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.

When I stumbled upon the 2024 action flick "Aftermath," directed by Patrick Lussier and starring Mason Gooding, Dylan Sprouse, Megan Stott, and Dichen Lachman, I braced myself for a thrill ride filled with suspense and explosive action. Instead, what I got was a front-row seat to a demolition derby of filmmaking: a spectacular collision of bad scriptwriting, painful performances, and puzzling plot choices that could run circles around any B-movie cache.

When you sit down to watch a biographical film named The Ballad of Davy Crockett, you may have some fair expectations. Perhaps a legendary tale filled with thrilling adventures and a touching narrative, one that would pay glorious tribute to the life and times of the famed American frontiersman. Alas, this cinematic endeavour by director Derek Estlin Purvis with Colm Meaney, Jesse Hutch, and William Moseley isn't just disappointingly far from it, it's perturbing.

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.