A Sexy Blog

When the curtain rises (or, more accurately, the CGI Alps blink awake) on Nick Hamm’s William Tell, we brace for that hot prickle of cultural muscle, the promise of rebellion, the ice-pure Swiss myth being cracked open and gutted on the grand stage of the epic. Instead, we find ourselves wading ankle-deep through a fog of déjà vu, draped in armor already rusted and patched, the cinematic equivalent of a Renaissance fair where nobody can remember why they’re there.

The war film has always been something of a contract with the audience, a pact that says: come, and I’ll show you the heat of heroism, the terror behind the steel, the struggle of boys made old by violence. What Ray Mendoza and Alex Garland have dared, in Warfare, is to tear up that contract and write something new and starker in its place: this is what it feels like to be trapped in someone else’s war, to be battered by noise and confusion, to never quite know who your enemy is or why you’re here, beyond some abstract equation of duty and disaster.

You could say that WarGames: The Dead Code is an object lesson in Hollywood’s special gift: draining the life out of a semi-classic property, embalming it in digital gloss and algorithmic plotting, and then casting it back onto the market in hopes we’ll confuse the bluish afterglow for old-fashioned excitement. If the original WarGames was a deft adolescent fever dream about the nuclear terrors and computer-age naiveté of Reagan’s America, Gillard’s 2008 “sequel” is a reminder that nostalgia is sometimes best left in mothballs. Watching The Dead Code is like sitting through a pop quiz on modern surveillance anxiety written by copy editors who just discovered what phishing is.

WarGames belongs to that rare class of Hollywood entertainments that seem, almost accidentally, to have tapped straight into the anxieties—and hopes—of an entire era. John Badham’s 1983 techno-thriller opens in a haze of early computer geekery: modems squeal, dot-matrix printers grind, and a Seattle teenager named David Lightman (Matthew Broderick) sits hunched over his blue-glowing screen. Within minutes, what begins as an innocent search for a few pirated video games erupts into a pulse-cranking race against nuclear oblivion—a transformation so swift and seamless it’s as if the movie itself is racing the clock.

A Working Man, directed by David Ayer invites audiences back into the thrilling embrace of a Jason Statham-led action thriller. With a storyline that echoes familiar tropes from the action genre, the film revolves around themes of justice, devotion, and the lengths one will go to protect those they care about. Although its premise isn’t groundbreaking or original, it captivates viewers who crave high-octane sequences coupled with a compelling narrative centered on loyalty and sacrifice. Set against a slick backdrop of crime and consequence, A Working Man delivers an adrenaline-packed experience that finds comfort within the archetypes of its genre.

From the moment I saw the charming marketing for "Wolfs," I found myself intrigued. Directed by Jon Watts, who has a knack for blending humor and action, the film stars the irresistibly charismatic duo of George Clooney and Brad Pitt. Set within the realm of an action comedy, I was prepared for clever banter, unexpected plot twists, and a delightful ride through the urban underbelly with a hint of danger.

With a name that conjures visions of green-skinned witches and spellbinding showtunes, I walked into the theater for "Wicked" with soaring expectations. Directed by the brilliant Jon M. Chu and anchored by powerhouse performances from Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba and Ariana Grande as Glinda, this film adaptation of the beloved Broadway musical promised a captivating experience.

I had high hopes for this film, expecting not only some thrilling sequences but also a touch of humor and heartfelt moments to elevate the experience. Little did I know just how much I would enjoy it.

"Wake Up," directed by the trio of François Simard, Anouk Whissell, and Yoann-Karl Whissell, attempts to cram slasher horror, a dash of social commentary, and the spirit of eco-activism into a single flat-pack of mediocrity.