Guilty Pleasure No. 92: Brewster’s Millions (dir. by Walter Hill)

Posted on December 12, 2025 by Arleigh

Walter Hill’s Brewster’s Millions (1985) isn’t a perfect movie by any stretch, but it’s the kind of film that sneaks up on you. It may not be sharp enough to qualify as great satire or consistent enough to hit every comedic note, but it has an undeniable charm that pulls you in regardless. It’s loud, uneven, and often ridiculous, yet few comedies from the 1980s are as weirdly entertaining when they’re firing on all cylinders. For many movie fans, it’s that quintessential “guilty pleasure”—a film you know has problems, but that somehow feels impossible to turn off once it starts. And in many ways, that’s exactly where Brewster’s Millions finds its lasting appeal.

The setup alone is too fun to resist. Richard Pryor stars as Montgomery Brewster, a minor league baseball pitcher who unexpectedly inherits the opportunity of a lifetime—to claim a $300 million fortune from a distant relative. The catch? Before he can get it, he has to spend $30 million in 30 days under a bizarre set of conditions that make financial ruin easier said than done. He can’t give the money away, can’t destroy it, can’t buy assets or investments that retain value, and can’t tell anyone why he’s doing it. Fail, and he gets nothing. Succeed, and he becomes one of the richest men alive. It’s the sort of gleefully absurd premise that could only have come from Hollywood in the 1980s, and it’s immediately clear that the film wants audiences to sit back, grab some popcorn, and watch Pryor tear through cash in increasingly funny and desperate ways.

Richard Pryor is, without doubt, the heart and soul of the movie. He imbues Montgomery Brewster with equal parts manic energy and human frustration, giving the character a real emotional arc beneath all the comic spectacle. Pryor’s talent for blending humor with exasperation makes Brewster’s predicament believable, even when it’s insane. Watching him scramble to lose money while the world keeps rewarding him is strangely satisfying. Pryor understood how to play ordinary men caught in extraordinary circumstances, and that quality grounds the film when it could have easily spiraled into total silliness. In scenes where he loses his patience with accountants, schemes wild spending sprees, or watches his good intentions backfire, Pryor’s comic timing keeps the chaos enjoyable.

John Candy adds another layer of charm as Brewster’s best friend and teammate, Spike Nolan. Candy brings warmth, loyalty, and that unmistakable good-heartedness that made him one of the decade’s most beloved comedic actors. The chemistry between Pryor and Candy keeps the film buoyant even through its weaker stretches. Their friendship defines the film’s tone—it’s loose, goofy, and full of bro-ish camaraderie. Without Candy’s infectious energy, the movie’s more hollow comedic beats might have hit the floor with a thud. Together, they create a dynamic that feels real, even inside a premise that’s totally absurd.

As a director, Walter Hill feels like an odd fit for this kind of broad comedy, but that’s part of what makes Brewster’s Millions interesting. Hill, better known for tough, kinetic action films like The Warriors and 48 Hrs., approaches this farce with a surprising amount of structure and visual precision. The film looks slicker and sharper than most comedies of its kind, which gives the excess on-screen an unintentionally epic flair. Hill’s direction keeps the story moving, and though he’s not naturally a comedic filmmaker, his grounded style adds a peculiar edge to all the craziness. It’s chaos with discipline—an aesthetic that somehow works in the movie’s favor.

Still, Brewster’s Millions can’t quite escape its shortcomings. The pacing is uneven, especially in the middle, where the film loses some steam as Brewster cycles through increasingly repetitive spending gimmicks. The story flirts with satire but rarely commits, brushing up against deeper commentary on wealth, politics, and capitalism before retreating to the comfort of broad comedy. The “Vote None of the Above” subplot, where Brewster’s money-wasting political campaign taps into voter cynicism, is one of the smartest parts of the film—but it’s introduced and resolved too quickly to leave a mark. And while the movie is full of lively energy, not every gag lands; a few supporting performances veer into caricature, and some jokes feel very much of their time.

Yet these flaws are partly what make Brewster’s Millions such a delightful guilty pleasure. It’s the cinematic equivalent of junk food—high on calories, low on nutritional value, but deeply enjoyable all the same. Pryor’s constant exasperation, the sheer absurdity of trying to “waste” money legally, and the exaggerated set pieces (like the overblown parties or his failed attempts to lose at gambling) make for irresistible entertainment. Even when the humor dips into predictable territory, the concept keeps pulling you back in. There’s a giddy satisfaction in watching Brewster try—and fail—to lose money, especially because the universe just won’t let him.

The romance subplot with Lonette McKee’s character, Angela Drake, adds just enough heart to balance the absurdity. McKee gives a grounded, intelligent performance that prevents the love story from feeling tacked on, even if it never fully takes center stage. Her presence keeps Brewster tethered to some kind of reality, and the moral through-line—learning that not everything valuable can be bought—lands gently rather than preachily. It’s not profound, but it fits the breezy tone perfectly.

As a comedy of excess, Brewster’s Millions is very much a product of its time. The slick suits, the gaudy parties, the blind faith in wealth, and the Reagan-era optimism about money’s moral neutrality all ooze from every frame. That time-capsule quality is part of its modern appeal. Watching it today, you can’t help but smile at how on-the-nose it feels—a movie from the “greed is good” decade that accidentally ends up mocking the very mindset it sprang from. It’s self-aware only in flashes, but those flashes are enough to make you recognize the movie’s satirical edge hiding beneath its loud surface.

In the end, that’s what makes Brewster’s Millions endure as a lovable guilty pleasure. It has flaws you can’t ignore—uneven pacing, scattershot tone, underdeveloped ideas—but none of them outweigh its charm. Pryor’s comic genius makes even the weakest joke land better than it should. Candy’s warmth keeps the film light. And Hill’s straightforward direction infuses the lunacy with just enough realism to make it believable. The result is a movie that’s too silly to take seriously but too fun to dismiss. You watch it, laugh at its audacity, shake your head at the logic gaps, and yet somehow come away smiling.

Brewster’s Millions may not be a comedy classic, but it’s easy to see why people keep revisiting it. It’s comfort food cinema—lighthearted, clumsy, and endlessly watchable. And like all the best guilty pleasures, it doesn’t need to be perfect to make you happy. Sometimes, seeing Richard Pryor outsmart the meaning of money for two hours is more than enough.

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Review: Doomsday (dir. by Neil Marshall)

Posted on December 11, 2025 by Arleigh

“Same shit, different era.” — Eden Sinclair

Doomsday tries to be a wild post-apocalyptic romp but ends up as such a profound disappointment, especially coming from Neil Marshall, whose previous two films, Dog Soldiers and The Descent, were much better entries in the horror genre where his attempts to inject new ideas landed the mark with precision and style. Here, Marshall shifts gears into a sprawling, uneven action-horror hybrid that feels like a highlight reel of better movies, bloated and unfocused where his earlier works thrived on tight scripting and fresh twists. While there are flashes of fun in the chaos, the film’s glaring flaws in plotting, tone, and originality outweigh any guilty-pleasure moments, leaving it as more of a curiosity than a recommendation.

The story kicks off with a decent hook: a deadly Reaper virus wipes out much of Scotland, prompting the government to seal it off behind a massive wall and leave the population to fend for itself. Years later, the virus resurfaces in London, and intel suggests survivors—and possibly a cure—lurk inside the quarantine zone. Major Eden Sinclair (Rhona Mitra) leads a ragtag military squad across the wall to hunt down a rogue scientist. It’s a setup that echoes classics like Escape from New York, but Doomsday quickly abandons any tension for a parade of borrowed set pieces that rarely gel, a far cry from the inventive werewolf siege of Dog Soldiers or the claustrophobic crawler terror in The Descent.

Once inside, the movie lurches from one aesthetic to the next without much logic or buildup. First comes a punk-anarchist wasteland with cannibals hosting gladiatorial freak shows amid flames and mohawks, then a sudden pivot to medieval knights in castles complete with jousts and sieges. These shifts feel arbitrary, like Marshall couldn’t decide on a vibe and just threw them all in—a scattershot approach that lacks the confident genre-blending of his prior successes. The worldbuilding is shallow—how did feudalism sprout up so neatly amid the apocalypse?—and the transitions are jarring, undermining any sense of immersion or stakes.

Rhona Mitra holds the center as Sinclair, a one-eyed badass who dispatches foes with grim efficiency, but even she can’t overcome the script’s limitations. Her character is a walking archetype: tough, quippy, and competent, with zero emotional depth or growth. The supporting players, including Malcolm McDowell as a scenery-chewing lord and Bob Hoskins as a gruff boss, are wasted on one-note roles. They’re recognizable enough to highlight how little the film does with its cast, turning potential strengths into reminders of squandered talent.

Visually, Doomsday has some grit thanks to practical effects and location shooting, especially in the grimy urban ruins and over-the-top chases that nod to Mad Max. The gore is plentiful and messy, which might appeal to splatter fans. But the action often devolves into incoherent shaky-cam slogs, and the pacing drags in spots despite the constant escalation. Worse, the film’s self-indulgent excess tips into silliness that undercuts its own grim premise, making it hard to buy the horror of the virus or the desperation of survival.

Tonally, Doomsday is all over the map, swinging from bleak quarantine dread to campy medieval farce without warning. This inconsistency is its biggest sin—serious moments clash with cartoon violence, and the humor lands flat or feels forced. Influences from 28 Days Later, The Road Warrior, and even Excalibur are blatant, but Marshall doesn’t elevate them; he just remixes them into something louder yet less impactful. The result feels like fan fiction for genre nerds rather than a fresh take, missing the spark that made his earlier horrors stand out.

Thematically, there are glimmers of commentary on government abandonment, class divides, and viral panic, but they’re buried under the bombast and never explored. Instead of probing the ethics of walling off a nation, the film prioritizes spectacle, leaving those ideas as window dressing. It’s a missed opportunity that makes the whole endeavor feel hollow, especially when real-world parallels to pandemics could have added bite.

Doomsday struggles to stand on its own amid a crowded genre field, weighed down by narrative sloppiness and tonal whiplash that overshadow its few strengths. The positives—like visceral kills and Mitra’s presence—fail to overcome the disjointed plotting and lack of fresh ideas. Ultimately, it feels like a missed chance for something more cohesive, leaving little reason to revisit beyond a one-off curiosity.

In the end, Doomsday is a swing-and-a-miss for Neil Marshall, ambitious in scope but sloppy in execution, a letdown after the highs of Dog Soldiers and The Descent. The negatives dominate: uneven pacing, logical gaps, borrowed aesthetics without innovation, and a tone that alienates more than it entertains. If you’re in the mood for undemanding B-movie chaos on a slow night, it might scratch a minor itch. Otherwise, skip it for the films it rips off—they deliver the thrills without the frustration. At around 105 minutes, it’s not a huge time sink, but better options abound in the post-apoc genre.

Review: Violent Night (dir. by Tommy Wirkola)

Posted on November 24, 2025 by Arleigh

“Ho Ho holy shit.” — Santa Claus

Violent Night (2022), directed by Tommy Wirkola, is a wild ride that shakes up the traditional Christmas movie formula by turning Santa Claus into a battle-hardened warrior. David Harbour stars as this unconventional Santa, who is far from jolly; he’s a grizzled, somewhat cranky, and disillusioned figure with a Viking warrior past. The movie sets itself apart with a premise that throws a group of ruthless mercenaries into a wealthy family’s Christmas Eve gathering, only to discover Santa isn’t the harmless old man they expected. Instead, he’s a fierce protector who fights back with brutal efficiency.

The story unfolds at the mansion of the affluent Lightstone family during their holiday reunion. The family is full of tension, with secrets and resentments bubbling just beneath the surface. When a gang of mercenaries led by the villainous Scrooge (John Leguizamo) invades the house to steal a fortune rumored to be stashed there, the family members become hostages. Among them is Trudy, a young girl who still believes in Santa and becomes an emotional anchor for the story. What follows is a chaotic clash as Santa unleashes his warrior skills in a bloody and often darkly humorous fight to protect Trudy and take down the intruders.

One of the strongest aspects of Violent Night is David Harbour’s performance. His Santa is not the usual cheerful holiday icon but a rough-around-the-edges hero with a quick wit and a fierce sense of duty. Harbour brings a compelling mix of grit and warmth, making Santa both intimidating and surprisingly endearing. His fight scenes are impressively choreographed, with inventive use of Christmas-themed props that add a unique flavor to the action. The humor, often delivered through clever one-liners and absurd situations, enhances the movie without overloading it, striking a balance between dark comedy and action thriller.

The action sequences are a highlight, filled with creative and over-the-top violence that turns traditional Christmas decorations into lethal weapons. From candy canes to Christmas lights, the film embraces its outrageous concept fully, often with a smirk and knowing wink to the audience. This approach to action and humor makes it feel like a holiday-themed grindhouse film, which will certainly appeal to viewers looking for something different from typical festive fare.

However, the film is not without flaws. The storyline sometimes leans too heavily on clichés and predictable twists, particularly around family drama and criminal motives. While the Lightstone family members are meant to add complexity to the narrative, many come across as caricatures, which lessens emotional impact. The pacing occasionally suffers as well, with some scenes dragging or feeling repetitive amid the barrage of action. Furthermore, the movie’s tone can be uneven—certain moments of humor or sentimentality clash with brutal violence, which might alienate viewers who prefer more consistent storytelling.

The supporting cast delivers performances that range from serviceable to over-the-top, fitting the film’s campy and exaggerated style. John Leguizamo’s Scrooge is a memorable villain with a sneer and attitude that fits the tone, while Beverly D’Angelo adds a touch of dark humor as the wealthy matriarch. The character of Trudy serves as the emotional heart of the film, grounding the chaos with a child’s innocent belief in magic and goodness. Yet, some secondary characters feel underdeveloped, existing mostly to provide fodder for the violence or comedic moments.

Visually, Violent Night embraces the glitz and cold grandeur of a wealthy family’s mansion, contrasted sharply by the gritty and bloody action that unfolds. The cinematography and production design showcase the holiday setting effectively, using wintery landscapes and elaborate Christmas decor as backdrops that add to both the festive and lethal atmosphere. The film keeps a brisk pace, aided by energetic direction, though it sometimes prioritizes style over substance.

In terms of themes, Violent Night plays with the clash between holiday cheer and harsh realities, exploring ideas about family, belief, and redemption through its unusual take on Santa Claus. It taps into a more cynical view of Christmas but ultimately doesn’t abandon the underlying message of hope and protection. This mixture, however, occasionally feels forced, as the violent antics often overshadow character development and emotional depth.

Overall, Violent Night is an entertaining and unconventional holiday film that is best enjoyed with an appetite for absurdity and dark humor. It stands out for pushing boundaries with its brutal action scenes and a refreshingly gruff Santa, offering a festive movie experience that fits more in the niche of chaotic fun rather than heartwarming tradition. While it may not win over purists looking for classic Christmas storytelling, it offers a distinctive alternative for those who want their holiday films with a hard edge and plenty of explosive moments. For viewers who can embrace its mix of camp, carnage, and seasonal spirit, Violent Night delivers a wild, memorable ride that defies expectations.

Horror Review: High Plains Drifter (dir. by Clint Eastwood)

Posted on October 27, 2025 by Arleigh

“Don’t count on me to make you feel safe.” — The Stranger

High Plains Drifter stands as one of the bleakest, most enigmatic entries in Clint Eastwood’s filmography—a Western that bleeds unmistakably into the realms of psychological and supernatural horror. This 1973 film is not just another dusty tale of lone gunfighters and frontier justice. It’s a nightmare set in broad daylight, a morality play whose hero is more monster than man.

Eastwood’s Stranger comes riding into the town of Lago from the shimmering desert, a silhouette both akin to and apart from his famed Man With No Name persona. The townsfolk are desperate, haunted by fear—less afraid of imminent violence, more of the sins they’ve half-buried. This is a place where a lawman was brutally murdered by outlaws while the townspeople looked away, their silence paid for with cowardice and greed. When the Stranger assumes command, he does so with often-gleeful sadism—kicking people out of their hotel rooms, replacing the mayor and sheriff with the dwarf Mordecai, and ordering that the entire town be painted red before putting “Hell” on its welcome sign.

There’s a surface plot: the Stranger is hired to protect Lago from the same three outlaws who once butchered its marshal. But he’s there for far more than that. The story unspools through dreamlike sequences, flashbacks that suggest the Stranger may well be an avenging spirit or a revenant—the dead lawman, spectral and merciless, returned to claim what the townsfolk owe to Hell itself.

The horror here isn’t about jump scares or gothic haunted houses. The supernatural lurks everywhere and yet nowhere. The Stranger moves with the implacable calm—and violence—of a slasher villain, transforming Lago into his personal stage for retribution. His nightmares, full of images of past atrocities, are painted with the same vivid brutality as the daytime violence. Eastwood’s use of silence, the squint of a face, the twitch of a pistol replaces musical cues in amplifying dread. The sound design evokes otherness—a howling wind, footsteps echoing across empty streets—that builds a shadow of terror around the Stranger’s presence.

This violence is hurried and brutal; its sexual politics unflinching. When the Stranger enacts revenge, he punishes not just the outlaws, but the townsfolk complicit in their crimes. There is little comfort in his sense of justice—the pleasures he takes border on sadistic. The film’s moral ambiguity cuts deeper than most Westerns or horrors: this is not a clear-cut tale of good versus evil, but a brutal reckoning of collective guilt, cowardice, and corruption.

Lago itself acts almost like a town stuck in purgatory—a holding pen between redemption and eternal damnation. The infamous “Welcome to Hell” sign the Stranger paints at the town’s entrance serves as a grim message. It’s no welcome to law and order, but a symbolic beacon to the very outlaws the Stranger is hired to confront, suggesting that Lago is a place where sin festers and punishes itself. The town’s dance with Hell is both literal and metaphorical. The inhabitants aren’t just awaiting judgment; they have invited it in their desperate attempts to hide their cowardice and greed under the guise of civilization.

This notion of Lago as purgatory stands in sharp contrast to other recent horror Westerns, which serve as prime examples of the genre’s thematic spectrum. These films tend to focus on the primal terror of nature barely held at bay by the fragile veneer of civilization the settlers claim. They pit human beings against the ancient, untamed forces of the wilderness—whether monstrous creatures or surreal phenomena—emphasizing that the supposed order and progress of the West remain fragile and constantly threatened. This dynamic symbolizes the uneasy balance between civilization’s reach and nature’s primal power, often revealing how thin and tenuous that barrier truly is.

Among these, Bone Tomahawk and Ravenous stand out as vivid examples. Bone Tomahawk confronts menacing cannibals lurking in the wild, reminding viewers that the West’s order is fragile and under perpetual threat from untamed wilderness. Ravenous uses cannibalism and survival horror as metaphors for nature’s savage predation hidden beneath the polite façade of civilization—nature’s horrors masked but not erased.

By contrast, High Plains Drifter directs its horror inward, exposing the corruption that manifest destiny imposed on settlers themselves. Instead of fearing nature as an external force, the film presents settlers as haunted by their own moral failures and complicity in violence and betrayal. The Stranger’s vengeance is a reckoning with the darkness festering inside the community, a brutal meditation on guilt, collective cowardice, and the price of greed disguised as progress.

Eastwood’s film strips away the mythic promises of the American West as a land of freedom and opportunity, revealing instead the brutal reality of communities locked in complicity, violence masquerading as justice, and the moral rot at the heart of manifest destiny. This moral ambiguity and psychological depth give High Plains Drifter a unique position in the horror Western subgenre, elevating it beyond simple scares to a profound exploration of American cultural myths.

The Stranger is not a traditional hero but a spectral judge, embodying divine or supernatural retribution. His calm yet ruthless punishment exposes the cruelty, cowardice, and malevolence within Lago’s population, meting out a justice that is neither neat nor forgiving. His supernatural aura and sadistic tendencies make him an unforgettable figure of terror and fate.

Visually, the film’s harsh daylight contrasts with the romanticized Western landscapes of earlier films. Instead of shadows hiding evil, blinding light exposes the town’s moral decay. Characters are reduced to symbols of greed, fear, and cruelty, highlighting that the true horror lies within human nature and the failure to uphold justice.

High Plains Drifter operates on multiple levels—a Western, a ghost story, a horror film, and a dark morality play. It is a relentless meditation on justice and punishment and a dismantling of the traditional Western hero myth. Through layered narrative, stark visuals, and Eastwood’s chilling performance, it remains an essential entry in the horror Western canon.

For those seeking a Western that doesn’t just entertain but unsettles and challenges, High Plains Drifter offers an unforgiving descent into darkness. It strips away the comforting myths of the frontier and exposes the raw, rotting core beneath. Unlike other modern horror Westerns such as Bone Tomahawk and Ravenous, which confront external terrors lurking in the wilderness, this film turns its gaze inward—on the moral decay, guilt, and violence festering within the settlers themselves. It’s a brutal, haunting reckoning, and Eastwood’s Stranger is the cold, relentless agent of that reckoning. This is a journey into a hell both literal and psychological, where justice is merciless and safety is a long-forgotten promise.

Guilty Pleasure No. 82: The Shadow (dir. by Russell Mulcahy)

Posted on May 14, 2025 by Leonard Wilson

As Guilty Pleasures go, The Shadow is a movie that has absolutely everything you need for a fun, campy ride. An Al Leong cameo, alongside James Hong? Check. Heroes and Villains taking time out to discuss their wicked plans (and how they’ll be stopped) over a glass of fine American Bourbon? Check. Early 90s Era CGI? Mark it down. Duel Wielding Pistol shooting action? Got it. Tim Curry just being there? Sweet.

After the wild success of Tim Burton’s Batman in 1989, Hollywood was scrambling to squeeze what they could out of the Superhero Movie. The Punisher, with Dolph Lundgren, would come out the same year. We’d end up with The Rocketeer (one of my personal favorites), BarbWire, Dick Tracy,The Crow, The Mask, and The Phantom, among others leading into the mid-90s. Among these was 1994’s The Shadow, based off the 1930’s character from Walter B. Gibson. Pre-dating all of the before mentioned characters (including DC’s Batman by almost a decade), The Shadow started as a series of radio stories before moving on to other forms of media. The movie didn’t do very well on it’s original release. Much like the magic that clouds men’s minds, audiences were more enraptured with The Crow months before and The Lion King. Some may remember a Shadow movie was made, but it was eclipsed by more popular films at the time.

At the same time, there were major advances happening in audio technology, thanks to a tiny Universal film called Jurassic Park. Jurassic Park helped to usher in an update in sound quality known as The Digital Experience (which we now know as DTS for short). As theatres coverted to the new sound system, various films in the early to mid nineties would make use of it, such as The Crow, The Mask, Timecop and The Shadow. By the time my family picked up their first Laserdisc player, DTS quality sound was available at home. My dad had a series of speakers lined around the living room of our house so that regardless of where you sat, the sound would move around you. One of the best tests of it was with John Carpenter’s The Thing, where Blair is standing off against the crew. The gunfire from his pistol would richochet from the front to the rear speakers, making the kids duck down.

The Shadow also made of use of this in certain areas, particularly with the way voices carried in a room. The part with Shiwan Khan’s voice moving over the city at night was amazing to hear with the right sound system. Just about any scene where The Shadow spoke had this sweet spatial effect that I loved.

The Shadow is the tale of Ying Ko (Alec Baldwin, The Getaway), a.k.a. Lamont Cranston. Living high in the Opium Fields of Tibet, he is a man of darkness, having inflicted great evil over time. Kidnapped and brought to a Tulku (a wise man) who has decided it’s time for redemption, Cranston is taught to cloud men’s minds, bending people to his will and to hide every aspect of himself save for one thing, his Shadow. He then returns seven years later to that “most wretched lair of villainy we know as” New York City, for we all know that the weed of crime bears bitter fruit.

Cranston spends most of his nights at The Cobalt Club with his Uncle Wainwright (Jonathan Winters, It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World), who also happens to be the Police Commissioner. It allows him to keep up appearances while making sure the police don’t put The Shadow in their spotlight. When he meets the beautiful Margot Lane (Penelope Ann Miller, The Relic), he’s not only smitten, but finds her ability to read minds a dangerous threat to him.

When a metal casket from Tibet arrives at the New York Museum of Natural History, it reveals Shiwan Khan (John Lone, The Last Emperor), the last descendant of Genghis Khan. Gifted with the same abilities as Cranston, Khan has plans for the city and the world. He would rather have Cranston join him than to kill him. This turns the story into a classic Bond-like cliche where the hero and villain spend the bulk of the movie explaining their plans.

Enjoying the successes of Death Becomes Her and Jurassic Park, writer David Koepp was on a roll. The Shadow doesn’t take itself too seriously. Koepp and director Russell Mulcahy (Highander) splash moments of light comedy at just about every turn, mostly through the witty banter between characters. Some are over the top, particularly with Tim Curry’s character, while others are more subtle, like with Ian McKellan (The Lord of the Rings). If you’re looking for a serious drama in your superhero film, this isn’t it. Additionally, there are one or two elements that make no sense whatever. Mongol warriors walking around in full armor that no one ever seems to notice and taking rides in taxicabs (unless we assume they’re masked by Khan’s magic).

Most of the movie was filmed on the Universal Studios New York backlot, which explains why some scenes look like they were borrowed from Walter Hill’s Streets of Fire (that also used it years before). The mystical Tibetan Phurba dagger that echoes the disposition of its owner was a variant of the one used in Eddie Murphy’s The Golden Child in the late 80s.

if the movie’s climax between The Shadow and Khan feels a bit abbreviated, it’s because of a last minute change in filming. The original plan for the ending involved a series of mirrors, but an earthquake earlier in the year caused damage to the props the production team planned to use. So, what we get is a quicker scene, still falling in line with Mulcahy’s penchant for glass shattering, but leaving the audience to partially wonder what we could have had if everything worked out.

Finally, the real gem in all this is Jerry Goldsmith’s score. Although out of print, you can still find most of the tracks on YouTube, and the songs keep the immersion flowing. While I don’t see the film getting any kind of remakes in the near future, it’s nice to know everything came together (as well as it could) for this entry. Then again, who knows?

Previous Guilty Pleasures

Trailer: Nobody 2

Posted on May 13, 2025 by Arleigh

Ilya Naishuller’s 2021 action-comedy Nobody caught everyone by surprise. Many thought it was just a quick cash-grab to take advantage of the success with the John Wick action series. Nobody was released in the middle of the pandemic, yet it was received very positive reviews from critics and audiences, alike.

It was a no-brainer that a sequel would be greenlit. It took awhile to happen but most of the cast and crew are back with the exception of director Ilya Naishuller. Indonesian director Timo Tjahjanto now takes the director’s seat with some new, but familiar faces (Sharon Stone and Colin Hanks) joining the previous cast (Bob Odenkirk, Colin Salmon, Connie Nielsen, Christopher Lloyd and RZA).

From this first trailer, Nobody 2 looks to retain the action-comedy tone of the first, but with the visual flair of Timo Tjahjanto (see The Night Comes for Us for example of how batshit crazy his action turn out).

Nobody 2 arrives in theaters on August 15, 2025.

Trailer: M3GAN 2.0

Posted on April 3, 2025 by Arleigh

M3GAN in 2022 was a surprise hit that no one saw coming. What would’ve been a a nice little horror film from Blumhouse that would’ve come and gone with little fanfare suddenly became a major hit due to the viral marketing of the titular character’s dancing shown in the initial trailer becoming a huge internet meme.

Now we are back with the sequel (I don’t think anyone was surprised that Blumhouse quickly greenlit a follow-up) and it looks like the original team of director Gerard Johnstone and writer Akela Cooper are back to headline M3GAN 2.0.

The sequel looks to be bigger and a bit more ambitious with more than just a bit of a Terminator 2 vibe with the title character looking to be more of the savior and not just an overprotective killing AI doll.

Will M3GAN 2.0 be able to replicate the viral success of the first film? We shall find out on June 27, 2025.

Scenes I Love: Jaws

Posted on March 31, 2025 by Arleigh

“You know the thing about a shark, he’s got…lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll’s eye. When he comes at ya, doesn’t seem to be livin’. Until he bites ya and those black eyes roll over white.” — Quint

People have blamed Spielberg and his breakout film, Jaws, as the cause of the blockbuster mentality that studios have had since this film came out. Studios and producers wanted to recreate the ultra-successful box-office numbers of Jaws. Despite the fact that this film was modestly budgeted, people nowadays who think they’re film experts point to it as the culprit. They’ve called it the film that begun the dumbing down of Hollywood when creativity was sacrificed for profit.

Why did I pick a scene from this film as a favorite? I picked this particular scene because it’s one reason why the film succeeded and made people come back again and again. It’s a scene that perfectly captures one reason why we love to see films in a communal setting. We want to share the same experience and emotions this scene brought up from the pit of each audience’s psyche.

Jaws didn’t ruin the creativity in filmmaking. I like to think that this one film was a filmmaker at his most creativie (shark wouldn’t work properly so Spielberg kept it off-screen which just added to the terror and tension in the film). This very scene goes down as one of the greatest film monologues. It sets up the danger the trio faces with some anecdotal evidence from the very person who survived the experience, but who might have become unhinged because of it. I love the look of frozen terror on the face of Richard Dryefuss’ character as he listens to Robert Shaw tell the story of the ill-fated journey of the U.S.S. Indianapolis.

This latest “Scenes I Love” is why I consider Spielberg one of the best filmmaker of his generation and probably beyond that.

Film Review: The Wild Robot (dir. by Chris Sanders)

Posted on February 7, 2025 by Leonard Wilson

I don’t know if we fully recognize all the sacrifices parents make for their kids. A person takes on ownership of a whole little being (be it through birth, adoption or the Cat Distribution System) and somehow tries their best to keep it fed, protected, educated and loved, all while still trying to figure out their own lives. It doesn’t always work out. Some parents evade the responsibility, leaving their kids to horrible fates, while others rise to the challenge, often without fully knowing what they need to do. They’re not perfect, but parents can be pretty awesome at times, especially the ones who didn’t have to do the job.

Dreamworks The Wild Robot may very well be the best Animated Feature this year. Nothing against Disney/Pixar’s Inside Out 2 (which was also wonderful) or Flow (which looks wonderful and took the Golden Globe for Best Animated Feature), but I spent a good part of this film sniffling. It’s a very simple, yet sweet story that moves at a very rapid pace. That’s understandable, given that it’s for children, but the story is accessible for just about any adult.

When a robot named Roz (Lupita N’yongo, A Quiet Place: Day One) crash lands in a forest, she studies her environment and tries to get to know the local habitat. The animals are naturally fearful of Roz, but she eventually begins to understand their dialects. While trying to phone home, Roz runs into some raccoon thieves and a rather large bear. The resulting chase causes her to accidentally crash into and destroy a goose nest, save for one egg. When the egg hatches, she finds herself having to take on a parent role for the gosling, though she’s not fully alone. Helping Roz out is a fox named Fink (Pedro Pascal, Gladiator II), who lives by his wits and provides some wildlife know-how for survival, while keeping himself well fed. Also along to assist is Pinktail, a possum who has a litter of her own to handle. As she adjusts to her new sense of motherhood, Roz meets tons of other animals that warm up to her. She finds a new task in taking care of Brightbill (Kit Connor, Ready Player One) and preparing him to fly South for the winter.

Directed by Chris Sanders (How to Train Your Dragon, Lilo & Stitch), The Wild Robot has elements for both kids and adults. The wilderness is a dangerous place, and the Circle of Life is rougher here than it ever was in Disney’s The Lion King (which Sanders also had a hand in). There are predators and prey, and the audience is made to understand this pretty quickly (though not as harshly as say, Watership Down). There’s a great deal of tenderness as well, focusing on Storytelling (which Roz learns), the friends and family we make along the way and some hardship in the way that Brightbill suffers some insensibilities with from other geese that he doesn’t quite fit in with.

I feel The Wild Robot‘s strongest points are the music and the art direction. The film looks like an actual watercolor painting, especially when viewed in the largest format possible. The pacing for the plot moved a little quicker than I expected, particularly in the lead up to meeting Brightbill. Musically, Kris Bowers (Netflix’s Bridgerton, The Haunted Mansion) has a great soundtrack that adds some weight to the scenes. With Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross out of the running for Challengers, Bowers is my hopeful pick for the Best Soundtrack Oscar.

At the time of this writing, The Wild Robot is available to watch on Universal’s Peacock service. Just make sure you bring a box of tissues and if at all possible, call or thank your Mom afterwards.

Guilty Pleasure No. 74: Van Helsing (dir by Stephen Sommers)

Posted on January 16, 2025 by Arleigh

What can I say about this 2004 action horror film that can do it justice at just how it perfectly represent what I call a “guilty pleasure”.

Van Helsing by Stephen Sommers (him being at his most Stephen Sommersist) was suppose to be a new action franchise with Hugh Jackman as it’s lead. One must remember that in 2004, Hugh Jackman was still at the height of his popularity as an action star with roles as Wolverine in the X-Men film franchise and, in another guilty pleasure of mine, Swordfish.

This film was suppose to catapult him to the stratosphere and taking the action star role from aging ones such as Arnold Schwarzenneger, Sylvester Stallone and Bruce Willis. Instead Stephen Sommers reached for that brass ring and failed, but did so with a mish-mash of horror properties blended haphazardly to give us a film that tried to be too much yet also not enough.

Hugh Jackman in the title role was more than game to try and prop up the film’s convoluted plot. Kate Beckinsale was stunning as usual and hamming it up in what I could only guess is here version of a Transylvanian accent. Even Richard Roxbrough in the role of Dracula, miscast as he seem to be in the role, gave a campy and scenery-chewing performance that his performance went past bad and circled back to being entertaining.

Yet, for all its flaws, I actually enjoy Van Helsing for what it was and that was a modern version of those Abbott and Costello mash-up with the Universal horror characters of the 40’s and 50’s. One cannot mistake this film on the same level as Nosferatu (Murnau, Herzog and Eggers versions) and Sommers definitely cannot be mistake for the three auteurs who had their own take on the abovementioned film. But Sommers does make thrilling, though some would say repetitive, action films.

Did I turn my brain off watching Van Helsing?

I sure did, but it still didn’t stop me from being entertained…and I cannot ever sat anything bad about a film with Kate Beckinsale in a tight black-red leather corset. It’s against some sort of law to do so.

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