Trashtacular

Star Trek: Section 31, the latest “triumph” in the hallowed Star Trek franchise. Released on Paramount+, this film attempts—let’s be generous here—to capture the magic of the Star Trek universe, but instead, it resembles a hapless child playing dress-up in a too-big, moth-eaten uniform. Longtime Star Trek fans, brace yourselves: this isn’t just bad; it’s a nostalgic nightmare. With its confused characterizations and incoherent plot, the film stands as a testament to what happens when you take a beloved franchise and toss it into a blender set on “oblivion".

How we love a good biopic, especially one centered around a character as illustrious as Vladimir Putin. Enter the cinematic catastrophe known as Putin, directed by Patryk Vega, a name that will surely join the ranks of legendary filmmakers—right next to Uwe Boll. Released on January 10, 2025, this film promised an exhilarating journey through the life of the iron-fisted ruler of Russia. Instead, it delivers a jumbled mess that is about as coherent as Putin's own policies. Bravo, Vega, for turning a once gripping narrative into a nonsensical exercise in confusion and disappointment. If you were looking for a mind-bending experience, you certainly got one—though I imagine insomnia will yield more fulfilling results.

In a universe not so far away, a film titled "Flight Risk" has landed—or more appropriately, crash-landed—straight onto streaming platforms, helmed by a name once synonymous with epic storytelling, Mel Gibson. Prepare yourselves, for this is not "Braveheart," nor is it a movie that wrestles with deep philosophical themes. Instead, it is a whirlwind, turbulence-riddled escapade of bewildering decisions and a plethora of questionable accents. Central to this cinematic odyssey is a pilot of questionable credentials—wink, wink—and a handcuffed accountant. Hats off to the daring filmmakers who decided the vast Alaskan wilderness would be best portrayed from inside one small cabin for 90% of the runtime.

Picture this: waking up in a city you don’t recognize, your identity a mystery, and apparently, for the two hours you’re about to spend with "Man with No Past", that's not all you will forget. James Bamford, the illustrious director of such concepts as laying waste to potential, graces us with this gem on the small screen.

I went into Alarum thinking, perhaps out of misplaced optimism, or just that basic human longing for improvement, that it has to be better than Armor, the last shitty Randal Emmett movie with Stallone. But you know what? It's not! If cinema is meant to offer us hope and reinvention, here is a sequel in spirit, though not in name, that squanders even that. To its defence, Alarum brings a few new weak spots to the autopsy table, but much of the decay is depressingly familiar.