“I’m not disappointed by this, because there’s always another one. So if this one’s not good, maybe the next one…” The excellent Mr. Sunday Movies Youtube channel wrapped up their spoiler-free review of Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker with this, reminding me of a question I’ve been pondering since the first negative reviews of Episode IX began to surface this week: What if a story could just… end? Continue reading
I have gushed ad nauseam about the unprecedented genius of the best Spider-Man movie, Into the Spider-verse. But since it just arrived on Netflix (necessitating a rewatch, of course), I thought I’d point out one of the many (so many) things that the Spider-verse team did well: Details.
The following contains possible spoilers for Godzilla: King of the Monsters. If you wish to skip to a spoiler-free review, scroll down below the line.
Speculative fiction TV is a bit of a wasteland these days, isn’t it? Every once in a while you’ll find the odd gem, but the average show has a flashing neon sign over the door that reads “Action!” Then, once you get inside, it’s just the DMV. You’re forced to sit through hours of boring, extraneous dialogue and forced drama for just a minute of superpowers or a badly choreographed swordfight. Continue reading
Avengers Endgame is on track to become the highest grossing film of all time. With the spoiler embargo lifted, I want to take a moment to gush about this unprecedented event and the wider wonder of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. But this story doesn’t start in 2008, with the release of Iron Man. It starts just days before my 8th birthday, on September 5th, 1992.
Summer, 1996. I was twelve, I’d just won the last battles of elementary school, and my dad, a long-time fan of the TV series, took me to see the big-screen adaptation of Mission: Impossible. Continue reading
I had the barbell about sixty percent of the way up when I heard God speak to me. Now, I’d set up a convenient appointment earlier that day to hear from God, but He chose to wait until I was on the weight bench in my basement, an idiot without a spotter, two hundred pounds of potmetal shivering over my rib cage. Continue reading