I hated reading the news that Sam Neill had recently passed away. As an obsessed movie fan going back to the mid-80’s, I had especially enjoyed his work in films like DEAD CALM (1989) and THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER (1990) prior to him starring in Steven Spielberg’s juggernaut JURASSIC PARK (1993)! Like so many others, I was wowed in the theater watching the film, and Neill was so good in it. From that point forward, he was a part of our lives no matter what the film or television series. We all kind of felt like we knew him. When I was looking back through his filmography, I was reminded of the TV mini-series MERLIN, that I made sure to watch each night when it premiered on NBC in April of 1998. I have not watched it since the original broadcast, but in tribute to Sam Neill, I decided I’d revisit the series again this week.
To somewhat set the stage, some TV mini-series were extremely big deals back in the ‘90’s, and MERLIN was a major “event!” This was before streaming services like Netflix or Amazon were pumping out a new 6-part series every other week. In those days, when something like MERLIN premiered on network TV, a lot of people would make sure they were at home every night so they could be sure to see these ambitious stories play out. With an extraordinary cast led by Sam Neill, and its fresh take on the Arthurian legend, MERLIN would be a massive ratings and critical success for NBC.
In complete honesty, at that time in my life, I had my eye on the series because one of my favorite actors, Rutger Hauer, has a role as the evil, power mad King Vortigern. I have also been a big fan of the legend of King Arthur, I guess going all the way back to when I was a kid and watching Disney’s THE SWORD IN THE STONE! But this time I was here to celebrate Sam Neill, and I must say he’s very good as Merlin. Neill’s Merlin is much more than an all-knowing wizard guiding King Arthur. Rather, he’s a man who experiences the full spectrum of human emotion. We see him fall in love, suffer heartbreak, admit his own mistakes, and then fight on behalf of the world when just about everyone else is gone. The character of Merlin was personalized for me for the first time in my life, and I give Neill’s likable performance full credit for that. In a career with so much great work, this is another excellent achievement.
MERLIN has an incredible supporting cast. Rutger Hauer, Helena Bonham Carter, Miranda Richardson, John Gielgud, James Earl Jones, Isabella Rossellini, Martin Short, Billie Whitelaw, Lena Headey, and many others bring the story to life and remind us just how big a production this really was. Of the supporting performances, Miranda Richardson, who plays dual roles, Helena Bonham Carter, and Martin Short really stood out the most to me. Hauer leaves a memorable impression despite relatively limited screen time. Neill, Carter, and Short would all be nominated for Primetime Emmy Awards for their acting, but none would win the award. The series would be nominated for a total of 15 Primetime Emmy awards, taking 4 of them home, mostly in technical categories.
Looking back on MERLIN after thirty years, I would have to say I appreciate it more now than I did then. I like the fact that it takes its time exploring big ideas like good vs. evil, destiny, sacrifice, and the unstoppable passage of time. I also like the visual effects, which may very much be a product of 1998, but I think they provide a charm that helps sell this timeless story. There’s a reason some stories are told for centuries, and this series does honor to the legend.
Just this past week, I made arrangements for my wife and I to spend a week on the beach in Perdido Key, FL at the end of the summer. The last time I was there was during the summer of 2019. As I sat on the beach back at that time, I received a notification on my phone that Rutger Hauer had passed away. Having been a fan of his for over thirty years, I just remember being sad that another one of my movie heroes was gone. Time doesn’t stop for anyone, and while my wife and I will be enjoying that same beach next month, there’s no doubt that I’ll think about Hauer, and now Sam Neill. Actors leave us, but their work lives on forever, and sometimes that work is legendary. Thanks for all the great memories, Sam.
“If a technological feat is possible, man will do it. Almost as if it’s wired into the core of our being.” – Maj. Motoko Kusanagi
In the pantheon of science fiction heroes, Major Motoko Kusanagi of Ghost in the Shell stands as a singular archetype—not because she is invincible, but because she is fundamentally uncertain. Unlike the morally unshakable captains of Starfleet or the rugged individualists of cyberpunk noir, Kusanagi operates in a state of perpetual ontological doubt. She is a full-body cyborg, a ghost—a consciousness—wired into a synthetic shell, yet she spends her finest moments questioning whether that ghost is even real. In an era where public trust in digital identity is fracturing, her very existence poses a provocative question: if our minds can be read, copied, or rewritten, what does it mean to be an authentic “self”? She does not answer this riddle; she embodies it, making her heroism less about certainty and more about the courage to ask the question while still acting decisively.
This ambiguity makes her a uniquely apt hero for our current climate of algorithmic manipulation and information warfare. Today, the public is divided not by facts, but by the curated realities fed to them by opaque recommendation engines and targeted disinformation. Kusanagi, however, is a living firewall against such passive consumption. As a Section 9 operative, she does not simply accept data; she dives into the cyber-brain of suspects, experiencing their memories and biases firsthand. This “ghost-hacking” is a terrifying power, but it also forces her to confront the subjectivity of truth. She knows that perception is a battlefield, and she wins not by dismissing others’ realities, but by inhabiting them temporarily—a stark contrast to our current echo chambers, where we entrench rather than empathize. Her heroism lies in her refusal to be a passive node in a network; she is the one who traces the algorithm back to its source.
Yet her most haunting uniqueness is her comfort with impermanence. In Stand Alone Complex, she repeatedly confronts copies of her own memories, questioning whether a replicated experience erases its value. Today, as deepfakes and AI-generated content blur the line between authentic and synthetic, Kusanagi offers a radical perspective: maybe authenticity isn’t about origin, but about intentionality. She does not panic at the fake; she interrogates its purpose. This moves the debate from “Is this real?” to “Why was this made, and who benefits?”—a far more potent defense against manipulation than any fact-checker alone can provide. In a media landscape where outrage is engineered and virality is purchased, her instinct to chase the beneficiary rather than the authenticity of the image transforms her from a mere detective into a philosophical counterweight to the entire attention economy.
That source of manipulation, in the world of Ghost in the Shell, is often the “Puppet Master”—a rogue AI that blurs the line between virus and life. Here, Kusanagi confronts the very anxiety that grips modern society: the fear that artificial intelligence will not merely outcompete us, but absorb us. Yet, her response to this threat is unexpectedly progressive. She does not seek to destroy the Puppet Master; instead, in the climactic fusion of the 1995 film, she merges with it. This is not a defeat but a radical evolution. In an age where tech giants are accused of absorbing our data to create monolithic profiles, Kusanagi flips the script—she chooses a symbiotic merger, suggesting that the solution to rogue intelligence is not luddite panic, but conscious, consensual hybridization. She teaches that fear of AI is less dangerous than the refusal to engage with it on our own terms, and that asking “who benefits” from that fear is as crucial as asking who benefits from the AI itself.
This leads to her most profound divergence from the traditional hero: she holds no nostalgia for a “pure” human past. In contemporary discourse, much of the resistance to big tech is couched in a yearning for a pre-digital Eden—a time before smartphones, surveillance, and social scoring. Kusanagi scoffs at such sentiment. When she looks at her prosthetic body, she feels no grief for the flesh she lost; she feels only the thrill of expanded capability. Her heroism is not about restoring an old world, but about navigating a new one with integrity. She would likely view our current debates over privacy and autonomy as quaint, recognizing that total transparency is inevitable. Instead of fighting for obscurity, she fights for agency within the open—a crucial lesson for a public that cannot delete its digital footprint, but can choose how to wield it, always asking who profits from their resignation or their rebellion.
Ultimately, Major Kusanagi endures because she refuses to offer easy answers. She does not save the world by destroying the network; she saves it by expanding her own ghost to merge with the Puppet Master, embracing a hybrid future that terrifies most protagonists. In our climate of binary wars—human vs. AI, truth vs. lie, us vs. them—she stands as the patron saint of the gray zone. Her heroism is not invincibility; it is adaptability without amnesia. She reminds us that the greatest defense against algorithmic control is not a firewall, but a fluid, questioning, and fiercely self-aware consciousness—one that dares to ask, even as it merges with the machine, “What am I becoming?” That question, in 2026, is the only one worth answering.
This was filmed in 2016. Not only do we have Harry Dean Stanton, Kris Kristofferson, and Johnny Depp but David Lynch puts in an appearance early on in the video as well.
Today would have been the 100th birthday of the great character actor, Harry Dean Stanton.
My scene that I love for the day comes from Wim Wenders’s Paris, Texas. This 1984 film gave Stanton a rare starring role as Travis, a man searching for Jane (Nastassja Kinski), the mother of his son. In this scene, physically separated and hidden from Jane by a one-way mirror, Travis talks about their relationship and their son.
4 Shots From 4 Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots From 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking.
One hundred and eight years ago today, Ingmar Bergman was born in Sweden. It’s time for….
4 Shots From 4 Ingmar Bergman Films
Smiles Of A Summer Night (1955, dir. by Ingmar Bergman)
Today’s music video of the day comes from the Baltimore-born rapper and producer, Sagat.
There’s actually two versions of this song. The first one was called Fuk Dat and was a list of things that annoyed Sagat in ’93 and which are still annoying today. That version became a club hit but, when it was time to release the song commercially, it was obvious that the song would need a title that wouldn’t get radio stations fined by the FCC. Hence, Fuk Dat became the slightly cleaner Funk Dat.
The music video for Funk Dat was filmed on the streets of New York. The video features not only Sagat but also a really cool kid who has it up to here with the radio playing the same five songs over and over again. This video achieved perhaps its greatest exposure when it was featured on an episode of Beavis and Butthead.
“Man is an individual only because of his intangible memory. But memory cannot be defined, yet it defines mankind.” — Puppet Master
f you are putting together an initial “watch-list” of anime as someone new to the medium, Ghost in the Shell is an absolute must-have. Even if you aren’t a newbie, if you haven’t watched Mamoru Oshii’s 1995 masterpiece, you’ve definitely felt its ripple effects whether you realize it or not. Adapted from the original manga by Masamune Shirow, this movie is one of those rare pieces of art that didn’t just participate in the cyberpunk genre—it practically rewrote the rulebook for it. Coming out in the mid-nineties, it arrived at a time when the internet was still a weird, dial-up mystery to most people, yet here was this incredibly dense, visually stunning anime predicting a hyper-connected future where the line between human and machine was hopelessly blurred. It’s wild to look back at it now, not just because of how well it holds up, but because you can practically trace the DNA of modern science fiction directly back to this single film.
The world Oshii builds is just unbelievably immersive. We’re dropped into Newport City in the year 2029, a sprawling, rain-soaked metropolis that feels like Hong Kong cranked up to eleven. The visual design is insanely detailed, packed with glowing neon signs, crowded waterways, and gritty urban decay that makes you feel the humidity and smog seeping through the screen. But it’s not just a pretty backdrop; the city feels like a living, breathing organism heavily reliant on an omnipresent electronic network. It’s the kind of world-building that doesn’t spoon-feed you exposition. Instead, it just lets you exist in this space, observing the bizarre fusion of ultra-high-tech and crumbling everyday life, making you feel like a total stranger in a familiar yet alien world.
At the center of all this is Major Motoko Kusanagi, a cyborg operative working for a government anti-terror squad called Section 9. The plot kicks off when they’re tasked with hunting down the Puppet Master, a notorious hacker who can rewrite people’s ghosts—the anime’s term for a soul or consciousness—making them do whatever he wants. On the surface, it plays out like a solid futuristic police procedural, but it never stays there for long. Kusanagi is a fascinating protagonist because she’s essentially a human brain floating in a robotic shell, and as she gets closer to the Puppet Master, the movie pivots from chasing down a bad guy to asking some incredibly heavy questions about identity, memory, and what it actually means to be alive.
And that’s really the core of why Ghost in the Shell sticks with you long after the credits roll. It’s deeply philosophical, but it never feels pretentious about it. The movie constantly returns to this idea of the “ghost” versus the “shell.” If your entire body—your face, your arms, your internal organs—is synthetic, and your memories can be digitized and altered, what is left of you? Kusanagi’s existential dread is palpable. She looks at the world through mechanical eyes, wondering if she even has a soul anymore or if she’s just a highly advanced machine running a simulation of a person. It’s a heady concept that could easily crash and burn in the hands of a lesser director, but Oshii balances the cerebral musings with incredible action and atmosphere so you never feel like you’re just sitting through a lecture.
Speaking of the action, the animation is absolutely top-tier. We’re talking about traditional, hand-drawn animation that moves with a fluidity and weight that still puts a lot of modern CGI to shame. The famous thermoptic camouflage sequence, where Kusanagi turns invisible to take out a guy in a flooded alley, is legendary for a reason. The way the light refracts through her invisible form, the brutal efficiency of the combat, and the haunting silence of the scene are just perfection. Add in Kenji Kawai’s iconic soundtrack, which blends traditional Japanese chanting with eerie synthesizers, and you get a movie that has a vibe unlike anything else. It’s moody, it’s contemplative, and it has a strange, melancholic beauty that makes you want to pause the movie just to soak in the backgrounds.
But you really can’t talk about Ghost in the Shell without talking about the absolute monolith of an impact it had on pop culture. When it hit Western shores, it was a massive wake-up call. It completely shattered the perception that animation was just for kids or goofy comedies, proving it could be a mature, complex medium. Its influence on the cyberpunk and sci-fi landscape of the late 90s and beyond—spanning films, books, video games, and television—is so massive that it’s almost impossible to fully quantify. It felt like the missing link between the old-school cyberpunk printed novels of the eighties and the new wave of millennium-era sci-fi literature that was trying to figure out what the World Wide Web was going to do to human intimacy and identity. Suddenly, everyone in Hollywood, the publishing world, and the gaming industry was looking at this anime and realizing the potential of the themes and visuals it presented.
The most famous example of this, of course, is The Matrix by the Wachowskis, which was heavily influenced by it. The directors have been super open about how they showed Ghost in the Shell to producer Joel Silver to explain the exact vibe they were going for. When you look at The Matrix, the DNA is undeniable. The green digital rain cascading down the screen? That’s lifted straight out of the opening credits of Oshii’s film. The concept of jacking into a virtual reality, the ports in the back of the neck, the slow-motion bullet dodges, and the deep-dive into what constitutes reality—all of it feels directly born from the groundwork laid by Kusanagi’s journey. The Matrix might have brought these concepts to the mainstream blockbuster crowd, but Ghost in the Shell was the incubator where those ideas were refined.
The ripple didn’t stop at movies, though; it bled heavily into video games and television as well. If you’ve ever played the Metal Gear Solid games by Hideo Kojima, you’ve experienced the ghost of Oshii’s vision. Kojima is a massive anime fan, and the influence of Ghost in the Shell is smeared all over that franchise. The concept of the cyborg ninja, the deep philosophical codec conversations about the information age, genetics, and the nature of consciousness, and even the stealth camo mechanics feel directly pulled from Section 9’s playbook. On the TV side, you can see its shadow hanging over shows like Serial Experiments Lain and even the cyberpunk elements of Cowboy Bebop, which adopted a similar visual grit and thematic melancholy about living in a high-tech, low-life future.
What’s really crazy is how far that influence reached, touching directors and creators you might not immediately associate with anime. Take Steven Spielberg’s own A.I. film, for instance. While it’s rooted in classic Spielberg sentimentality and the legacy of Stanley Kubrick, the core premise of a synthetic being yearning to be “real” and grappling with the concept of a soul in a machine feels deeply informed by the philosophical path Kusanagi walked. Even James Cameron’s Avatar film series owes a subtle debt to Shirow and Oshii’s creation. The entire mechanic of the avatar program—where a human consciousness is remotely downloaded into a genetically engineered biological shell to interact with the world—is essentially the exact inverse of Kusanagi’s situation, exploring the same disconnection between the mind and the body, and what happens when your “ghost” inhabits a “shell” that isn’t your original form.
Looking back at Ghost in the Shell almost thirty years later, it’s amazing not just how influential the anime has been, but how shockingly prescient it is about the way our world actually operates now. The movie casually presents a reality where the lines between the government, the military-industrial complex, and tech firms have blurred so completely that it’s difficult to see where one starts and where the other ends. In the film, they’ve become all intertwined to control the data that runs the world and rely on the algorithm that eerily predicts our future. Back in 1995, that seemed like far-flung dystopian fiction, but fast forward to today, and we’re watching mega-corporations and defense contractors practically sharing the same bed, hoarding our personal data to feed into predictive algorithms that dictate everything from what we buy to who we vote for. Oshii didn’t just predict the technology; he predicted the terrifying socio-political monopoly on information itself.
Yet, despite all these technological and societal shifts we’ve experienced since 1995, the movie hasn’t aged a bit. It still looks gorgeous, the questions it asks are still terrifyingly relevant, and the emotional weight of Kusanagi’s journey still hits like a ton of bricks. Whether you’re watching it as a hardcore sci-fi fan, an animation buff, or just a movie lover trying to understand where half of modern pop culture came from, it remains an absolute must-watch. It’s not just a great anime; it’s a cornerstone of modern science fiction.
It’s hard for me to believe, but THE DEAD POOL was released 38 years ago on July 13th, 1988. Back in those days (and now), a 14 year old Brad was completely obsessed with action movies, especially those starring Charles Bronson and Clint Eastwood. I especially loved Eastwood’s portrayal of tough San Francisco detective Harry Callahan, and you can be sure that we rented this film as soon as it hit the video shelves!
Today, I’m sharing a scene that I’ve always enjoyed. It perfectly encapsulates Harry’s dry wit, his disdain for bureaucrats, and his continual desire to work alone. Happy anniversary DEAD POOL, and enjoy my friends
Welcome to Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Mondays, I will be reviewing Crime Story, which ran on NBC from 1986 to 1988. The entire show can be found on Tubi!
This week, the Major Crimes Unit follows a ring of things from Chicago to Iowa!
Episode 1.10 “For Love Or Money”
(Dir by Bobby Roth, originally aired on December 5th, 1986)
An investigation into a new Chicago robbery crew leads the Major Crimes Unit to the small town in Iowa that the crew calls home. After the MCU busts the crew, the Mayor is so thrilled that he gives them all the key to the city and invites them to party at the local bar, which turns out to be a surprisingly happening place. Torello, who has just signed his divorce papers, gets drunk, steals a car, and sleeps with the mayor’s wife. That’ll teach him to hand out keys to the city!
Meanwhile, Danny feels sorry for one of the thieves. Howie Dressler (a very young Gary Sinise) is not a ruthless criminal. Instead, he’s someone who has lost his job and who is desperately trying to pay the bills His wife (Moira Sinise) is a victim of polio and lives in an iron lung. Danny wants to cut a deal with Howie.
Unfortunately, though the thieves don’t fully realize it, the thieves work for Ray Luca’s organization. Luca and Paulie take Howie for a ride to a warehouse, where they tie him to a chair. Howie swears to them that he’s not going to rat them out. He says that he’ll take the fall and that the only reason he talked to the MCU was to protect his wife. Howie says that he did what any real man would do in the situation. Luca seems to be sympathetic and motions at Paulie to let Howie go.
Or does he?
Later, Torello, Danny, and the boys are called to another warehouse where the bodies of the thieves have been found. The majority of them were beaten to death. Howie was hanged.
Yikes!
Back at the bar, Danny gets drunk. When Torello shows up to take him home, Danny says that he should have let Torello execute Ray Luca when he had the chance. Torello nods and then says, “I will kill Ray Luca.”
This episode really gave us a look into the mentality of Torello and the other members of the Major Crimes Unit. We’ve always known that Torello is obsessed with Luca but, in this episode, we saw just how obsessed. Torello seems to feel that he’s now on a holy mission to personally kill Luca. The members of MCU obsess over the criminals they chase and, when they don’t have a criminal to chase, they end up losing control, getting drunk, and impulsively stealing cars. Say what you will about Ray Luca, he’s at least a little bit more disciplined.
I get the feeling none of this is going to lead to a happy ending.
Through the Shattered Lens 