As some of our regular readers undoubtedly know, I am involved in a few weekly watch parties. On Twitter, I host #FridayNightFlix every Friday and I co-host #ScarySocial on Saturday. On Mastodon, I am one of the five hosts of #MondayActionMovie! Every week, we get together. We watch a movie. We tweet our way through it.
Tonight, at 10 pm et, I will be hosting #FridayNightFlix! The movie? 1991’s Double Impact!
If you want to join us this Friday, just hop onto twitter, find Double Impact on Prime, start the movie at 10 pm et, and use the #FridayNightFlix hashtag! I’ll be there happily tweeting. It’s a friendly group and welcoming of newcomers so don’t be shy.
The Crow (1994) soundtrack stands as a cornerstone of mid-90s alternative rock, capturing the gothic essence of Alex Proyas’s film through a masterful blend of original tracks, re-recordings, and covers from the era’s heaviest hitters. Released on March 29, 1994, by Atlantic Records, this 14-track album clocked in at 63:50, peaking at number one on the Billboard 200 and earning triple platinum status with over three million copies sold in the U.S. alone. Its success wasn’t just commercial; it encapsulated the raw, brooding spirit of grunge, industrial, and post-punk at their commercial zenith, turning a superhero revenge tale into a sonic monument for disaffected youth.
Opening with Burn by The Cure, the album immediately plunges listeners into the film’s shadowy heart. Written specifically for the movie, this six-minute epic pulses with Robert Smith’s haunting vocals over swirling guitars and tribal drums, evoking Eric Draven’s resurrection and transformation. It’s a high point, perfectly syncing with the scene where Brandon Lee’s character applies his iconic black-and-white makeup, the song’s fiery intensity mirroring the crow’s vengeful rebirth. The Cure, fresh off their own chart dominance, deliver a track that feels both timeless and tailor-made, its gothic romance aligning seamlessly with James O’Barr’s original comic influences—like the page devoted to their earlier song The Hanging Garden.
Stone Temple Pilots follow with Big Empty, a mellow, blues-drenched lament that didn’t appear in the film’s body but bookends the credits. Initially, the band offered Only Dying, but after Lee’s tragic on-set death, they swapped it for this brooding gem, its introspective lyrics about loss resonating deeply with the movie’s themes of grief and redemption. Scott Weiland’s vulnerable croon over swirling psychedelia captures the quiet despair of Detroit’s rain-soaked nights, making it a fan favorite that lingers long after the album spins.
The pace shifts with Slip Slide Melting by For Love Not Lisa, a grungy alternative rocker that underscores the T-Bird gang’s Devil’s Night revelry. Its sludgy riffs and anthemic chorus fit the criminals’ bullet-swallowing bravado, though the track’s mid-tempo grind can feel formulaic amid the album’s bolder moments. Similarly, Rollins Band’s Ghostrider—a cover of Suicide’s 1977 punk staple inspired by the Marvel antihero—thunders in with Henry Rollins’ barked vocals and aggressive guitars. Heard as Top Dollar learns of the pawn shop arson, it injects punk fury, but its raw energy sometimes overshadows subtler nuances.
Nine Inch Nails’ take on Joy Division’s Dead Souls elevates the covers further, Trent Reznor’s industrial edge amplifying the original’s post-punk chill. Guiding the crow to its first target, Tin Tin, the song’s droning synths and pounding rhythm evoke inescapable fate, a nod to the comic’s Joy Division obsession—chapters titled after Atmosphere and Atrocity Exhibition. It’s a standout, bridging 80s goth roots with 90s aggression, though purists might prefer Ian Curtis’s spectral delivery.
Helmet’s Milquetoast (often stylized Milktoast) brings math-rock precision, its staccato riffs and Page Hamilton’s yelps embodying mechanical rage. Less tied to a specific scene, it slots into the album’s industrial undercurrent, offering tight songcraft but lacking the emotional punch of neighbors like The Cure. Pantera’s The Badge, covering Poison Idea’s hardcore punk original, ramps up the metal as Top Dollar executes Gideon. Dimebag Darrell’s searing solos and Phil Anselmo’s snarls deliver brutality, fitting the film’s climax, yet the track’s extremity can alienate non-metal fans.
For Love Not Lisa’s inclusion feels slightly redundant after their opener, but Slip Slide Melting at least varies tempo. More intriguing is My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult’s After the Flesh, a re-recording of Nervous Xians from their nightclub cameo. Grooving with hip-hop beats, distorted samples, and sultry spoken-word, it pulses with sleazy underworld vibe, capturing the film’s seedy underbelly.
The Jesus and Mary Chain’s Snakedriver adds shoegaze haze, Jim Reid’s drawl weaving through feedback-drenched guitars. Not featured prominently in the movie, it evokes serpentine cunning, though its dreamy wash occasionally drifts into monotony. Medicine’s Time Baby III, an evolved version of their film performance with Cocteau Twins’ Elizabeth Fraser on ethereal vocals, shimmers with shoegaze bliss. The original Time Baby II plays in the club, but this iteration’s Fraser guest spot adds haunting fragility, a brief respite in the aggression.
Rage Against the Machine’s Darkness—a reworking of their B-side Darkness of Greed—fumes with Zack de la Rocha’s righteous fury over Tom Morello’s jagged riffs. Soundtracking Albrecht and Sarah’s hotdog stand chat, it critiques urban decay, aligning with the film’s anti-corruption bent, but its preachiness might grate on repeat listens.
Violent Femmes’ Color Me Once brings folk-punk twitchiness, Gordon Gano’s manic energy suiting the gothic whimsy, though it feels like an outlier amid the heavier fare. Closing with Jane Siberry’s It Can’t Rain All the Time, co-written with composer Graeme Revell from a film quote, the album ends on poignant hope. Its orchestral swell and Siberry’s tender delivery reunite Eric with Shelly’s spirit, shifting from vengeance to catharsis—an emotional anchor that ties the chaos together.
As a cohesive whole, The Crow soundtrack triumphs as a film companion, each track meticulously synced to amplify Proyas’s visuals: from the gang’s swagger to Draven’s flights of fury. Hits like Burn, Dead Souls, and Big Empty propelled it to cultural icon status, introducing casual listeners to acts like STP and NIN while honoring goth forebears. Commercially, it mirrored the era’s alt-rock boom—albums by The Cure, STP, and Pantera had topped charts—crystallizing a moment when industrial and grunge converged.
Yet balance demands critique: as a standalone album, it falters. The reliance on covers (Ghostrider, The Badge, Dead Souls) showcases reverence but rarely innovation, with some feeling like scene-setters over standalone statements. Lesser lights like Milquetoast or Snakedriver blur into a wall of distortion, lacking memorable hooks. Pacing sags mid-album, the industrial barrage overwhelming subtler gems like Time Baby III. Female voices—Fraser, Siberry—provide welcome contrast, but the male-dominated roster reflects 90s rock’s bro-ish tilt.
Thematically, it excels: rain, resurrection, and romance weave through lyrics, echoing the comic’s poetic vengeance. O’Barr’s Joy Division fandom shines, while custom tracks like Burn and It Can’t Rain All the Time feel organic. Post-Lee’s death, the album gained mythic weight, Big Empty‘s swap a somber tribute.
In 2026, with vinyl reissues etched with crow motifs, it endures as a time capsule—flawed, ferocious, unforgettable. For fans of the film, it’s essential; for alt-rock purists, a thrilling if uneven ride. Its legacy? Proving soundtracks could outshine the screen, raining darkness and light in equal measure.
I love Don Knotts. I’m one of those people who have watched every episode of THE ANDY GRIFFITH SHOW (1960-1968) multiple times. And while it’s true that there are good episodes in the last three seasons, the series was at its best when Sheriff Andy Taylor and his sidekick Barney Fife were serving the townsfolk of Mayberry, North Carolina during the first five seasons. In Barney Fife, Don Knotts created one of the best characters in television history, earning five Emmy Awards in the process. When Don Knotts left the series at the height of its popularity, the first movie he made was THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN!
In THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN, Knotts plays Luther Heggs, a meek typesetter at a small-town newspaper in Rachel, Kansas, who dreams of being a serious reporter but is treated like a joke by nearly everyone around him. When the town prepares for the 20-year anniversary of an unsolved murder at the supposedly haunted Simmons Mansion, Luther unexpectedly gets a chance to prove himself. He volunteers to spend the night alone in the mansion to see if it really is haunted. As you might expect, Luther is scared out of his mind as he hears banging on the walls, discovers secret passageways, and observes blood-stained organs playing themselves. The night culminates with Luther seeing a portrait of poor Mrs. Simmons with gardening shears piercing her throat! By surviving the night, and then telling the truth about what he experienced, Luther just may uncover a real crime being committed behind all of this “supernatural” activity!
Since Don Knotts left THE ANDY GRIFFITH SHOW to pursue a movie career, I’m glad to report that his decision to star in THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN was a really good choice. His performance is a masterpiece of physical comedy. Sure, Knotts trembles, shakes and delivers his lines in his awkward, nervous way for a lot of laughs, but he also provides a vulnerability that really makes you root for him. Knotts knew how to play lovable losers in a way that shows a quiet decency. He may actually be scared, and he may seem like a real pushover, but he also finds the courage to do the right thing even when it’s not easy. This was true for Barney Fife, and it’s also true for Luther Heggs in THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN.
Aside from Don Knotts, THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN has a solid supporting cast! Joan Staley is very beautiful as Luther’s love interest, Alma. Staley was a Playboy Playmate in 1958, so I can definitely see why Luther is in love. I like the fact that her Alma is more than just a pretty face. Rather, she’s one of the few people who sees Luther as more than a joke, which makes her even more appealing. Meanwhile, Luther’s newsroom boss (Dick Sargent) and office rival (Skip Homeier) never miss an opportunity to be condescending. The director Alan Rafkin directed 27 episodes of THE ANDY GRIFFITH SHOW, so he definitely knows how to get the best comedy out of Knotts and the rest of his cast. He also keeps the tone light, with the haunted house set pieces playing out like gentle, kid-friendly chills rather than anything truly scary. The blood-stained organ / garden shears sequence in the mansion is especially effective, with Don Knotts perfectly walking the line between raging fear and slapstick comedy. Signaling that there was a big audience for Don Knotts in the movies, THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN proved to be a box office hit, taking the number one spot during its first week of release, and grossing about eight times its budget!
Ultimately, THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN endures because it understands the special qualities of its star. Don Knotts is funny, and he’s also human. He may be scared out of his mind, but he also has decency and an ability to find courage when he must. In that way, it’s a comfort movie, a should-be Halloween staple, and finally, a reminder that sometimes the bravest person in the room is the one who can’t quit shaking.
Rest in peace, Bryan Loren. Loren was a recording artist who also wrote songs for everyone from Michael Jackson to Whitney Houston and Sting but a generation will always remember him best for writing Do The Bartman.
And yes, this video was directed by the same Brad Bird who later directed The Incredibles, Ratatouille, and Mission Impossible — Ghost Protocol.
“If you have to hurt people, God won’t judge you. Don’t think of them as human beings. Think of them as Americans.” — Joan Harper
Episode 7 of Fallout season 2, “The Handoff,” sneaks up on you like a radstorm on the horizon—one of those late-season gut checks that reshuffles priorities without much fanfare. It’s got ambition oozing from every irradiated pore, bouncing between mind-bending Vault-Tec tech, vault-bound soap opera blowouts, and pre-war nightmares that hit way too close to home. The sprawl can feel chaotic at times, with not every character getting their full due, but the thematic throughline—how far will you go to survive, and what does it cost your soul?—keeps it cohesive and compelling. Dark humor peppers the bleakness, moral lines blur like fallout haze, and by the end, you’re left wondering who’s really pulling the strings in this wasteland mess.
Kicking things off with a bang—or more like a suicide bomber’s blast—the episode dives straight into a harrowing pre-war flashback spotlighting a young Steph Harper and her mother Joan, played with steely desperation by Natasha Henstridge. They’re clawing their way out of the Uranium City internment camp, a grim U.S. holding pen for Canadian citizens rounded up in the Resource Wars’ fever pitch. Power-armored goons close in, hurling firepower and slurs amid the pandemonium, until Joan grabs her kid and hisses that unforgettable line: “Don’t think of them as human beings. Think of them as Americans.” Oof. It’s a dehumanizing gut-punch that sets the episode’s tone right away, illustrating how the pre-apocalypse world was already a powder keg of nationalism run amok, where “us vs. them” justified any atrocity. And talk about prescient or coincidental timing—this drops amid 2026’s real-world headlines of U.S.-Canada friction, from Trump’s tariff saber-rattling and Davos snubs to wild talk of military “hypotheticals” and economic arm-twisting between the North American neighbors. Whether the writers had a crystal ball or just nailed the evergreen vibe of border paranoia, it makes the fiction feel like a mirror held up to today’s geopolitics, amplifying the episode’s warnings about how quickly “allies” turn into existential threats.
That raw survival instinct bleeds seamlessly into Lucy’s arc, which powers the hour like a fusion core. Trapped in a gleaming Vault-Tec bunker, she’s stuck playing house with her dad Hank, who’s equal parts folksy mentor and corporate ghoul. The star of the show here is their memory-reprogramming gizmo—a hulking console that dials memories up, down, or into oblivion like tweaking a Pip-Boy radio. Hank gives her the tour on a goofy golf cart joyride through empty offices, explaining it with the enthusiasm of a salesman hawking timeshares: boost the happy bits, erase the trauma, rinse and repeat. It’s genius-level creepy, transforming what could be bland sci-fi into a satire of corporate wellness gone murderous. Vault-Tec didn’t invent evil; they just bureaucratized it, turning ethical nightmares into quarterly performance metrics. Lucy starts off hopeful, probing for the father she remembers from Vault 33, but those sterile hallways and his breezy justifications erode her faith layer by layer. The awkward father-daughter chats—half bonding session, half indoctrination—build real tension, showing her idealism cracking under the weight of his casual complicity.
Then comes the dinner scene, a masterclass in quiet devastation. Lucy clocks the NCR soldier she’d warmed to earlier, now a vacant-eyed tray jockey slinging slop with a lobotomized grin. Boom—personal loss made visceral. No swelling score or slow-mo needed; it’s the everyday horror of a friend erased that ignites her fire. She snaps, cuffing Hank to the kitchen drawer in a moment that’s equal parts petty revenge and profound symbolism. No more running from the truth, pops. Ella Purnell nails the transformation: Lucy’s not snapping into cynicism, she’s forging resolve from the ashes of naivety. Her wide-eyed wasteland optimism was always her superpower, but here it matures into a fierce moral compass that doesn’t bend for family ties or Vault-Tec spin. It’s the episode’s emotional core, proving Fallout shines brightest when it grounds big ideas in intimate betrayals.
Meanwhile, Vault 32 delivers the chaos quotient with Steph’s implosion, riffing off the flashback’s desperation in a claustrophobic, community-drama wrapper. Steph’s been teetering on insecure overlord vibes all season—fake-it-till-you-make-it overseer masking cracks with smiles and status games. But Woody’s shattered glasses fished from the garbage disposal? That’s the innocuous spark that lights the fuse. Chet, nursing his quiet rage, hits critical mass smack in the middle of their wedding. Steph bulldozing ahead with vows while the room simmers? Cringe gold. When Chet unloads publicly—secrets, lies, the works—it cascades into pandemonium: guests flip to an angry horde, baying for blood as they chase her into the Overseer’s lair. It’s Fallout‘s sweet spot—pulpy melodrama meets social horror, exposing vault life as a fragile illusion of civility. One bad call, one hidden body, and poof: the social contract shreds. Steph morphs from punchline to predator, cornered and feral, hinting she’s capable of worse. The handheld camerawork ramps the frenzy, trapping you in the mob’s ugly momentum, while the petty human stakes keep it relatable amid the apocalypse schlock.
Maximus pulls a solid B-plot shift, hunkered in an NCR gear depot where he finally claims power armor like it’s his birthright. Gone’s the jittery Brotherhood hopeful; enter a guy starting to fill out the role, clanking around with newfound purpose. Aaron Moten plays it understated—no hero pose, just incremental grit that nods to his growth without overshadowing the mains. It’s smart table-setting: the season’s been chipping at Brotherhood dogma, and Maximus suiting up feels like him inching toward their ideal, blind spots and all. Could use more introspection, sure, but it plants seeds for faction fireworks down the line.
Norm? Rough week. His subplot—eavesdropped identity slip, knockout punch, prisoner drag—teases intrigue but fizzles into logistics. It’s the script shuffling pieces, not diving into his vault-rat cunning or isolation. Fans of his sly outsider lens might gripe at the neglect, highlighting the episode’s tightrope walk over ensemble overload.
Technically, it’s a banger. Vault-Tec’s retro-futurist sheen—neon signs, buzzing fluorescents—clashes beautifully with the soul-crushing tech, like a twisted ad for the American Dream. The wedding revolt goes gritty and kinetic, sweat and shouts filling the frame. Purnell anchors the heart, Steph’s portrayer the hysteria, Henstridge the haunting cameo. Sound design pops too: distant echoes in the offices, the wedding’s rising clamor, that bomber’s muffled roar.
Balance is the bugaboo—too many irons mean rushed beats for Maximus and Norm. Yet it embodies Fallout‘s messy ethos: no tidy arcs, just grinding compromises under institutional thumbs. The Uranium City prelude warns of pre-war poison still pumping through the veins, Lucy’s defiance spotlights personal agency, Vault 32’s riot proves communities devour their own. “The Handoff” probes free will amid rigged games, from neural hacks to tribal loyalties, all laced with wasteland wit. Flawed? Marginally. Essential? Hell yes. The finale looms like an Enclave drop-ship—everything teeters, primed for Fallout‘s brand of irradiated reckoning.
This song is from KISS’s fifth studio album, Rock and Roll Over. This music video is from the age of simple music videos, when the focus was more on the band playing than on trying to tell a story with song. When its comes to KISS, their simple videos, like this one, are the best. Also, their videos with the famous KISS makeup are better than the videos they shot during the period of time when they tried to abandon their trademark look.
Taylor Sheridan has become a fairly big part of my life over the last decade. It started when I saw HELL OR HIGH WATER in the movie theater back in 2016. It was one of my favorite movies of the year, and it was written by a guy named Taylor Sheridan. Well, the next year brought us WIND RIVER, which was both written and directed by Taylor Sheridan, and it was one of my favorite movies of 2017. Then came the series YELLOWSTONE, which was created by Taylor Sheridan and began airing in 2018. I didn’t watch the first couple of seasons, but I thought it looked good and even bought the first season on DVD when I saw it for sale at Wal Mart. When my wife Sierra came home from performing her nursely duties at the hospital and told me that everyone was saying that we needed to watch YELLOWSTONE, I informed her that I just so happened to own Season 1 on DVD. So, we popped it in the DVD player, and we were soon obsessed with the world of the Duttons. My wife took special joy in the characters of Beth (Kelly Reilly) and Rip (Cole Hauser), while John Dutton (Kevin Costner) and Rip kept my attention. I’ll admit that it scared me a little bit that Sierra enjoyed Beth so much, and I’m glad to report that, up to this point, she has not started trying to emulate her actions in real life!
When YELLOWSTONE ended its run at the end of 2024, the Paramount network was putting a major marketing push into their latest “Taylor Sheridan” series, that being LANDMAN, which had started its first season around the same time YELLOWSTONE was wrapping up its final season. I’m a huge fan of actor Billy Bob Thornton, so the fact that he was headlining a series set in Texas oil country automatically piqued my curiosity. Not ready to commit to 10 hours’ worth of LANDMAN episodes quite yet, we put the show on the backburner for a bit, knowing that we could jump in and watch it whenever we wanted to. Well, this past weekend, we got snowed in here in Central Arkansas, so I asked Sierra if she’d like to watch a few episodes of LANDMAN. Needless to say, over the course of the day we watched every episode of Season 1. I really enjoyed the first season and decided to share some of my thoughts with you.
First off, if I’m going to commit to watching 10 hours’ worth of anything, I need to really like at least some of the characters. I don’t just like Billy Bob Thornton’s portrayal of the “Landman” of the title, his Tommy Norris is now one of my favorite characters that he’s ever played. He’s the ultimate realist, because no matter what situation he finds himself in, whether he’s dealing with the head of a drug cartel, the head of his oil company, or his ex-wife, he tackles every situation by uniquely framing the specific issues in a matter of moments and then providing solutions that appeal to his audience’s most base instincts. Alternatively hilarious, serious, heartbreaking and genius, Thornton gives a masterful performance that I don’t think anyone else could have pulled off any more effectively. His ex-wife Angela (Ali Larter) is probably the toughest of all for him to deal with as his own sense of self-preservation seems to go out the window whenever she’s around. Ali Larter’s performance as Angela is loud, brash, attention-seeking, hypersexual, and every so often, just vulnerable enough that you can kind of like her. I think she’s great, and quite sexy, in the role. Michelle Randolph and Jacob Lofland get a lot of screen time in the first season as their children, Ainsley Norris and Cooper Norris. Michelle is cute and spunky, definitely her mother’s daughter, but she also loves her dad so much. I like her. Lofland, who, like Thornton, is from my state of Arkansas, has a meatier role, having to deal with tragedy from the very beginning and then serious family drama as the season plays out. It’s not a showy role, but he does a solid job. The other performance that I really enjoy throughout season 1 comes from Jon Hamm as the head of the oil company, Monty Miller. I kept referring to him as J.R. Ewing as I watched because he’s the big boss. He’s the person that Tommy Norris calls when he can’t solve their problems. Unlike J.R. Ewing, although Miller is a tough businessman, he’s also a committed family man who tries to be there for his wife Cami (Demi Moore) and their daughters when they need him. He is as hard-nosed as it gets in his business dealings, though, and it’s easy to see why he had emerged as the main guy over Tommy. I did want to shout out the actors Colm Feore, James Jordan and Mustafa Speaks as various employees of the oil company who provide different elements of humor and toughness to the proceedings over the course of the season. Finally, as far as the primary cast, while prominently credited throughout the first season, Demi Moore has relatively little to do until the very end of season 1. If you’re a big fan of hers, just know that going in. Her character seems primed to be a big part of season 2, though, so it will be interesting to see where that goes.
Second, like with any popular dramatic TV series, LANDMAN Season 1 contains some storylines that I really enjoy, while there are some that I don’t really care for. Where LANDMAN really works for me is when it features Billy Bob Thornton’s Tommy Norris as a fixer of some sort. It was in these storylines that we get to see his ability to use his intelligence, communication skills, and understanding of human nature to come up with solutions that are best for everyone. It might not always be easy, and he might have to take a beating every now and then, but Tommy knows how to get things done, and the show is at its best when it’s focused on him. We see this throughout season 1 as Norris deals with a variety of cartel henchmen, hotshot attorneys, and unhappy leaseholders in order to advance his company, M-Tex’s interests. There are also a few badass moments when it becomes clear that talking won’t get the job done, and even more direct methods will have to be used to get his point across. This usually happens when Tommy’s feeling the need to protect his children. If there is a weakness to the show, for me, it’s the fact that when Tommy Norris isn’t part of the proceedings, I don’t like it nearly as much. For example, while scenes involving Jacob Lofland’s character, Cooper, and the recently widowed young mother Ariana (Paulina Chavez), whose husband was an employee of the company, ramp up the melodrama, they also take up a lot of time, and I don’t find them very appealing. The same can be said when Ali Larter’s character, Angela, and her daughter Ainsley, decide they’re going to volunteer at a nursing home, and then proceed to hook the residents up with alcohol and even take them to a strip club. While I smiled at some of the proceedings, they weren’t realistic and didn’t really add anything to the story. I even found myself worrying about some of the residents, I mean, I’m sure some of their medication was NOT compatible with tequila! I’m guessing that these quibbles really just come down to a matter of personal preference, as I’m sure there are some who enjoy these moments more than I do. I will admit that these scenes are well-acted and performed even if they’re not advancing my favorite parts of the story.
Overall, I really enjoyed season 1 of LANDMAN, and I’m looking forward to jumping into season 2 soon, which is now streaming. The last couple of episodes of season 1 introduced or elevated some very interesting characters who will have more prominent roles moving forward (played by Andy Garcia and Demi Moore), and peaking ahead, season 2 also appears to have some interesting additions to the cast (I’m looking at you Sam Elliott). I’m looking forward to the next 10 hours of fun!
Through the Shattered Lens 