backdrop drearier than a rainy Monday morning, the film's mood is thick enough to scoop with a spoon. The pacing might test your patience at times, like waiting for a pot to boil, but hang in there-when the plot kicks in, it kicks hard. It's all winding tension and sudden turns, like a rollercoaster designed by Edgar Allan Poe.

All said, "Eileen" is a four-star flick that offers more twists than a pretzel factory. It's perfect for those who like their thrillers with a hefty dose of bizarre and a sprinkle of existential dread. Crack open the popcorn and settle in; just don't expect to sleep easy afterwards. This film sticks with you, like gum on your shoe.

Holy blue suede shoes! Sofia Coppola's **"Priscilla" (2023)** takes us on a wild rollercoaster through the life of Priscilla Presley, and it's nothing short of a cinematic hunka hunka burning love. With Cailee Spaeny stepping into those iconic shoes, we get a performance so dazzling it makes the Vegas strip look dim. Jacob Elordi as Elvis? More like Elvis resurrected. The guy pulls off the King with such flair, I half-expected him to start handing out fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches in the theater.

The pacing of this movie could be compared to Elvis's dance moves-mostly smooth with a few hip shakes that come out of nowhere. At times, it feels like Coppola is trying to cram a lifetime into two hours, which leaves you feeling like you've sprinted through Graceland after a few too many whiskey sours. But, damn, it's an entertaining sprint. Spaeny's transformation from wide-eyed innocent to seasoned vet of the celebrity circus is a masterclass in character development.

And the soundtrack? No Elvis tracks, but Phoenix rises to the occasion with a score that's both nostalgic and refreshingly modern, like discovering your parents' old records and finding a new favorite band at the same time. Coppola's stylish direction infuses this biopic with a dreamy, almost ethereal quality, making the rough edges of fame and love look like a beautifully shot Instagram filter. "Priscyla" is more than just another chapter in the Elvis saga-it's a fabulous, rhinestone-studded exploration of the woman behind the King. Four stars for turning the Presley legacy on its head and making it dance!

Hold onto your popcorn, folks! "She Said" isn't just your everyday drama-it's like the investigative journalism version of an action movie, minus the explosions but loaded with explosive revelations. Director Maria Schrader and screenwriter Rebecca Lenkiewicz have taken a story that could've been dry as a board meeting and turned it into something that grips you like a season finale cliffhanger. It's about the takedown of Hollywood's big, bad wolf, Harvey Weinstein, and let me tell you, it's as satisfying as watching someone find the last piece of a puzzle.

Carey Mulligan and Zoe Kazan absolutely kill it as the relentless New York Times reporters. They're not wielding guns or throwing punches, but their weaponized words and steely determination make them just as badass. Mulligan's fierce intensity and Kazan's dogged perseverance light up the screen, proving that the pen (or the laptop, in this case) is indeed mightier than the sword. They make journalism look cooler than a secret agent defusing a bomb with seconds to spare.

Why the missing star, you ask? Well, as thrilling as it is, "She Said" plays it a bit safe. It's like your mom's best recipe-it's delicious, no doubt, but you know every flavor and it never quite surprises you. Still, the film is a compelling watch that makes you want to stand up and cheer, or at least write a strongly-worded email to someone. "She Said" delivers a knockout punch to the gut and leaves you feeling a little more hopeful about the world.

"The Dark Horse" is an emotional rollercoaster disguised as a chess movie, and honestly, it's a checkmate move in the world of cinema! Cliff Curtis delivers a powerhouse performance as Genesis Potini, a man grappling with bipolar disorder and trying to find solace in the ancient game of kings and pawns. Watching him teach a group of at-risk youths about life through chess is as inspiring as it is entertaining. The movie's raw portrayal of Genesis's struggles makes you root for him, even when he's just shuffling wooden pieces on a board.

Director James Napier Robertson brings an elegant touch to a gritty story, crafting scenes that teeter on the edge of despair and hope like a well-played chess match. However, the film isn't without its clichés. At times, it leans a bit too heavily into the 'inspirational coach' trope, but Curtis's stellar performance saves the day, making you forget you've seen this formula before. The cinematography deserves a shout-out too, perfectly capturing the dimly lit community halls and rainy streets of New Zealand that add so much character and atmosphere to the film.

Overall, "The Dark Horse" is a gripping, if slightly predictable, tale of redemption and determination. It's a film that not only teaches you the Sicilian Defense but also the defense mechanisms we use to tackle our darker days. Four and a half stars because while it didn't make me a chess convert, it did make me want to give my old chess board another go. Who knows? Maybe I'll even learn what 'en passant' means this time around.

Two stars might seem generous after sitting through "The Greatest Hits," a film that attempts to blend the sweet nostalgia of classic tunes with the sci-fi twist of time travel, only to miss the mark on both counts. Harriet, our protagonist, finds that certain songs can zap her back to bygone moments with an old flame, a concept that initially sounds as charming as a mixtape from a high school sweetheart. However, this cinematic journey quickly devolves into a clunky mashup of "Back to the Future" and a broken jukebox that skips the best tracks. The movie tries to tug at the heartstrings with its sentimental trips to the past, but the nostalgia is as authentic as an '80s tribute band playing from a crumpled setlist.

The real discord begins with the lack of chemistry among the cast. Harriet's adventures in time should add layers to her character, yet they flatten her into a two-dimensional figure less lively than a vinyl record's B-side. Her emotional tug-of-war between the past boyfriend and the new guy is as compelling as choosing between stale bread and slightly staler bread. The plot hopes to weave these relationships into a tapestry of learning and growth, but instead, it unravels faster than cheap headphones. Each flashback, meant to be a poignant peek into what once was, feels more like stumbling upon an awkward old Facebook photo that everyone forgot to untag.

Moreover, the film's attempt to imbue depth through music-driven time travel ends up feeling like a gimmicky afterthought. Each musical cue that sends Harriet hurtling through time is predictably on-the-nose, with song choices so literal that they'd make even a karaoke DJ cringe. By the final act, one can't help but feel that the only thing this movie transports us back to is a time when we hadn't yet watched it. "The Greatest Hits" tries to hit high notes with its innovative premise but ends up stuck in a loop of missed opportunities and flat performances. In the end, the only thing I wanted to rewind was my decision to watch it.

Two stars might seem generous after sitting through "The Greatest Hits," a film that attempts to blend the sweet nostalgia of classic tunes with the sci-fi twist of time travel, only to miss the mark on both counts. Harriet, our protagonist, finds that certain songs can zap her back to bygone moments with an old flame, a concept that initially sounds as charming as a mixtape from a high school sweetheart. However, this cinematic journey quickly devolves into a clunky mashup of "Back to the Future" and a broken jukebox that skips the best tracks. The movie tries to tug at the heartstrings with its sentimental trips to the past, but the nostalgia is as authentic as an '80s tribute band playing from a crumpled setlist.

The real discord begins with the lack of chemistry among the cast. Harriet's adventures in time should add layers to her character, yet they flatten her into a two-dimensional figure less lively than a vinyl record's B-side. Her emotional tug-of-war between the past boyfriend and the new guy is as compelling as choosing between stale bread and slightly staler bread. The plot hopes to weave these relationships into a tapestry of learning and growth, but instead, it unravels faster than cheap headphones. Each flashback, meant to be a poignant peek into what once was, feels more like stumbling upon an awkward old Facebook photo that everyone forgot to untag.

Moreover, the film's attempt to imbue depth through music-driven time travel ends up feeling like a gimmicky afterthought. Each musical cue that sends Harriet hurtling through time is predictably on-the-nose, with song choices so literal that they'd make even a karaoke DJ cringe. By the final act, one can't help but feel that the only thing this movie transports us back to is a time when we hadn't yet watched it. "The Greatest Hits" tries to hit high notes with its innovative premise but ends up stuck in a loop of missed opportunities and flat performances. In the end, the only thing I wanted to rewind was my decision to watch it.

"Never Let Me Go" is the cinematic equivalent of a cloudy day-neither fully gloomy nor gloriously sunny. It's an okay watch, sort of like eating a sandwich that has all the right ingredients but none of them are your favorite. The film adapts Kazuo Ishiguro's novel with a steadfast devotion, which is admirable but also where it hits a bit of a snag. It captures the melancholic tone with such dreariness that you might find yourself checking if you've accidentally put on a pair of sunglasses indoors. Yet, you keep watching because, well, the cinematography does a splendid job of making every scene Instagram worthy.

The performances are like a group of honor students-commendably competent but not quite ditching the script for a thrilling detour. Mulligan, Garfield, and Knightley deliver their lines with the precision of a well-rehearsed school choir. They hit the notes, they harmonize well, but they don't quite make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It's this consistent 'okay-ness' that anchors the film firmly in the 'good-not-great' sea. They give you the 'feels,' but not enough to send you scrambling for a tissue box-more like mildly searching for a napkin.

All in all, "Never Let Me Go" is the movie equivalent of a soft murmur in a library. It's okay enough that you won't shush it, but it doesn't quite make you want to lean in and listen harder. It's a 3.5-star experience where the half-star went missing, perhaps daydreaming of what could have been if the film had taken a few more risks to match its own hauntingly beautiful premise. If you're in the mood for something that's comfortably melancholic and won't disrupt your emotional equilibrium too much, then this is the film for you-just don't expect to be telling everyone you know about it the next day.

Ah, "Beautiful Wedding" (2024), a cinematic adventure where Abby and Travis accidentally marry in Vegas and think, "Why not honeymoon in Mexico?" sounds like the kind of movie you'd invent to win a bet on making the most predictable rom-com ever. Yet, here it is, in all its glory, demanding that we sit through nearly two hours of what could only be described as a series of unfortunate events that make you wish they had annulled the movie along with the marriage.

First off, the chemistry between Abby and Travis is as convincing as a tofu steak at a barbecue. Their attempts at romantic banter feel more like awkward exchanges between strangers who've been forced to share a cab. The supporting cast of friends and family are intended to add spice and laughter but instead come off like they wandered in from a different, possibly more interesting movie set. Each gag lands with the subtlety of a brick, and the slapstick scenarios are as fresh as last week's guacamole.

By the time the plot drags us to the picturesque beaches of Mexico, you hope for some redemption or maybe a beautiful scenic distraction. But no, the film doubles down on its commitment to mediocrity with a series of predictable misunderstandings and reconciliations that feel as though they were scripted by a chatbot programmed to churn out clichés. "Beautiful Wedding" tries to be a feast of fun and fails spectacularly, serving up nothing but reheated leftovers from better movies. One and a half stars, and even that feels like a wedding gift.

"The Disappearance of Maura Murray" is the documentary equivalent of unsalted popcorn - not terrible, but you're not sneaking any leftovers home in your purse. It's an exhaustive dive into one of the internet's most gnawed-over mysteries, the 2004 disappearance of a young woman in New Hampshire. The series earnestly tries to shed new light on the case but ends up illuminating more about the obsessive culture around true crime than any new facts about Maura herself.

The series scores some points with its in-depth interviews and scenic shots of New England that make you feel the chill in the air. But the pacing is like watching a sloth run a marathon. Each episode seems to stretch Maura's scant digital footprint into an hour-long saga. The creators are so determined to squeeze every drop from the story that by the end, you might feel as lost as the investigators. It's like being promised a thriller and getting a lecture on the importance of keeping your car maintained in winter.

In conclusion, "The Disappearance of Maura Murray" is okay if you're into the true crime scene and have some time to kill (no pun intended). It's a comprehensive look at a baffling case, with moments that tickle your brain cells, but don't expect any bombshell revelations. If nothing else, it's a sober reminder that sometimes, despite our best efforts, mysteries remain just that-a mystery. So, buckle up for a moderate ride through the white mountains of ambiguity.

If there was ever a film that could make the noir genre roll in its grave, "Marlowe" has certainly clinched that dubious honor. From the moment the opening credits rolled, I couldn't help but feel I'd stepped into a parody rather than a tribute to the hard-boiled detective tales of yore. The film tries desperately to evoke the gritty charm of its predecessors but ends up as a lackluster caricature that struggles to keep its fedora on straight. The dialogue, aiming for sharp and snappy, comes off as forced and about as smooth as a gravel road.

Then there's the plot, which seems to have been concocted during a particularly uninspired brainstorming session where the best idea was, "Let's just throw in some twists and hope for the best." Characters walk in and out of scenes with little to no purpose, making me wonder if they wandered off the set of a better film and got lost. Liam Neeson, bless his heart, brings his usual gravitas but even he can't save this sinking ship. He wanders through scenes with all the detective prowess of someone who's lost his car keys but has forgotten what a car looks like.

Visually, "Marlowe" tries to dress up the mundane with moody lighting and rain-soaked streets, but it feels more like a theme park ride through Noirville rather than an actual film set in the 1930s. It's all hat and no cattle, or in this case, all trench coat and no clues. For those seeking a film that truly captures the essence of the genre, you're better off watching paint dry. It might not have the same promise of intrigue, but at least the outcome is less disappointing.

Greenland (2020) achieves the cinematic equivalent of a shrug, landing solidly in the "it's fine, I guess" tier of apocalyptic thrillers. While Gerard Butler runs, drives, and occasionally flies his way through yet another end-of-the-world scenario, one can't help but admire his dedication to being the action hero in every conceivable disaster. The film's plot, which revolves around a family's attempt to reach the titular sanctuary as a comet threatens to obliterate Earth, ticks all the boxes for suspense, emotional family moments, and explosions. Yet, it's served with a side of predictability that makes you feel like you've seen this movie before, even if you haven't.

What sets Greenland apart, if only by a smidge, is its attempt to weave a more personal story amidst the chaos of the impending apocalypse. Instead of focusing solely on the spectacle of destruction (though there's plenty of that), it spends a surprising amount of time on the relational dynamics of Butler's family. This effort to humanize the narrative amidst the CGI destruction derby is commendable, yet it's akin to trying to have a heartfelt conversation in the middle of a rock concert. You appreciate the attempt, but can't shake the feeling that something's off.

All in all, Greenland garners a lukewarm 3.5 stars out of 5. It's the cinematic equivalent of a reheated slice of pizza; it'll do in a pinch, but it's not exactly satisfying. The film straddles the line between thrilling and formulaic with the grace of a tightrope walker wearing clown shoes. It's ok, not because it's particularly groundbreaking or because it redefines the genre, but because it delivers exactly what it promises: Gerard Butler against the end of the world, again. And in a world starving for original content, sometimes, just sometimes, "ok" is good enough.

Who knew that a family reunion in South Carolina could give "Game of Thrones" a run for its money in terms of shock value? "Murdaugh Murders: A Southern Scandal" takes you on a wild ride through the lavish yet deeply troubled world of the Murdaugh family, where the dress code is strictly pearls and courtroom attire, and the family activities include backstabbing (sometimes literally) and cover-ups thicker than their accents. If you ever felt your family gatherings were a bit too much, this series will have you sending thank-you notes to your relatives for just being ordinarily dysfunctional.

The plot thickens faster than molasses in January, with every episode peeling back layers of deceit, corruption, and crimes that make you wonder if they were trying to compete for a Guinness World Record. The directors masterfully juggle interviews, court footage, and dramatic reenactments, leaving you glued to your seat with a tub of popcorn, gasping, "Y'all can't make this stuff up!" Spoiler alert: They didn't have to; reality did the legwork.

In conclusion, "Murdaugh Murders: A Southern Scandal" is a beautifully wrapped reminder that sometimes, truth is stranger than fiction, especially in the South. With a plot more tangled than a bowl of spaghetti and a cast of characters that could rival any soap opera, this series earns a solid four stars for its ability to entertain, horrify, and educate us on the importance of choosing a good family lawyer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go double-check my family tree for any potential scandals.

"Britney vs Spears" is an interesting dive into the legal battle that defined a pop icon's life, but let's be honest, it's the cinematic equivalent of eating plain oatmeal - it's ok, but where's the flavor? The documentary manages to present the facts in a linear, digestible manner, which is commendable given the complexity of Britney Spears' conservatorship saga. It's like being given a map in a maze, but the map is in black and white, and you're pretty sure it's missing a few secret passageways. The filmmakers deserve a pat on the back for not getting lost themselves.

However, the docu feels like it's playing safe, hovering in the shallow end rather than diving deep into the murky waters of the conservatorship issue. It's as if they're trying to bake a cake but forgot to add sugar. Yes, the structure is there, and yes, it's technically cake, but it's not going to satisfy your sweet tooth. The documentary does an ok job of laying out the timeline, but the emotional impact feels a bit like a firecracker that fizzles out - you're left waiting for the big bang that never comes.

In conclusion, "Britney vs Spears" sits comfortably in the middle of the road, not daring enough to venture into uncharted territory, but not boring enough to make you switch off. It's the documentary equivalent of a lukewarm cup of tea; it's ok, but it won't be the most memorable cup you've ever had. Three stars because, like Britney herself, it's impossible not to root for it, even if it doesn't hit all the high notes. Plus, let's face it, any exploration of Britney's battle is bound to be at least somewhat intriguing, simply because it's Britney, b*tch.

If you're in for a wild, supernatural rollercoaster that expertly blends "The Craft" with an episode of "Ghost Adventures" while dialing the absurdity up to eleven, then "Talk to Me" is your next movie night pick. In what starts as a seemingly typical teenage rebellion flick set in Adelaide, quickly morphs into a haunted house party with a hand - yes, an actual disembodied hand - as the guest of honor. The film cleverly navigates through the perils of inviting spirits for a quick chat, which unsurprisingly, spirals out of control faster than you can say "I let you in." It's a riveting tale that teaches us all a valuable lesson: maybe, just maybe, conversing with the dead via a severed hand isn't such a great idea after all.

Our heroine Mia, amidst battling her own demons - and I mean this quite literally - decides that talking to her late mother through a possessed tween is a solid plan. This decision-making process might leave some questioning her judgment, but it's the kind of "hold my beer" attitude that propels this story into the realms of the delightfully bizarre. One of the movie's shining moments is a spirit with a peculiar penchant for podiatry, showcasing a scene where feet sucking becomes a terrifying, yet somehow hysterical, manifestation of the paranormal. It's this blend of horror and humor that gives "Talk to Me" its unique charm, ensuring you're as likely to laugh out loud as you are to jump from your seat.

In the grand tradition of horror-comedies, "Talk to Me" doesn't shy away from pushing boundaries, both of the supernatural and of good taste. The finale, a twisted fusion of teenage angst and ghostly vengeance, leaves audiences pondering the real dangers of peer pressure - especially when that pressure involves supernatural entities. With a narrative as unpredictable as its spectral antagonists, the film serves as a metaphor for the ghosts of our pasts, and the lengths we'll go to for closure... or just a good scare. Clocking in at a spirited 4.5 stars, this movie proves that sometimes, the best way to deal with the hand you're dealt is to simply talk to it - just make sure you've got a candle handy.

"The Boys in the Boat" (2023) manages to row its way into the murky waters of mediocrity with the grace of a fiberglass boat hitting a rogue wave. The film, aiming to stir the soul with the underdog story of Joe Rantz and his crew's journey to the 1936 Olympics, instead paddles in circles, occasionally bumping into the dock of emotional depth before drifting away again. Despite a plot that promises an inspiring journey of hardship, perseverance, and triumph, it feels more like watching someone else's high school sports highlight reel - mildly interesting but ultimately forgettable.

In what seems to be an attempt at character development, the movie skims the surface like a poorly executed stroke in rowing. Joe's struggles, living out of an abandoned car and eating canned food, are intended to tug at the heartstrings but instead come off as a lukewarm can of soup you'd reluctantly eat if there was absolutely nothing else. His transformation, along with that of his crewmates, from ragtag misfits to Olympic heroes, is rushed and lacks the emotional payoff one might expect from such a cinematic endeavor. The inclusion of historical figures like Jesse Owens feels like namedropping to borrow gravitas from their real-life heroics, which the film fails to match.

The final act, meant to be a climactic race against not just their rivals but the looming specter of Nazi Germany, ends up feeling like a slow-motion replay of a race where you already know the outcome. The tension that should have been palpable is as absent as the funds needed to send the team to Berlin. While the actual event was a remarkable feat, the movie's portrayal struggles to capture the excitement, instead offering a version so sanitized and soporific, it might well have been set in a bathtub with toy boats. "The Boys in the Boat" doesn't quite sink, but it's certainly taking on water, earning a 2.5-star rating for its valiant effort but ultimately failing to make waves.

"Lisa Frankenstein" (2024) is the cinematic equivalent of sticking your hand in a blender to see if it tickles; it's a perplexing amalgamation of '80s nostalgia, teen drama, and horror that leaves you wondering if the script was stitched together with the same haphazard enthusiasm as its titular character's appendages. The film tries to navigate the troubled waters of teenage isolation and familial dysfunction, all while juggling a corpse's worth of body parts. It's a Franken-film that, much like its protagonist Lisa Swallows, doesn't quite know where it fits.

Lisa, portrayed with a psycho-zeal that's alarmingly convincing, transitions from a cemetery-haunting, family-resenting teen to a full-blown necromantic seamstress with a penchant for reanimating and reassembling the dead. The character's journey from "misunderstood" to "might actually understand why she's being misunderstood" is less character development and more a cautionary tale about the hazards of unsupervised tanning beds and unchecked teen angst. The film seems to mistake psychopathy for depth, leaving viewers to awkwardly root for a protagonist whose moral compass spins more wildly than a weather vane in a hurricane.

The final act's dive into a macabre DIY surgery montage, paired with a romantic subplot that feels as stitched together as the Creature himself, propels the film into a realm of absurdity that even the most forgiving of B-movie enthusiasts might find hard to swallow. "Lisa Frankenstein" attempts to juggle a heartfelt message about love and acceptance with scenes that make you ponder the logistics of attaching various body parts for aesthetic purposes. It's a love story only in the sense that someone might love the idea of turning their high school grievances into a horror show. In trying to meld genres, themes, and body parts, the film ends up as a discombobulated mess that's as confusing as it is morbid. With a narrative as fragmented as the Creature's anatomy, "Lisa Frankenstein" serves as a reminder that some things-like certain dead Victorian musicians-are probably best left buried.

In "Wish (2023)", a film that ambitiously attempts to blend magic, medieval politics, and the power of wishing into a coherent narrative, we find ourselves adrift in the Mediterranean Sea of confusion and clichés. The plot, featuring King Magnifico's dubious wish-granting regime and Asha's starry-eyed rebellion, reads like a fairy tale penned by someone who skimmed through a Fantasy Writing for Dummies book during a particularly bumpy flight. While the concept of trading memories for wishes could have opened the door to profound commentary on desire and consequence, the film instead chooses to leave that door not just closed, but locked, opting for a shallow dive into a pool of predictable plot points and one-dimensional characters.

Asha, our protagonist, is as relatable as a marble statue, showing the emotional range of a teaspoon as she navigates the treacherous waters of teenage rebellion and magical animals. The talking goat, Valentino, might have stolen the show-if only his lines weren't as cheesy as a fondue pot at a Swiss chalet. As for the antagonist, King Magnifico, one can't help but wonder if his dark turn to forbidden magic was simply out of boredom, a sentiment likely shared by the audience. The special effects seem to have exhausted the film's budget, leaving little left for script development, acting workshops, or a more original score than what sounds suspiciously like the rejected tracks from a Renaissance fair.

The film's climax, where Asha encourages the power of collective wishing to overthrow Magnifico's tyranny, feels less like a triumphant finale and more like a hastily wrapped-up group project the night before it's due. The resolution offers a lukewarm message about self-empowerment, diluted by the film's earlier reliance on deus ex machina plot devices and the overuse of talking animals as a substitute for genuine character development. In the end, "Wish" does not inspire viewers to reach for the stars, but rather to wish for those two hours of their lives back. It's a magical misfire that proves even in the world of cinema, some wishes shouldn't come true.

Deprogrammed (2015) has all the excitement of watching paint dry, but with less color and a storyline that makes less sense. It aims to dive deep into the world of cult deprogramming, but somehow misses the pool entirely and ends up flopping on the concrete. The director, with a vision as clear as a muddy puddle, attempts to weave together interviews and archival footage, but the end result feels more like a confused grandmother trying to use a smartphone for the first time - it's endearing for a moment but quickly becomes a frustrating mess.

The documentary's pacing is so slow, you'll find yourself checking if your video player is accidentally set to 0.5x speed. Every revelation is presented with the enthusiasm of a DMV clerk at the end of a 12-hour shift. The filmmakers had the opportunity to explore the fascinating, dark world of cults and the complex process of deprogramming, yet they chose to present their findings with the depth of a kiddie pool. The only deprogramming needed here is of the viewer after watching, as you'll desperately seek to erase this cinematic snooze-fest from your memory.

In conclusion, 'Deprogrammed' manages to do the impossible: make an intriguing subject utterly boring. It's like going on a safari and spending the entire trip in the gift shop. The documentary is a meandering journey to nowhere, filled with missed opportunities and yawn-inducing interviews. Watching this film is akin to being trapped in a conversation with someone who thinks they're fascinating because they once saw a UFO, but all they have to show for it is a blurry photo of a street lamp. In a sea of captivating documentaries, this one sinks without a trace.