As I prepared to watch Alien: Romulus, I felt a blend of anticipation and skepticism. I was ready to embrace a film that, while aiming to entertain, might not reach the iconic heights of its predecessors in the franchise. It’s clear that Alien: Romulus isn't a bad film, but it also doesn’t quite stand out among the earlier entries.
"Knox Goes Away" is a profoundly moving film that has lingered in my thoughts long after the closing credits rolled. Directed by the talented Michael Keaton, who also stars in the title role, this crime thriller deftly intertwines the themes of memory loss with the gritty, dangerous world of a seasoned contract killer.
One comes to a marathon of the “Terrifier” films much as you might approach a rickety rollercoaster at a fading state fair, skeptical, but secretly hoping to stumble out a little changed. It all begins with a shriek and a snicker: Damien Leone’s creation, Art the Clown, born of a 2011 short that was less a calling card than a threat. Yet by the third film, set amid Christmas glitter and moral queasiness, the series has grown into a twisted, almost baroque pageant of splatter and dark wit. The “Terrifier” films, watched in quick succession, form their own fevered treatise on what horror can still provoke, where it dare not go, and just how long you can keep laughing in the dark before you start to worry about yourself.
There’s a peculiar thrill in surrendering to a franchise you once tiptoed around, only to discover, three films deep, that what you’d dismissed as mere butchery contains a bewitching, misanthropic wit. “Terrifier 3,” the latest of Damien Leone’s splatter operettas, is that rare slasher sequel that not only resurrects the franchise corpse, but hustles it, grinning, into the main square, clad in Christmas tinsel and brandishing a bloodied candy cane.
This low-budget slasher reintroduces Art the Clown, a character who has quickly risen to iconic status within the horror genre, while delivering a story that ups the ante in every conceivable way, violence, scale, and ambition. With a runtime of over two hours, Terrifier 2 pushes the boundaries of modern horror, offering a visceral experience that caters to hardcore fans while alienating some mainstream viewers.
Frank Herbert’s “Dune” is the Mount Everest of science fiction, looming, treacherous, irresistible to climbers. Its reputation has become its curse. With each attempt to bring Herbert’s syncretic, sand-blasted cosmos to the screen, we glimpse the mirage on the horizon, the masterpiece peeking through the haze, while filmmakers crawl toward it, parched, hallucinating grandeur but often finding only the plastic taste of compromise on their tongues.
When I first heard about "Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga," I was both excited and apprehensive. Anya Taylor-Joy has always captivated me with her exceptional talent and striking beauty, so I was eager to see how she would step into the role of Furiosa.
"The Bikeriders," directed by Jeff Nichols, is a crime drama that navigates the tumultuous world of motorcycle clubs in the 1960s. Drawing inspiration from Danny Lyon's photo book, the film presents a fictionalized account of the Vandals Motorcycle Club, a portrayal that echoes real historical biker subcultures like the Outlaws.
As I settled in to watch the 2024 remake of "Road House," a mix of excitement and nostalgia coursed through me. The original, with its iconic performances by Patrick Swayze, holds a special place in cinematic history.
There’s a peculiar, illicit pleasure in witnessing a horror film that doesn’t bother appeasing the grown-up urge for context, or even moral justification, a film that simply wants to stalk you, amuse itself, and then gut you, all while wearing a fixed rictus grin. "Terrifier" announces itself with the blank-eyed mirth of Art the Clown: a creation not born so much from the tradition of slasher villains as from the very tactics of a mean-spirited magician. There is no myth, no tragic back-story, the movie barely bothers with plot at all, but dances with the sharp, ecstatic purity of a bad dream that keeps plunging into new depths.