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This review may contain spoilers.

RANDALL:

He can’t cut us. He can only shave us.

MOUNTAINHEAD is a word soup of the English language—an avalanche of lofty phrases, tech jargon, and pseudo-philosophical rambling that mostly doesn’t mean anything. It’s like someone fed DR STRANGELOVE, SUCCESSION, and a freshman’s Nietzsche phase into a blender and hit purée.

Every character is a smug, self-satisfied caricature of modern wealth and power, but instead of being insightful or satirical, it’s just exhausting. The script mistakes incoherence for complexity and arrogance for depth.

If MOUNTAINHEAD is supposed to be a mirror to our deranged, tech-addled elite, it mostly reflects the filmmaker’s own confusion. A pretentious, hollow mess that shouts a lot but says nothing.

The film feels exactly like its central scene: four tech-bro billionaires screaming atop a snowy mountain, each trying to out-meta, out-cynic, and out-volume the other. This scene isn’t just a metaphor—it’s the entire movie. However, some quotes were incredible and I’m listing it below for laughs. 

ALL: MOUNTAIN GOD ACCELERATOR LEGACY MANIFESTATION!!
RANDALL: 
Oh, she’s probably just gone to bed early. With a couple of warlords and a mariachi band. 

RANDALL: 
Do we take over a couple of failing nations? Show people how it’s done? 

JEFF:
Fuck, I’m a slave. What? I’m still a slave. 

RANDALL: 
Are we the Bolsheviks of a new techno world order that starts tonight? 

VENIS:
What I wonder, given their wobbles, is do we just get upstream, leverage our hardware, software, data, scale this up — and coup out the US? 
RANDALL:
If I was China, would I be targetting the smartest men in America? (STARTS MUMBLING TO RESEMBLE MANDARIN)

SOUPER:
Bunch of cold burritos getting DoorDashed to deadbeats. 

RANDALL:

The C is a 500-pound gorilla in of global protectorate. 

SOUPER:
Good move. Tactical cum-shedding.

VENIS:
So, we jerked on a Pop-Tart and Souper ate it? What’s the big deal?

VENIS:
In of Aurelian stoicism, and legal simplicity, the Nietzschean thing would be to do it ourselves.

This review may contain spoilers.

CARLITO’S WAY is one of those movies that’s caught between being iconic and just… kind of there. It has all the elements of a crime epic—Brian De Palma’s stylized direction, a brooding Al Pacino performance, and a tragic rise-and-fall arc—but somehow it all feels a bit overcooked.

First off, the runtime. At 2.5 hours, this film really drags in parts. The plot circles around itself, hitting familiar gangster beats without offering much new, and the emotional pull of Carlito’s journey never quite lands. It tries to be a Shakespearean tragedy, but ends up feeling padded.

Then there’s the casting. Al Pacino playing a Puerto Rican ex-con? It’s a stretch—accent and all. Even more jarring is Sean Penn as a coked-up, sleazy Jewish lawyer in the world’s worst wig. I mean, what was that wig? He plays it well (maybe too well), but the whole thing felt weirdly caricatured and off-putting.

There are moments of genuine tension and stylish flair—De Palma can still stage a killer sequence—but overall, this didn’t live up to its reputation. Not bad, just bloated, miscast, and a little baffling in retrospect.

This review may contain spoilers.

Yu Aoi delivers a quietly masterful performance in ONE MILLION YEN GIRL, embodying a beautiful young woman in distress — not in the melodramatic sense, but in the deeply human one. Her Suzuko carries the weight of personal shame over her slender shoulders, not seeking redemption or reinvention, but something far more modest and difficult: the strength to simply stand on her own two feet.

This is not a story about self-discovery in the romanticized, coming-of-age way. It’s about the arduous, often lonely work of building a life you can live with — one suitcase, one part-time job, and one million yen at a time. Suzuko doesn’t chase dreams or enlightenment; she runs from the noise, the judgment, and the past, trying to carve out a place where she can exist without apology. Her silence speaks volumes, her small victories feel seismic, and Aoi captures it all with stunning restraint.

What elevates the film further is the mirrored journey of her younger brother, Takuya. His subplot isn’t a diversion, but a quiet echo of Suzuko’s own struggle. He, too, must come to a place of emotional footing, learning to draw his own boundaries and sense of self. Their arcs reflect one another not through grand gestures but in their quiet perseverance, their refusal to crumble even when understanding — from family, society, even themselves — is in short supply.

There’s a melancholy beauty to ONE MILLION YEN GIRL, but also a fierce sense of integrity. It’s a film that refuses to glamorize pain or simplify growth. Instead, it offers something rarer: a portrait of resilience, drawn in honest strokes.

The final line of ONE MILLION YEN GIRL is delivered by Suzuko as she stands at a train station, having just seen Nakajima, the man she had a relationship with. In the English fan-subtitled version, she says, “Like that’s ever going to happen.” This line reflects her decision to move forward independently, rejecting the idea of returning to a past relationship that no longer aligns with her path. It’s a poignant moment that encapsulates the film’s themes of self-reliance and the courage to continue onward, even when faced with the temptation of familiarity.

“Only if you confess all your weakness and shame will you obtain my forgiveness and protection”

INVESTIGATION OF A CITIZEN ABOVE SUSPICION A is deliciously absurd satire where the real crime is how far unchecked authority can go when everyone else is too polite, terrified or too far occupied from promoting an agenda to call it out. The police and bureaucratic system cannot—or will not—believe that someone of his rank and stature could commit such a crime. Mildly amused, but stayed for sadomasochistic Augusta Terzi, and thoroughly disturbed.

The final scenes are deliberately ambiguous and allegorical. The Inspector’s desperate attempts to be arrested fail, reinforcing the film’s cynical message: in a system where power protects itself, justice can be subverted, and those in authority can be truly “above suspicion.”

This film wrapped around me like a warm hug. THE WAY HE LOOKS may be small and quietly told coming-of-age film from Brazil but its heart is enormous. It’s a story we’ve seen before—but rarely with this much tenderness, honesty, and care. The direction is gentle, the characters especially our blind protaganist, Leo feels real and deeply felt. THE WAY HE LOOKS is about first love, finding your own voice, and the (sometimes) turbulance of long-term friendships. Also, Karina.

This review may contain spoilers.

My third and final film in the David Mamet–Joe Mantegna collaboration trifecta, and what a surprisingly sweet note to end on.

THINGS CHANGE is such a curious little film—low-key, gentle, and totally disarming. Joe Mantegna brings his usual sharp charisma, but it’s tempered here with an unusual softness. His chemistry with Don Ameche is unexpectedly lovely, and Ameche’s performance is all warmth and quiet wisdom, making the odd-couple dynamic feel truly earned rather than forced.

Mamet’s direction, often known for its precision and verbal edge, takes on a more relaxed, almost affectionate rhythm here. It still has that clipped dialogue and tension bubbling beneath the surface, but the stakes are emotional rather than explosive. It’s a film about dignity, kindness, and the small, strange loyalties that form between people who have no real reason to trust each other—but do anyway.

A modest, well-played gem. I think I smiled through most of it and felt my heart sink in the last 10 minutes when the title “Things Change” is mentioned— revealing the film’s gut-wretching deception; only to then watch it quickly click back together.

Moment of silence for all the boyfriends that got killed for no real reason other than wanting to bang their girlfriends. 

FEAR STREET: PROM QUEEN is a generic, formulaic slasher in the vein of that Pretty Little Liars reboot. It’s not as bad as its being made up to be.

In the end, THE SURRENDER looks and sounds great and shows flashes of promise, but it gets bogged down in murky storytelling and a glacial pace. It’s a moody, well-acted film (thanks to Colby Minifie and Kate Burton) that hints at depth but ultimately retreats from the darkness it suggests. A missed opportunity.

This review may contain spoilers.

Frank Henenlotter’s BRAIN DAMAGE is on the surface a sleazy, goopy, creature-feature parable about drug addiction, but beneath the Technicolor pus and synth-drenched score lies something far more insidious—and queer. A deeply gay narrative about a boy, his talking slug, and the terror of wanting something you’re not supposed to.

Let’s start with Aylmer: a smooth-talking, phallic parasite who enters Brian through the back of the neck (subtle!) and offers him intense, brain-melting pleasure. It’s a grotesque metaphor for queer sex—simultaneously alluring and dangerous, liberating and shameful. Aylmer doesn’t just “get Brian high.” He seduces him, isolates him, penetrates him. Their relationship plays like a toxic queer romance: obsessive, secretive, euphoric, and ultimately destructive.

Brian distances himself from his girlfriend, lies to his brother, and disappears into alleys and subways for anonymous, Aylmer-fueled encounters. It’s a perfect stand-in for closeted queer life: the need to hide, the danger of being exposed, the thrill and horror of indulgence. The infamous fellatio scene, where Aylmer emerges from Brian’s pants to kill a woman during oral sex, isn’t just grotesque—it’s a literalization of queer desire as taboo and fatal. It’s played for shock, but beneath the surface is the real fear: “What if this thing I want destroys me?”

And then there’s the shower scene. A random, buff, completely naked man casually bathing in a public locker room, lit like a Tom of Finland wet dream. Brian watches him—not with predatory hunger, but with anxious awe. It’s pure voyeurism, tinged with longing and fear. He doesn’t attack; he hides. The male body is framed as desirable and dangerous, forbidden and magnetic. It’s one of the most explicitly homoerotic scenes in any ‘80s horror film, and its inclusion feels like a knowing wink to every queer viewer who’s ever lingered too long in the wrong locker room.

By the end, Brian isn’t just a victim of a monster—he’s someone whose body has become a battleground for desire and identity. He can’t go back. The pleasure has changed him. The “drug” was never the real addiction. The real high was finally feeling something that made sense, even if it meant losing everything else.

BRAIN DAMAGE is soaked in slime and queerness—filthy, freaky, and honest in a way few horror films of its time dared to be. It’s a camp nightmare about the ecstasy and horror of being different, of coming out through the gore. Shoutout to the BASKET CASE cameo, you’re next on my watchlist!

This review may contain spoilers.

UNTIL DAWN sets up like it’s going to be a clever riff on CABIN IN THE WOODS with a time-loop twist—but instead of subverting horror clichés, it just cycles through them. The kills are occasionally fun, but the rest feels like it’s on autopilot.

The central gimmick—the time loop mechanic—never really evolves beyond a surface-level novelty. It’s without wit, tension, or emotional stakes. Instead of deepening the horror or raising the stakes, the repetition just becomes numbing.

Worse, I couldn’t connect with a single one of the principal characters. They’re either too bland, too obnoxious, or simply underwritten to care about. If you’re going to trap us in a loop, at least give us someone worth rooting for—or hating in a fun way. Instead, surviving until the credits felt like more of a chore than a reward.

There’s a difference between a smart homage and a tired rehash. UNTIL DAWN leans too hard on genre familiarity without giving us anything fresh. It knows the beats of a horror movie—but forgets to make us feel anything between them.

“When god gives you a gift, he also gives you a whip.”

Pen-Ek Ratanaruang’s 6IXTYNIN9 is one of those rare films that feels like it slipped through a temporal crack — not just of era, but of genre, tone, and cultural climate. A black comedy drenched in a Bangkok haze, it nails the strange, specific mood of the late ’90s and early 2000s, when analog life still lingered, but the chaos of modernity was knocking harder and harder.

The fashion, the apartments, the rotary phones and boxy monitors, even the way people move through space — it’s all so perfectly preserved. It’s not nostalgia-for-nostalgia’s-sake, but a genuine time capsule of an urban life that feels quietly extinct.

Lalita Panyopas is magnetic as Tum, our quietly expressive, constantly caught-off-guard heroine. It’s baffling — and frankly a little infuriating — that she isn’t a much bigger international name. She anchors the film with a subtle, lived-in weariness, then flips into panic, dark comedy, or resilience without ever breaking stride. Her performance walks the tightrope between absurdist theater and deadpan realism.

And the coincidences! They just keep stacking — like bodies, like noodles, like fate itself is a lazy god flipping coins into our laps. The plot unravels like a Looney Tunes noir, each character a caricature, every decision snowballing into increasingly surreal violence. Yet it’s always grounded. There’s never a wink to the audience, which makes the madness even more potent.

Ratanaruang’s direction is sharp but unfussy. He trusts the script, the camera, the city. There’s a quiet confidence to it all — the mark of a filmmaker who knows exactly what he’s doing, even when his characters don’t.

This is the kind of film you want to put in a time capsule — not just to show what movies were like, but what life felt like for a brief, bizarre moment in history. Also, justice for that wildly handsome Farang actor who was the cop and her neighbor ladies’ lover.

Tbe scene where Rosie is swimming undewater like a mermaid ready to rescue Suri? Yeah, I lost my mind exactly then too. Power of cinema. Kareena is amazing here.

ASH drifts through the void of slow-burn sci-fi horror, only snapping into focus in its final act, when it finally unleashes the face-melting, viscous nightmares it spent the first hour merely hinting at through erratic, contextless flash jumpscares. Flying Lotus wears his influences proudly – the claustrophobic dread of ALIEN, the cosmic existentialism of SUNSHINE and INTERSETLLAR, and the desperate, doomed isolation of LIFE. Yet, rather than blending these elements into something distinctly his own, the film meanders through a fog of familiar beats, lacking the urgency or tension that made those predecessors gripping.

Ann Hui’s VISIBLE SECRET is a maddeningly uneven experience that took me three separate sittings to get through. The film’s convoluted, disted plot struggles to stay coherent, tripping over its own ambitions with every twist. Characters weave in and out of scenes without clear motivations, making it a challenge to stay invested in the story.

However, despite its narrative chaos, Visible Secret is undeniably gorgeous. The film’s striking visual style is its saving grace – Hui’s use of vibrant colors clashing with deep shadows, the atmospheric fog swirling around every corner, and the occasional disorienting camera tilt are all masterfully executed. The cinematography feels like a fever dream, pulling you into a haunting, surreal world that almost makes the confusion worth it.

And then, of course, there’s goth Shu Qi. She cuts an unforgettable figure, adding a touch of melancholic allure to an otherwise messy narrative. Her presence alone elevates the film, even when the plot leaves you scratching your head.

Ultimately, VISIBLE SECRET is a film that demands patience – perhaps more than it deserves – but its haunting visuals make it a journey worth enduring, if only for the aesthetic payoff.

While casually scrolling through Twitter, I stumbled upon a tweet about a 44-year-old animated short that recently resurfaced online, thanks to a post by its director. A cigratte, a weed and a rat. Such is life. What a joy.

Truly just a random watch; an Argentinian buddy cop comedy. Thirst watch because of the director. Unfortunately, was not too emgaged with this one.

This review may contain spoilers.

Catching this on Blu-ray really highlights the beauty of every frame. David Geddes who shot this film deserves a medal – the shadows are practically their own character, creeping into every corner of this made-for-TV nightmare.

For a TV movie sequel, this one genuinely surprised me. It not only doubles down on the terror and paranoia that haunted our female protagonists in the original, but it also weaves in the legacy characters with finesse. That alone is impressive, especially with a completely different male villain – one who first appears with his arms stretched out like a suburban Nosferatu, then later goes full blackface with a faceless dummy routine – and you’ve got something David Lynch would nod approvingly at over a stiff cup of coffee.

And can we talk about Carol Kane in that opening scene, striding in with her grey power suit, all intensity and nerve? She’s operating on par with other horror sequel darlings like Jamie Lee Curtis in HALLOWEEN and Neve Campbell in SCREAM, but with a unique, frantic energy that only Kane can deliver.

Takeshi Miike, as always, goes all in with his visual flair. The 19th-century Japanese setting is a gorgeously grotesque backdrop, dripping in rich costuming and atmospheric dread – a visual feast that proves Miike can paint a nightmare like no other. It’s a shame that this meticulous world-building of the demon-whore island is undercut by Billy Drago’s acting, which is less line reading and more line mangling, making you wonder if he wandered in from a different, far less competent production.

But the real issue here is the film’s obsession with pointless sadism. Yes, Miike is no stranger to shocking content, but here it feels hollow, pushing cruelty to the foreground without any meaningful weight or thematic purpose—provocative, sure, but to what end?

IMPRINT was originally a shelved episode of Showtimes’ ‘MASTERS OF HORROR’. While it doesn’t feel like a TV movie, IMPRINT is perhaps a grim curiosity suitable for only the most hardened Miike fans.

Don't they call my post the most powerful in ?

Watched COMEDY OF POWER in conjunction with Mother’s Day as an ode to my cinematic mother, Isabelle Huppert.

This is my fifth Chabrol-Huppert outing, and this one’s more talk than thrill – a talkie in the truest sense. Huppert’s Jeanne Chantal-Killman spends the whole film verbally dismantling smug French CEOs, cucking them into oblivion before tossing them aside like yesterday’s croissants. I kept waiting for the supposed “intoxication with power” to kick in, but honestly, she just seemed genuinely invested in the drag. Can’t fault her for that.

This is my second dive into the creative partnership between David Mamet and Joe Mantegna, having previously watched HOUSE OF GAMES and found it incredibly enjoyable. While HOMICIDE initially presents itself as a straightforward neo-noir thriller, it quickly unfolds into something stranger and perhaps more compelling. Also, Roger Deakin’s cinematography here is wondorous. 

At its core, the film pushes beyond the familiar tropes of the genre, not just exploring a detective’s sense of duty, but pulling at the deeply conflicted threads of cultural identity. Mantegna’s character, Detective Bobby Gold, finds himself torn between his role as a cop and a profound, often uncomfortable connection to his Jewish heritage – a theme that feels surprisingly bold, even subversive, given current political sensitivities.

The film’s exploration of an Israeli/Zionist cabal is especially provocative, touching on ideas that seem almost unthinkable in today’s climate, where such narratives are often met with intense scrutiny. In this sense, HOMICIDE feels like a relic from a time when filmmakers were willing to provoke without the immediate echo of backlash, creating a space for more challenging, complex storytelling.

In the end, Mantegna’s character is pulled in two directions, caught between the institutional weight of his badge and the cultural ties he can neither fully embrace nor entirely reject. This tension leaves the film with a haunting, unresolved quality that lingers long after the credits roll – an ambitious, if not entirely comfortable, meditation on identity, loyalty, and belonging.

This review may contain spoilers.

SHARP CORNER and RED ROOMS are two gripping psychological thrillers that have risen from Canada’s often underappreciated film landscape. Despite their distinct premises, both films share a grim fascination with human obsession, isolation, and the fragile line separating observer from participant.

In RED ROOMS, Kelly-Anne, a fashion model, becomes obsessively entangled in the trial of Ludovic Chevalier, a man accused of broadcasting the murders of teenage girls on the dark web. Her fixation pushes her to seek out and watch the very snuff films at the heart of the case, blurring the boundaries between witness and accomplice. This immersion into the digital abyss isolates her, not just from those around her but from her own moral com, leading to increasingly invasive actions like impersonating a victim and infiltrating a grieving family’s home. Kelly-Anne’s descent captures a psychological unraveling, revealing a deep, often unspoken human desire to confront the darkness within – to find purpose, however perverse, in a world that often feels indifferent.

And then there’s SHARP CORNER. Buxton’s film might lack the overt shock factor of RED ROOMS, but it’s every bit as haunting – perhaps even more so. There’s something deeply compelling about the way it captures the slow unraveling of Josh McCall. His descent feels like a slow-motion car crash, painfully inevitable yet impossible to look away from. McCall’s fixation on the accidents near his home is less about gore and more about the slow erosion of sanity – a man desperate for meaning in a world that refuses to provide it. It’s a film that understands the dark, almost primal satisfaction of being the first on the scene, the pull of the macabre mixed with the delusion of heroism.

I particularly appreciated how the film lets its central character spiral without the safety net of an easy redemption arc. Josh is a flawed, often unlikeable figure, yet Buxton captures his humanity in those quiet moments – the awkward attempts at connection, the panicked glances in the rearview mirror, the way his face contorts with a mix of fear and relief every time his own darkness is momentarily exposed but ultimately overlooked. It’s a deeply unsettling portrayal of obsession that lingers long after the credits roll.

Both films present their protagonists as tragic figures, trapped by their obsessions and disconnected from reality, their identities fraying under the weight of their unchecked desires. They serve as stark meditations on the dangers of moral ambiguity, the allure of control, and the dark psychological currents that can consume even the most seemingly ordinary lives.

These two films remind us that the most terrifying horrors are not always born from monsters or ghosts, but from the depths of the human mind.

This review may contain spoilers.

“Mom, Dad… do you ever feellike Kajol in a field of yellow flowers, hearing a cowbell and just knowing?”

A NICE INDIAN BOY is, first and foremost, CORNY but it also nails a lot of truths about the ‘Indian way’ of approaching relationships – where adjusting often takes priority over pure ion.This is also why I equally enjoyed the other subplots, like Arundhati’s divorce and the accusations surrounding Megha and Archit’s so-called ‘loveless’ marriage.  

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge has been referenced to death, often in the cringiest ways imaginable – like awkwardly inserting yourself into Shah Rukh Khan’s shoes just to stage a grand, filmy marriage proposal.

I’m not going to lie, I cringed a bit when the softcore sex scene was set to Ishq by Ali Sethi, with Naveen’s brown skin silhouetted against lace curtains. That was a bold choice.

That said, A NICE INDIAN BOY still has the charm of a repeat comfort watch. Harish Patel and Sunita Mani deliver performances that are deeply in sync with their characters, making them a delight to watch. However, while I adore Zarna Garg – her voice, her stand-up skills – her acting debut feels abit uneven, fantastic in certain scenes but lacklusterous in others, leaving more to be desired.

This review may contain spoilers.

i gasped so loud when the MRI snatched his Prince Albert piercing

THE EXORCIST (1973):
 “Your mother sucks cocks in hell!”

THE UGLY STEPSISTER (2025):
 “Your mother sucks cock in the end!”

Radu Jude gives us his Romanian absurdist take on BARBIE, KAREN CARPENTER via this stop-motion short that satirizes the bleak reality of human life – a chaotic loop of sex, war and consumerism. Using brightly colored toys in absurd situations and often in doggy style poses. The premise does begin to wear thin after the first two minutes of imagery.

This review may contain spoilers.

The 1991 Italian dramedy THE RAFFLE not only marked the film debut of Monica Bellucci, often hailed as one of cinema’s most stunning creations, but also set the tone for her enduring cinematic legacy. It introduced the world to her exquisite beauty while hinting at a recurring theme in her career – the exploitation and objectification of women, as later seen in films like MALÈNA and IRREVERSIBLE.

I found THE RAFFLE to be unexpectedly entertaining, leaning more toward a playful adventure film than a dramedy. Rather than a knight crossing distant lands, we follow an Italian woman (Bellucci) who uses her beauty to navigate complex sexual politics and pull off an audacious scam.

WARFARE is a well-shot reenactment with a slick coat of cinematic gloss, but at worst, it’s a shameless piece of imperialist propaganda, leaning hard into the spectacle of conflict while quietly rewriting history. Even a polished exterior can’t hide the film’s hollow emotional core – a slick, manipulative attempt at war mythmaking.

Probably one of the worst slapstick comedies every written

The premise of WICKED LITTLE LETTERS being prestige British actresses cussing each other out? Absolutely briliant.

UNCUT GEMS but with Keke Palmer

Glad because we all got to watch Henry Golding talk dirty

This review may contain spoilers.

SONATINE feels like the most complete expression of Kitano’s style: sudden, stark violence colliding with serene stillness, absurd comedy popping up amid existential gloom. It’s a gangster film, sure—but it’s also a strangely gentle and often hilarious meditation on boredom, downtime, and the absurdity of both identity and institutions. The plot, which follows low-level yakuza on what turns into a surreal seaside limbo, shifts from lighthearted hangouts to gut-punch tragedy with alarming ease.

There’s a real tenderness in watching these men try to simulate a peaceful, almost childlike escape from their lives of violence—playing games on the beach, staging goofy performances, just killing time. You want to stay there with them. But Kitano keeps reminding us that the violence isn’t gone—it’s just biding its time. Leisure, in this world, is temporary and maybe even a lie; further reinforced by the shock suicide in the end.

Where American neo-noirs like TAXI DRIVER or TO LIVE AND DIE IN L.A. pulse with sleaze and chaos, VIOLENT COP is eerily calm. The violence hits harder because it arrives without buildup, and Kitano’s character—feels more like an existential figure than a genre archetype.

The moral decay is there, the blurred lines between justice and vengeance, but VIOLENT COP plays it all with an unsettling quiet that’s more suffocating than any monologue or voiceover. You feel it in your bones more than your brain, especially with what happens to Akira.

This review may contain spoilers.

I usually ire bold filmmaking, but Boiling Point didn’t work for me. Visually, each shot was framed beautifully serene as if embeded with some kind of lightness; or perhaps it was thanks to the high definition restoration that I had watched. Kitano’s dream-like, jumpcut style is clearly intentional with BOILING POINT, but slips into alienation in my opiniom. I drifted along with the narrative, the characters feel empty, and the humor doesn’t land. There are scenes of violence and odd moments such a male rape, beach pooping and discarding of its non-Japanese characters; which all feels strange and foggish. 

BOILING POINT flirts with meaning in an avant-garde, “anti-bullying” sort of way, but the emotional core never quite emerges. I can appreciate the experimentation, but this one felt more like a sketchpad than a fully realized film. 

The ending of the film goes back to its original scene and culminate as a bathroom daydream of our loser protaganist is perhaps too radical of a swing to ever play out.

This review may contain spoilers.

I was three feet away from a known terrorist, and I had my eyes buried in some broad’s tits

SNAKE EYES opens comically with Tamara Tunie as irritatable “weather bimbo” and it was perfect. 90s ancestor to Shymalan’s TRAP, this DE PALMA classic features a ton of fun elements such as —the aftermatch of the shootout, hotel room crane shot, and the POV scenes from the perspective of other characters were deeply enjoyable. However, I wasn’t particularly engaged once the film unfolds the betrayal of Gary Sinise’s character and unloads all its military conspiracy mumbo jumbo. Carla Gugino and Nic Cage gave great, top form performances.

This review may contain spoilers.

Brian De Palma’s SISTERS opens like a cheeky Hitchcock homage and descends, gleefully, into something far stranger, nastier, and more hallucinatory. What begins with a voyeuristic act—a reporter spying on what appears to be a murder in the apartment across the way—spirals into a rabbit hole of madness, experimental psychiatry, and psychosexual terror. The film’s first act is a masterclass in suspense: cleanly orchestrated, darkly funny, and steeped in dread. De Palma’s flair for the operatic is already in full bloom, and when the violence erupts, it’s raw and unflinching—blending beautifully with the film’s grainy aesthetic and Bernard Herrmann’s unrelenting score.

The split-screen technique is more than just a gimmick here—it’s essential to the film’s anxious pulse, allowing De Palma to draw lines between perspectives, realities, and fractured identities. As the plot takes a sharp left into psychological horror, SISTERS trades traditional thriller beats for something more stylized and surreal—culminating in a twisted finale that would make even Hitchcock uneasy.

Bruce Kawin put it best when he wrote: “Sisters… makes intelligent reference to ROPE (1948), REAR WINDOW (1954), PSYCHO (1960), and even THE CABINET OF DR. CALIGARI (1920). The film ends with a shot of a detective looking through binoculars at what might be called the scene of the crime, intently but fruitlessly watching a couch that no one will ever incriminate themselves with by picking up. From start to finish, SISTERS is charged with scenes of looking—from seeing a murder through a window to seeing another person’s memories in one’s own mind.”

De Palma isn’t just referencing the masters—he’s deconstructing them, mutating their influence into something more feverish and grotesque. SISTERS is a film obsessed with the act of looking, but it’s what lies beneath the gaze—what’s repressed, doubled, or surgically severed—that ultimately chills.

STRAY NOTE
WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT SISTERS OPENS WITH A BLACK MAN ON A ‘PEEPING TOM’ STYLED GAME SHOW, WHO SHARES A SCENE WITH A WOMAN THAT ENDS UP BECOMING HIS MURDERESS. IN THE FINAL, WE FIND THAT HE IS IN A SOFABED NEXT TO A COW AT A RANDOM CANADIAN TRAIN STATION, SPIED UPON BY A PRIVATE DETECTIVE FROM A TELEPHONE POLE. MORBID BOOK ENDS TO DE PALMA’S SISTERS.

CGI Unicorns essentially JURASSIC PARK’D, by way of
 COCAINE BEAR in a SALTBURN styled READY OR NOT smackdown.

Is SINNERS the thinking man’s FROM DUSK TILL DAWN?

This review may contain spoilers.

HANA-BI isn’t about winning or losing. It’s about carrying on, even as everything falls apart, and finding small, fleeting moments of beauty as life goes on.

Kitano uses the familiar skeleton of a downtrodden cop facing off against criminals, but this isn’t really a crime thriller. It’s a meditation — a slow, painful unfolding of grief, guilt, and lost time.

Every burst of violence here feels like an aftershock of deeper wounds. The real battle isn’t with gangsters or loan sharks; it’s with regret, mortality, and the quiet sadness of knowing love isn’t enough to fix everything. Kitano’s stoic performance says more in a glance (despite the stylish eyewear) or a silence than most actors can in a monologue. The paintings, the sea, the small tender gestures — they all rise up against the ugliness around him.

The ending is devastating but inevitable. Nishi’s murder/suicide in HANA-BI isn’t framed as an act of defeat, but almost a final gesture of tenderness — a way of sparing his wife from the slow, unbearable fade of illness, and himself from the endless violence he’s become trapped in. It’s heartbreakingly calm, stripped of melodrama.

The ending scene of Horibe painting, where the kanji for suicide is covered with paint, suggests he has accepted his fate and will live with his loss. He is not pessimistic or overly optimistic, but rather finds a way to move forward with his life

Kitano portrays death not as a climactic tragedy, but as a quiet acceptance, a final moment of control in lives that had long since spun out.

NOTE: The montage scene of artistic inspiration consisting of flowers, animals and bright colors that strikes Horibe will always remain rent free on my mind.

I write this as the credits roll to Park Chan-wook’s THIRST and my final reaction is genuinely in question marks. While I’ve enjoyed his other feature length films, I can’t seem to fathom THIRST. On the surface, perhaps its about the corruption of man (even the purest, a priest) susceptible to evil (by way of vampirism). Song Kang-ho’s priest gives in to sexual, blood lust. That’s basically where it ends for me. I felt no spark with his female costar, Kim Ok-vin or enthuasiasm for the lengthy runtime that felt aimless. Atleast, now I know the ending must have inspired SPRING and MIDNIGHT MASS.

WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE? is deserving of its critical acclaim because without it, I don’t see how else “hagsploitation” subgenre would have gotten cannonized. Bette Davis as Baby Jane Hudson? Down right terrifying.

Miso in MICROHABITAT represents a radical, humanist departure of what is expected—choosing not to sacrifice tiny pleasures is choosing life. Miso operates on kindness and that confuses older individuals (her friends, her boyfriend) who find themselves entrenched in the constructs of capitalism. Miso isn’t free from capitalism; her rent, cigarettes and ultimately whiskey all go up in price. Yet, the first thing she lets go is a place to live, not her tiny pleasures. While, MICROHABITAT takes us along Miso’s hero journey through her friends and s; you can’t help but feel deep empathy and sadness because she will likely not last in our lived reality despite how earnest she is. I withered in my unmade bed as I watched this and somehow before the film ends, I had already neatly arranged my bed and was determined to ‘housekeep’ my own room, as a kindness to myself.

i felt like a hostage to this absolutely zero stakes film. never engaging my mother for movie night ever again lol

Premise was pretty decent but beyond the first 20 minutes, it felt like a slog. Hated the ending.

FREAKY TALES is an anthology film that is so charming, stylish and a byproduct of many (read here). Tom Hanks cameo. Pedro Pascal lifting his shirt. Green glow. Rap battles that are actually good. Nazis go poof. Asian art collection from Christie’s. Jay Ellis beheads, dis and puches through a man before making one explode purely through powers of the mind. Blue Velvet mentioned twice. Instant cult classic, an all around good time and underrated gem from 2025.

This review may contain spoilers.

Watched this in tandem with SUNSET BOULEVARD  after a compelling Be Kind Rewind video on the 1950 Best Actress Oscar race—an era-defining cinematic moment that pitted Bette Davis, Gloria Swanson, and Anne Baxter against one another in what remains one of the most narratively rich feuds in Academy history.

ALL ABOUT EVE is a meticulously crafted examination of ambition, aging, and identity within the theater world, anchored by Bette Davis’s commanding performance. The screenplay is dense with wit and subtext, every line serving both character and commentary. What’s most striking is how the film dissects the performance of femininity in both public and private spheres.

Bette Davis’s portrayal of Margo Channing is steeped in self-awareness, blurring the lines between actress and role in a way that mirrors the film’s obsession with authenticity and artifice. The film doesn’t just critique the machinery of fame—it implicates the audience in its perpetuation. Viewed through a post-war lens, ALL ABOUT EVE also speaks volumes about anxieties around gender roles, generational displacement, and the illusion of meritocracy in Hollywood.

Not only is this film a cinematic journey of a social climber (by way of Eve Harrington), ALL ABOUT EVE operates as a meta-commentary on not just theatrical performance, but the performativity of womanhood, power, and aging in a male-dominated industry. Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s script is a near-perfect exercise in narrative construction, using nested perspectives and voiceover to fracture subjectivity and deepen the film’s exploration of identity.

It’s no wonder this film—and this Oscar race—has persisted in cultural memory. Few works interrogate their own industry with this level of precision and venom.

This review may contain spoilers.

THE APARTMENT is my Wilder film in a row today. Billy Wilder has a remarkable knack for peeling back the gloss of 50s corporate America to reveal the loneliness beneath. On the surface, THE APARTMENT and DOUBLE INDEMNITY might seem like tonal opposites—one a bittersweet romantic dramedy, the other a hardboiled noir—but they’re cut from the same melancholy cloth.

Both films center on morally compromised men stuck in the machinery of capitalism. In DOUBLE INDEMNITY, Fred MacMurray’s Walter Neff is an insurance salesman who slips into murder for love—or lust. MacMurray is seen again as the ‘antagonist’ of THE APARTMENT but this time being absolute selfish and manipulative of his underlings. In THE APARTMENT, Jack Lemmon’s C.C. Baxter is an insurance clerk who rents out his apartment for executive affairs, hoping to climb the corporate ladder. These men aren’t evil—they’re just deeply lonely and easily swayed by the promise of connection and success.

There’s also a shared bleakness about the corporate world. Whether it’s the cutthroat insurance firm in DOUBLE INDEMNITY or the soulless office culture of THE APARTMENT, Wilder paints these institutions as cold, indifferent places where human lives are just numbers or names on a schedule.

Yet, while DOUBLE INDEMNITY ends in murder and regret, THE APARTMENT offers something rare in Wilder’s universe: redemption. Baxter finds the courage to break the cycle, to choose decency over ambition. It’s like Wilder took the skeleton of his noir classic (if you think about it, right upto the attempted suicide, didnt it operate like a noir?) and asked—what if the guy didn’t light that final cigarette? What if he grew a spine before it was too late?

Two films, a decade apart, but speaking to the same ache: that gnawing emptiness behind a desk, the compromises we make to feel wanted, and the thin line between a promotion and a downfall.

This review may contain spoilers.

Billy Wilder really knew how to peer into the shadows of the American dream. DOUBLE INDEMNITY and SUNSET BOULEVARD are spiritual siblings—two noir masterpieces that unravel the illusion of success with sharp dialogue, doomed characters, and a cynical, knowing grin.

Both films are narrated by dead (or dying) men, recounting their fall from grace in flashback—Fred MacMurray bleeding out in an insurance office, William Holden floating lifeless in a pool. The voiceovers give each story a ghostly, fatalistic tone, as if the men were already damned and simply guiding us through the wreckage. There’s also the interesting mention of navy suits and mention of perfect vision by both men.

Wilder’s mastery of noir tropes is on full display in both. Femme fatales? Check. In DOUBLE INDEMNITY, Barbara Stanwyck’s Phyllis is pure venom in an anklet. In SUNSET BOULEVARD, Gloria Swanson’s Norma Desmond is no less dangerous—her weapon is nostalgia, her target: anyone who reminds her that her star has faded. Both women pull their men into a spiral of destruction, not with force, but with seduction, manipulation, and the illusion of escape.

There’s also a shared claustrophobia. Whether it’s the cramped apartments and shadowy streets of DOUBLE INDEMNITY or Norma’s decaying Hollywood mansion in SUNSET BOULEVARD, Wilder traps his characters in spaces that reflect their inner rot. The settings aren’t just backdrops—they’re characters, haunted by the past and drenched in regret.

In the end, both films show what happens when people chase dreams that were dead long before they realized. DOUBLE INDEMNITY and SUNSET BOULEVARD are about men who thought they were in control—only to discover they were already written into a tragedy.

Two sides of the same noir coin: one drenched in sweat and cigarette smoke, the other in cold champagne and delusion. And both utterly brilliant.

A towering achievement in cinematic history, Sunset Boulevard is essential viewing—an enduring portrait of morality, ambition, and the unforgiving machinery of fame. Its unflinching critique of Hollywood’s darker underbelly was groundbreaking for its era, exposing the industry’s obsession with youth and relevance.

Gloria Swanson’s role as Norma Desmond was more than a performance—it was a triumphant and haunting comeback; the blueprint of the aging actress. Once a major star of the silent era, Swanson brought a lived-in authenticity to the role, embodying the tragedy of a woman clinging to past glory. Her deep understanding of the industry’s ruthless shifts made her the perfect choice for Norma; no other actress could have infused the character with such raw conviction, vulnerability, and grandeur.

What made Sunset Boulevard especially meta in 1950 was its use of real silent film figures—Swanson herself, DeMille appearing as himself, and Erich von Stroheim as Max, the loyal butler and former director. Stroheim, who had once directed Swanson in real life, added an eerie layer of truth to their dynamic, turning the film into a ghostly echo chamber of old Hollywood’s forgotten legends.

HELL OF A SUMMER is inspired filmmaking although it mostly kills offscreen (or very midlly), first-time directors Wolfhard and Bryk formulate a teen slasher that pays homage to genre classics such as FRIDAY THE 13th, SLEEPAWAY CAMP and SCREAM while actually being a decent ensemble comedy. Hechinger and Bryk were my favorite characters because they had the best lines!

• No Hard Feelings
• Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse
• Evil Dead Rise
• Mundey Kampung Dey
• Missing
• Scream
• The Black Phone
• Laal Singh Chaddha
• Talk to Me
• Barbie

...plus 27 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• Volver
• Y Tu Mamá También
• Everything Everywhere All at Once
• Kama Sutra: A Tale of Love
• Demonlover
• Climax
• About Elly
• Boarding Gate
• The Last Seduction
• La Ceremonie

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Short films where Jim Sarbh is bartender for some reason. Taken from Sucharita Tyagi (link)

• Bton
• Next, Please
• The Promise

• Parthenope

  The ending, right to the end credits 

• All of Us Strangers

  At the twist ending and when he visits his parents

• Queer

  At the ending, when we see the legs cross in bed

• All We Imagine as Light
• Crossing
• Dìdi (弟弟)

Wong Kar Wai's films often exhibit subtle yet powerful influences from South Asian (desi) culture. 

Though Wong’s work is primarily rooted in Hong Kong cinema, these desi influences contribute to a broader, more global emotional resonance that transcends cultural boundaries.

Hong Kong, as a crossroads of global trade and migration, has a long history of South Asian communities, particularly those from India, Pakistan, and Nepal. By featuring South Asian characters, Wong Kar Wai not only provides a more nuanced portrayal of the city’s diverse population but also highlights themes of displacement, identity, and cross-cultural interaction. 

These characters often exist on the periphery of the main narrative, mirroring the sense of longing and isolation that is central to Wong's films, thus adding depth to the emotional universality of his storytelling. Their presence also allows Wong to address broader questions of belonging and cultural hybridity in a globalized world.

Wong Kar Wai’s inclusion of South Asian characters in his films reflects both a desire to explore Hong Kong's multicultural fabric and an acknowledgment of the city's historical and cultural connections with South Asia.

• Days of Being Wild

  DAYS OF BEING WILD had a stronger South East Asian influence as the second half of the film shifts to the Phillipines — the 60s having been a period of influx to various shifts; socially, economically and even politically. 
  
  There are minor South Asian references in this film. The first being a brief mention by Zeb regarding not wanting to be hassled by the Indian man guarding (and likely operating) the complex Yuddy lives in. After the Yuddy and Mimi’s first encounter, as she sneaks out of Yuddy’s apartment the morning of, we see a brief shot of a middle aged Indian woman wiping down an old clock in a white sari; peering towards the staircase as Mimi runs off. Lastly, in Hindi, we hear a woman screaming from the balcony asking her son to her for a meal and the shot slowly lingers to the interior of Yuddy’s apartment complex and even glances over an older Indian man in a dhoti; persumably the Indian man mentioned by Zeb. 

• Chungking Express

  In the opening scenes of CHUNGKING EXPRESS we’re hit by a Surinder Kaur “Piplan Di Chann” needledrop as Brigette Lin’s assassin character prepares to smuggle drugs of Hong Kong using South Asian mules. Wong Kar Wai deliberately lingers over immigrant life in the Chungking across multiple extended shots, chase scenes and random shots in Hindi. 
  
  In the second tale of this anthology, the kitchen is staffed by Desi workers who often banter with the local shop owner and Faye Wong’s quirky snack lady. In one scene, you can see there’s a handwritten poster offering Lassi to its customers. Unlike the first segment, the desi influence is not as prominent but still very present, as referenced in the earlier examples.
  

List of non-Sikh Bollywood actors portraying turbaned, Sikh characters.

• The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

  Nasseruddin Shah 

• Laal Singh Chaddha

  Aamir Khan

• Kesari

  Second time for Akshay Kumar

• Singh Is Kinng

  First time for Akshay Kumar

• Rocket Singh: Salesman of the Year

  Ranbir Kapoor

• Antim: The Final Truth

  Salman Khan

• Son of Sardaar

  Ajay Devgn, Sanjay Dutt

• Bhaag Milkha Bhaag

  Farhan Akhtar

• Love Aaj Kal

  Saif Ali Khan, Rishi Kapoor

• Mubarakan

  Arjun Kapoor, twin had a turban. 
  Anil Kapoor, second time

...plus 23 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Films that mention the South East Asian of Malaysia; either in ing or as a plot point.

• Videodrome

  ‘Malaysia’ is where Harlan and Maxx initially assumed the feed for “Videodrome” originated from.

• Laal Singh Chaddha

  Rupa D’Souza’s abusive gangster boyfriend, Abbas Haji was hiding in Malaysia. Thanks to Rupa’s tip, he was deported back and faced procecution.

• Pulse

  A television broadcast plays in the background about a bottled message that was launched 10 years ago by a boy on Tanegashima Island, which was now discovered 4,000km away on a Malaysian beach. 

  A group who found the bottle then ed the boy through his elementary school.

• D.E.B.S.

  Bobby gifts Amy a puka shell bracelet his dad had gotten from a drug bust in Malaysia

• Plane

  Scarsdale tells a group of lawyers to prepare press releases for all possible scenarios including “a ghosting like Malaysia 370”

• Dangerous Encounters of the First Kind

  One white men says to another that there are in the most dangerous business; the business of war and goes onto list a slew of Asian countries that they sell weapons to including Malaysia. 

• Zoolander

  Plot is about assasinating the Prime Minister of Malaysia

• Don

  Film is shot extensively in Malaysia

• Faraaz

  Protaganist Faraaz was suppose to travel to Malaysia but was unable to secure a visa due to a last minute visit to the embassy. 

  
  

  Another terrorist, Moba expressed interest in escaping the cafe and settling down in Malaysia to be with his parents. 

• Another Year

  Towards the end of the film, Tom and Gerri reminisce of time spent early on in their relationship, where the went travelling from Singapore to the Greek Islands; mentioning Malaysia as one of the stops. 

...plus 10 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

Films that unnerve the viewer and descends into complete chaos and madness

• New Order
• Soft & Quiet
• Clash
• Climax
• Threads
• What You Wish For
• Demonlover
• Boarding Gate

• The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave
• The Iguana with the Tongue of Fire
• The Suspicious Death of a Minor
• Smile Before Death
• The Weapon, the Hour, the Motive
• The Killer Reserved Nine Seats
• The Possessed
• The Fifth Cord
• The Pyjama Girl Case
• The Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion

...plus 2 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.

• The Girl Who Knew Too Much
• Blood and Black Lace
• The Bird with the Crystal Plumage
• In the Folds of the Flesh
• All the Colors of the Dark
• Death Walks at Midnight
• Don't Torture a Duckling
• Who Saw Her Die?
• Torso
• What Have They Done to Your Daughters?

...plus 3 more. View the full list on Letterboxd.