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At 88 years old, director Ridley Scott hasn’t slowed down a bit. Averaging almost a movie per year since the 1980s, the prolific filmmaker has remained relentless in his pursuit of the craft. Are they all bangers? Well, that depends on the viewer. Box office is another story, but that’s never been something that’s stood in Scott’s way. He’s been very clear that he will continue to make films, whether audiences love or hate his latest effort or whether they make or lose money.

For him, the job is everything, and we all benefit as a result.

His latest film, The Dog Stars, based on the novel by Peter Heller, falls somewhere in the middle of his filmography in terms of his best work. The trailers have teased a kind of Mad-Max-in-the-wilderness adventure film, but those familiar with Heller’s novel know it’s anything but. That’s not a bad thing, either, but it will certainly color expectations for those going into it.

Heller’s book is a quiet, meditative tale with brief bursts of violence that’s more about finding purpose in surviving when all feels lost, rather than simply surviving to survive. It’s a premise that’s deeply explored in the novel, often to a fault, and often with revealing insight.

Scott’s film adapts the premise well, staying true to the overall set-up, which has Jacob Elordi’s Hig, a former repairman-turned-pilot, maintaining a small outpost in Colorado with a grumpy, former military man named Bangley, played by Josh Brolin. They make an unlikely survival duo, with Bangley being the security guy and Hig being the supply runner, along with his trusty dog, Jasper.

Of course, trouble comes in not-so-paradise as marauders (referred to as roaches by Bangley and Hig) continuously attempt to infiltrate their outpost, which has Bangley dealing with them swiftly and violently. Hig struggles with this aspect of their existence and is constantly seeking something more than what they have, while Bangley seems perfectly content with their situation.

It creates a unique dynamic in the book, one which I wish was explored with more depth in the film, as it skirts much of their bond to keep things moving along. While book-to-film adaptations will always have to sacrifice and condense certain things (and sometimes many things), it creates a problem for books that are more focused on the human dynamic rather than giant set pieces.

For The Dog Stars, many of the quiet, drawn-out, and philosophical moments from the book often feel like Cliff Notes in the film, but that can easily be said for any movie based on a book. That’s the inherent danger of reading a book before seeing a movie adaptation (as I did for this one), as a two-hour adaptation of a full novel is no easy task.

Truth be told, I didn’t love Heller’s book, but I enjoyed the read nonetheless. The same can be said for the film adaptation. I didn’t love The Dog Stars, but I sure didn’t hate it. It’s a mixed bag, like many of what I refer to as Scott’s “in-between” films. I think of films like The Counselor, A Good Year, Body of Lies, Matchstick Men, White Squall, or All The Money In The World in that realm.

None of them are as good as, say, Gladiator, Black Hawk Down, American Gangster, The Martian, or Prometheus, but they’re all still Ridley Scott movies, and those are frequently better than most. I think The Dog Stars falls within this category, but I also think many will walk away thinking it was much more. It has the human elements of survival, loss, love, and purpose, which are common denominators in all our lives.

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Elordi plays Hig as aloof but full of charm, a much more likable character than his ill-fated Euphoria role. While finding direction as a supply runner, taking his dog with him on his adventures, Elordi’s Hig is apprehensive about dealing out death when it’s called for. It’s a character conundrum, as his very life depends on being able to take others without hesitation, yet he struggles with it in a way that you’d think he’d have already adapted to. The book handles this better than the film, but it also had more time to do so.

Brolin’s Bangley is a perfect “Brolin” role, and one that I liked much more than Elordi’s Hig. But that’s not just in the movie. I like Bangley better in the book, as well. Sometimes it happens that the supporting characters are more compelling than the lead protagonist, and I felt that all the way through both versions of The Dog Stars.

Guy Pearce and Margaret Qualley show up as a father/daughter duo surviving on their own further into the mountains. When Hig has to make an emergency landing, their lives collide in all the ways you’d expect. Qualley’s Cima and Pearce’s Jack are faced with some unique issues in the book that cause quite a bit of tension, but much of that is omitted or skipped, likely for running-time efficiency, which robs them of the more interesting aspects of their on-the-page counterparts.

In terms of villains in The Dog Stars, they’re pretty much post-apocalyptic window dressing. But if we’re comparing them to the book, they’re actually more developed in the film, which isn’t by much. But like the zombies of The Walking Dead, they’re not meant to be a personal threat, but an existential one, and that works just fine here. There really isn’t much room for an Immortan Joe in this story, although we do get something akin to it by the end.

You can count on the visual beauty that accompanies all Ridley Scott films with The Dog Stars, with refined set design, epic-scope cinematography, and a cast that’s up to the challenge. There are some fun, violent moments, awkward romance, and even a Westworld-esque third act that’s trippier, but not as hardcore as the book’s final act.

One aspect that irked me was that both Brolin and Pearce’s characters don’t share a single line of dialogue throughout, even while they’re in full scenes together, which is a shame, as their dynamic in the book was one of the cooler aspects of it. Seeing two grizzled, seasoned, grumpy badasses meet and eventually bond was cool.

My guess? As with many of Scott’s films, we got the theatrical cut that Fox approved, while a longer, more in-depth version awaits streaming and video. It’s become frustrating and annoying that studios won’t just release Scott’s director’s cuts in theaters, but perhaps that’s how Scott remains so prolific. He plays by the theatrical rules, while holding better cuts (and sometimes a masterpiece, as is the case with his Kingdom of Heaven) in his back pocket for later.

While The Dog Stars likely won’t ever be regarded as one of Scott’s classics, there’s a lot to enjoy, much of which rests with a refined filmmaker doing what he does, even if it’s not in the same vein as his more revered works. That said, I also believe that The Dog Stars will reach many viewers on a more personal front, as it’s a more personal and traumatic kind of story, rather than a post-apocalyptic action romp.

Those who skip The Dog Stars, basing their desire to go to the theater on an asinine Rotten Tomatoes score, will no doubt discover it on streaming and find that it is far better than any arbitrary score could assign it. And maybe that’s the best venue for films like this in the long run: a quiet discovery on a rainy afternoon at home. Sometimes those are the best surprises, and I predict that’s where The Dog Stars will find its stride. But if you’re a theatrical person, The Dog Stars is one of those little oft-forgotten gems that you’ll likely appreciate more than you anticipate.

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What would the summer movie season be without some dinosaurs, am I right?

Last year we had the by-the-numbers Jurassic World: Rebirth, which still managed to make a mint at the box office. This year, we have something a bit different, yet very familiar, with The End of Oak Street, a Bad Robot version of an Amblin film, complete with a cast that’s been to a galaxy far, far away and the back alleys of Gotham City, and from the director of It Follows.

That certainly seems like a recipe for a slam dunk summer sleeper, as it did for me, but The End of Oak Street is more of a hodgepodge homage than a revolutionary summer movie. It hits many of the notes we tend to love, but the song remains mostly the same, save for a cool concept that never quite reaches the heights it could if properly explored. Instead, it’s a fast-food version of a high-concept idea. Palatable? Sure. Amazing? Not so much.

That said, there’s something about dinosaurs that tends to make audiences check out of anything logical, nuanced, or believable, as the sheer wonder of seeing these prehistoric beasts in live action is always a sight to behold, even if the movie they’re in isn’t. For many, I think The End of Oak Street will reach high levels of hyperbolic praise, while others will scratch their heads wondering what the big deal is.

I fall somewhere in the middle.

The film takes place in the early 80s in an idyllic American neighborhood where they have potato sack races at block parties and say things like, “You’ve got a great family, there,” and “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Ewan McGregor tries on his American accent as an affable father struggling to make his marriage work, pay the bills, and connect with his kids, while his secretly creative wife, played by Anne Hathaway, seems to think they are at a point of no return, even writing a fictional book about wanting to escape her family.

The couple’s kids, played by Maisy Stella (as Audrey) and Christian Convery (as Brian), fit the mold of everyday teens with everyday issues, from bullies to pets to young love to…doing everything they can to disobey their parents to a fault. Audrey dreams of an Ivy League school and yearns for love, while Brian loves his mangy mutt dog, Starbuck, and causes mischief in the neighborhood while carrying a bow and arrow.

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A sudden lightning storm shuts off all the power and water to the family’s home one evening, and they awaken to a new reality that puts their entire neighborhood back in time, somewhere in the middle of an unspecified prehistoric era where dinosaurs roamed the Earth.

What follows is a very simple story of survival that hinges almost entirely on people leaving the house and not following instructions. At least in Jurassic Park, the power outage instigates an attack by a T. Rex that forces everyone to flee. The End of Oak Street has everyone running around looking for dogs, kids, and, eventually, portals.

But what would a movie like this be if everyone listened to their parents? The issue is that you can’t help but be frustrated by their sheer stupidity in these situations. Granted, you may not know what to do when suddenly faced with prehistoric animals in your backyard that view you as their next meal, but hiding, arming up, and seeking shelter seem like pretty basic survival instincts.

Leaving the house to chase down a dog, or chase down the kid chasing the dog, or chasing the kids that are chasing the dog just starts to feel like you’re watching dumb people do dumb things, and that doesn’t make for a fun journey. I’m not saying I need to see a movie where everyone just does the right thing and follows instructions to the letter, but man, would it hurt to have people show some kind of smarts and common sense?

On a conceptual level, The End of Oak Street is terrific. A totally fun set-up that could go in so many directions. However, the one they chose is so dull, which is a surprise given all the talent involved. Director David Robert Mitchell has crafted some unique stories thus far, with It Follows and Under The Silver Lake, both of which create a sense of unease, anxiety, and weirdness that keep you invested.

The End of Oak Street is a swing for the blockbuster fences for Mitchell, who dedicates the film to the memory of his father. And, knowing that, you can see where the film is a love letter to that memory, even if it kind of stumbles along until it gets shockingly dark in a twist about three-quarters of the way through.

Up until that point, I felt like I was just watching a bunch of “running and screaming” in a plot that involved simply going back and forth. But when the unforgettable moment arrives, you can’t help but stop and reevaluate everything you saw before and begin speculating on what comes next. I don’t want to get into spoilers, as it’s not needed for this review, but suffice it to say, The End of Oak Street is fairly safe and simple up to that point, which is sure to upset some younger viewers when it arrives.

In terms of horrific, the film holds the line at PG-13 and, sadly, it shows. For some, this will be fine. But for many others, myself included, the itch still needs scratching. We’ve sat through countless Jurassic Park/World movies at this point where the blood and gore happens off camera or in a bloodless chomp, and I feel like audiences are ready to see these terrifying creatures do terrifying things.

Now, I’m not saying it needs to be Terrifier (natch) level gore, but at least Starship Troopers level would be something. I don’t think it’s always necessary, but the genre is ripe for an R-rated shakeup, not another PG-13 romp that plays it safe. The End of Oak Street certainly pushes it a bit, but not in a particularly gutsy (pun intended) way.

There’s a scene early on when a woman is discovered to have been killed by a raptor-like dino, with little more than a gash in her neck. The very nature of that kind of attack would have seen the woman devastated and torn apart, but here we get what looks like a fake cut from Spirit Halloween with a little ketchup spilled around it, which robs the sheer shock and horror of the moment for me.

Thematically, The End of Oak Street attempts to be many things at once, with much of it coming off as half-baked or completely abandoned. There are multiple discussions about God and belief in God throughout, making it seem as though they were preparing us for a character revelation or moment that ties back to it, but nothing ever develops from it, making it all feel more like a jab at religion than a fleshed-out commentary. Ultimately, it just feels out of place.

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The science-fiction aspect that triggers the entire story is mostly just assumed, with a jumping portal appearing throughout that simply…exists. There’s no tease to a deeper reason or event that creates this awe-inspiring situation, which is a shame, as I feel it could’ve added another layer to the film. You simply buy a ticket and go for a ride; please exit to the left and have a nice day.

There’s a scene where Audrey (who we come to realize is likely gay as she pines for a friend, and then later a girl they help) sits in her parents’ car listening to Steve Winwood’s “Valerie”, a song that has had a second life of sorts in the LGBTQ community, particularly on TikTok. Arguments could be made, but it all feels very intentional without saying anything explicitly.

Perhaps it’s Audrey feeling like she’s now about to die in a world where dinosaurs exist, having never truly been able to be herself, which would make sense, even if the scene overstays its welcome. The moment works in that context, but feels like an oddly timed inclusion otherwise.

Mitchell has never been one for over-explaining his work, with subtlety and shock going hand-in-hand for him, but I feel like audiences need to see the hand you’re playing from time to time. The ambiguity works only up to a point.

The heart of the film ultimately belongs with McGregor and Hathaway’s relationship, as it is challenged, pushed, and even mourned, while hope rests on the horizon. As many hidden meanings as Mitchell tries to work in, I think his ultimate goal was to make a movie about family, but not necessarily a “family” movie.

The dinosaurs are much furrier and creepier (the giant snake is especially menacing) than the Jurassic Park/World counterparts, but no less realistic and menacing. You never really marvel at them in wonder so much as feel repulsed by them. Nobody wants to have these things as pets, I assure you.

While I think many people will love The End of Oak Street, while others will simply enjoy the ride, I think there will be an equal number frustrated by it. Not because it’s a bad movie (it isn’t), but because it doesn’t really live up to the potential of the concept. However, it’s Mitchell’s story to tell, and this is the route he took, carrying all the remnants of the Amblin era, which is quickly becoming something of a "dinosaur” itself.

We’ve seen all the homages of that time period and genre by now, from Super 8 to Stranger Things to The End of Oak Street, and there will surely be more. For the most part, these projects have found the pulse, but it’s time to push the boundaries rather than stay trapped within them. The End of Oak Street almost gets there, but it’s hindered by the love of the genre too much to break free, even if it still provides a thrilling (and sometimes bleak), meandering ride that manages a wholesome vibe in its wake.

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How To Watch A Movie

I’ve spent a great deal of this book talking about my experiences in the world of Hollywood, but the most important part of it all is the final product and how it affects audiences. The process of making, marketing, and reporting on a film is one thing; watching it is another.

Often when I get to know new people, the conversation inevitably turns to movies. I’ll ask, “What’s your favorite movie?” to which I rarely get a quick and decisive answer. It’s almost always a quandary.

They have to groan, wince, and toil with making a decision, while some simply aren’t invested enough to have a favorite. I’m often shocked to find that many people don’t have a favorite at all and don’t really care to even ponder the question. But, for the majority, it is a loaded question, as there is so much emotion tied to the answer.

I think that says a lot about the power of movies. Even if you have a roster of ones you love, it’s frequently impossible to choose a single favorite.

What I like to do is ask people to name just five movies (or more, if they can) that they love, in no particular order. Once they tell me that, I use the same trick I used to discover my own preferences, all the way back to the Video/Movie Guide I had in high school. It’s how I discovered that I love Tony Scott, John McTiernan, Steven Spielberg, Ridley Scott, Peter Weir, William Friedkin, John Hughes, and a never-ending roster of talent that inspired and entertained me.

I’ll take the movies that people list off to me, and usually within five titles there is some overlap, be it actors, directors, genres, or some other connecting creative tissue that binds their taste to specific films.

I love finding those similarities across movies and being able to say, “Well, you’re a Robert Zemeckis fan, since you said Back to the Future, Death Becomes Her, and Forrest Gump,” or, “You love the Coen Brothers, since you said Raising Arizona, O’ Brother, Where Art Thou?, and No Country for Old Men.”

Anyone can do this. Take out a sheet of paper. Write down as many movies as you can think of that you love or greatly enjoy. Then, go to IMDb.com, look up each film, and find the similarities. I guarantee you will find that you’re a fan of some very particular creative talent, themes, and styles of film.

The awesome thing about this discovery is that it will awaken you to more films by those creatives, many of which you likely haven’t seen. Those, in turn, will often lead to more films that are similar by other creatives, and deeper down the rabbit hole you go.

This is the path that will lead you not only to a deeper understanding, appreciation, and passion for film, but also to a more meaningful relationship with them. Instead of using movies simply as a place to go for a date, a way to kill a few hours, or background noise while you do household chores, they become a more impactful part of your life.

Many will be just fine with their current relationship with movies, and that’s okay. But I’m speaking to the people who want to understand it more, explore it more, and uncover more. Whether you’re invested in sports, gaming, trading cards, comics, or whatever hobby interests you, there’s a measure of joy, challenge, curiosity, exploration, and reward that comes with it. Film is no different.

However, what I have found to be the most rewarding aspect of film is that it’s one of the few art forms that grows, changes, and matures with you. As you move from childhood to adolescence, adulthood, middle age, and beyond, the movies you’ve watched have no choice but to grow and change with you.

You won’t watch The Goonies the same way you did when you were eight or seventeen or twenty-five or thirty-nine or forty-six or fifty-eight and beyond.

Why? Because you will have lived your life, experiencing a wide range of things, from love, heartbreak, failure, success, loss, and every other kind of victory, hardship, and lesson that comes within a lifetime of being human.

You’ll relate differently to characters than you did before. When you’re a kid, you relate to the kids in The Goonies. As you get older, you relate to the older kids. When you become a parent, you relate to the parents, and so on.

On the other hand, those films can also take you back to the moment you originally saw them, remind you of who you were, and give perspective on who you became. Sometimes, a movie is as simple as a time-traveling portal to your past.

My personal philosophy on movies, carried throughout my household and one I stand by above all others, is this: Love what you love.

There is no movie in existence that you must love or hate. It’s entirely up to you. And there’s no shame in what that choice is. You can love a film like Saving Silverman and hate a film like The Godfather or vice versa.

You’re not wrong in either preference. Nor are you right. You simply love the films you love, and that’s it.

You don’t have to justify it. You don’t have to defend it. You don’t owe anyone an explanation as to why you love one film and dislike another. Many have yet to grasp this simple philosophy. They will die on a hill defending certain films from your distaste for them, while vehemently attacking something you adore, because they view it as inferior.

The value of art isn’t meant to be reduced to a scale of one to ten, a bunch of stars, a grading system, or a fresh or rotten tomato.

Love what you love.

Never apologize. Never waver. Never justify. You love it, because you love it. Sure, the why matters, but that is your why, not someone else’s why. You have your reasons. You can share them, if you desire, but you don’t owe them. While the experience of watching a film with a packed crowd is nothing short of magical, the film you take home with you after the credits roll is your own and no one else’s.

Out of all my travels, conversations with actors and filmmakers, interactions on sets, junkets, conventions, and the like, it’s important to remember what it’s all really about.

In the end, everything I ever wrote or will ever write about movies is meaningless without an audience getting to experience it for themselves.

It’s all for the movies.

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Summer, 2026. I’m in New York City, attending Fanatics Fest, an annual sports fan convention with my brother, son, and nephew. After dropping our bags at the hotel, we make our way to the Javits Convention Center, which is essentially decked out like Comic-Con, but for sports.

Athletes, celebrities, and rows upon rows of sports memorabilia and trading cards fill the space. It’s pandemonium. We get inside, and it’s “nut-to-butt” (as we used to say in the Army). I can barely move. Hell, I can barely breathe. And the truth is, I’m not even really into it. We tagged along with my brother, who has gotten into the trading card game, but it quickly became evident that this convention was not for my son or me.

We broke away the second day, exploring NYC on a day that decided torrential downpours and earth-shattering thunder would be a part of our adventure. No matter. We surfed through the streets, determined to make the most of it. Our first stop was Ground Zero, where we stood in awe of the waterfall monuments to the twin towers, destroyed by terrorists on 9/11.

The museum was open, and I realized I’d never been. We ventured inside, and my emotions immediately overwhelmed me. 9/11 wasn’t just a tragic day in history, but a day that altered my life forever, changing the trajectory of it in ways I never anticipated. I was all set to move to Hollywood and work my way into the system, just as my filmmaking buddies in Chicago did.

But I couldn’t shake the calling I had after 9/11. Walking through the museum, seeing the carefully maintained rubble, destroyed firetrucks, watching the attacks on endless video loops, hearing the calls from passengers saying their last goodbyes, seeing the massive collection of debris, clothing, trinkets, furniture, paperwork, gear, and other remnants of daily life that were blown into the sky or buried in concrete, I felt transported back to that day.

I drifted like a ghost through the memorial, humbled by the weight of it. 9/11 will forever be a part of who I am, no matter how far the distance of time grows. It shaped me, all the way up to the point of becoming a film journalist and then leaving it behind to start anew.

It was the inciting incident of my adult life.

We went to Wall Street and took photos with the bull. We had lunch in a cafe inside the Oculus Transportation Hub. We walked to Chinatown. Had dumplings at Dim Sum Go Go. We got lost (on purpose) in Times Square. Got a pie from Joe’s Pizza (featured in the early Spider-Man films). Went to Midtown Comics and picked up some books.

We adventured.

And somewhere along the way, I realized that many of my insights, along with my street smarts, instincts, and attitude, stemmed from a decade of traveling the world as a movie blogger (with some additional knowledge gained from, y’know, going to war).

I had, in every single instance of my travels, squeezed every drop of juice from the experience. I didn’t let a small window of time, jet lag, lack of sleep, food, or water stop me.

At one point in the day, my son said that he was “done,” meaning he was ready to go back to the hotel and recharge. I didn’t push him, but had to smile, as I’d have kept going. I felt proud and not a little bit lucky. Not everyone at my age can find that kind of gusto.

This entire journey taught me to appreciate a moment, to grasp it, and take it for all it’s worth. That same calling, energy, and commitment burned within me. I was glad the fire was still there.

One of the last things we did on our NYC trip was to see director Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey in 70mm at the AMC Lincoln Square 13, a historic theater often used for Hollywood premieres and one of the few places on the planet capable of presenting IMAX 70mm, the format in which Nolan filmed the entirety of The Odyssey.

No such theater exists in my neck of the woods, and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity, so I wrestled with the Fandango app (literally for hours) to finally get tickets; 8:30 A.M. on a Sunday, thirty dollars per ticket. That’s all that was available for opening weekend.

It was a treat to be there, a kind of geek mecca for film nerds, and I was happy to check it off my list, and even happier that I loved the movie. That always makes it better and more memorable. Take those wins where you can.

Earlier this year, The Super Mario Galaxy Movie was released, the animated sequel to 2023’s blockbuster The Super Mario Bros. Movie. I wasn’t exactly excited for it, but knew that my son was at least mildly curious, having grown up as more of a gamer than me. I had offered to go see it with him if he desired, but at this point he’s older, has work, a girlfriend, and all the other distractions that pull him into his own world and out of mine.

I called him one day to check in on him, and he picked up. He was on the road and said that he was leaving the movie theater. I was a bit shocked. I asked what he saw, and he said he went to The Super Mario Galaxy Movie.

By himself.

I was incredulous. “Dude, I would’ve gone with you,” I said, almost pleading. At this point, I take what I can get, as I know my days are numbered in terms of hanging out with my kid, so the missed opportunity peeved me. He said he’d gone straight from work on a whim. He said the movie was pretty good and he enjoyed himself.

After hanging up, I stewed about this. I was pissed. Why would he go without me? Why would he go by himself? I felt slighted. Ignored.

Then, it dawned on me. My kid, seventeen years old, chose to go to the movies by himself, straight from work. He was interested enough to find out the showtime, drive to the theater, buy a ticket, and sit down to watch a movie all on his own.

I knew a kid like that once.

He was me.

All through high school, that was my thing. I was a loner, Dottie. A rebel. I went to the movies, mostly by myself, and I saw whatever I wanted to see. It was my favorite escape. Hell, it wasn’t even an escape.

It was exactly where I wanted to be.

As my mind worked it over, the anger I felt quickly turned to something like pride. In that moment, I felt like I’d passed the torch. Or, rather, I’d lit another one and handed it off, as I’m still exploring the cave myself. More than anything, it made me proud that my son would choose to sit alone with strangers in a dark theater and watch a movie.

TikTok, YouTube, social media, and streaming have fought (and fought hard) for the attention spans of our children, and more than a few times it’s given me pause as to what the future holds for the theatrical model.

But my son’s choice to see a movie on his own made me think that there’s still hope. And I still believe it. Because that hope has continued to grow.

Last week I went with my son to see Spider-Man: Brand New Day, making it the fourth MCU Spider-Man film we’ve seen together in the theaters. He’s grown to become a huge fan of the character, and it’s been cool to see that develop. It’s not like I left him much of a choice; being born to a movie/comic nerd comes with a very specific set of influences.

As I write this, box office records are still being broken. Kids, teens, and adults are flocking to the theaters to see big-budget fare and small indie flicks. The doors are open, the seats are full, the popcorn is flowing, and people are excited to be there.

The point? Movies are not dead.

Every time something happens to challenge theatrical releases, be it a lackluster year of grosses, the advent of streaming, a global pandemic, or the rise in short-form TikTok doomscrolling, the movies always bounce back.

It turns out that one of the best examples of the hero’s journey isn’t just in film, but film itself.

When I reflect on my own journey, from childhood on, it is filled with these pockets of time spent with friends and family, sharing a moment, an experience, a window into another world that affected us all similarly and individually.

Each viewing is a snapshot of my existence:

Watching RoboCop with my grandparents and marveling at the insane violence, gore, and humor.

Watching Blade Runner with my dad, confused and in awe at the same time.

Endless recycled VHS views of Pee-wee’s Big Adventure, The Karate Kid, and E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial with my brothers, long before on-demand, streaming, or DVD and Blu-ray allowed endless choices.

Seeing Rain Man and Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade with my mom, feeling like I’d grown up after watching both, while weirdly happy that my mom enjoyed them as well.

Watching Se7en with my brother at the Reston Town Center, both of us sitting in his car as it warmed up, dead silent and in shock after what we’d seen.

Watching Die Hard With A Vengeance with my first love, who smiled and kissed me after I dropped her off. A perfect night.

Watching Bad Boys II with fellow paratroopers while doing an OpFor rotation at Fort Knox, gushing over Michael Bay’s stylish excess and going back for seconds.

Watching The Crow with my brother and friends, feeling sad and thrilled at once over the loss of Brandon Lee, yet lucky that we got to see even a hint of his potential.

Watching Taxi Driver by myself in the basement during high school and feeling uneasy and morose over the bleak intensity, moved by how much a film could affect my mindset.

Watching Baby Driver with my wife, anxious for her to love Edgar Wright’s work as much as I did.

Watching Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse with my son, who was more excited than I was, and feeling proud that he’d taken ownership of his passion.

Watching Far and Away, seeing my dad fist pump with hope as I sat behind him, envisioning himself as Tom Cruise’s character racing toward his destiny.

Watching Revenge late at night on HBO, suddenly noticing the style and visual aura of Tony Scott, the door to my cinematic journey kicked wide open in a hard cut with a white flash and an explosive, bass-induced gunshot blast.

In the years I’ve spent of my life watching movies, alone or with family and friends, I am eternally grateful for every second. We spend a great amount of time away from one another, working, sleeping, or otherwise engaged in one thing or another. Movies have become a shared tradition, and I believe one of the greatest things to bring people together in modern history.

While watching Spider-Man: Brand New Day in a packed theater, filled with people of all ages, from little kids to teens to twenty-somethings to grandparents, it made me feel like the experience was alive and well.

Sitting there with my son, both of us excited as hell to see Spidey swing again, a young family moved into our aisle: a father, mother, and two young kids, a boy and a girl, roughly between the ages of four and six.

A few times during the movie, the kids got restless and antsy. There were a few bathroom breaks, during which they had to pass by us, mom and dad apologizing as they did. At one point, the dad had one of the kids in his lap, and one of them got frightened during one scene involving the Hulk. But they stayed to the end, letting the experience happen, imperfectly perfect as it was.

It reminded me immediately of my own trials and tribulations of taking my son to the movies as a child, dealing with his restlessness, endless bathroom breaks, endless snacks, constant questions, and falling asleep at random.

Someone had told me early on that I just had to keep going; otherwise, my son would never develop a tolerance or appreciation for it. I don’t remember who told me that, but they were right. I followed that advice to the letter.

And as time went on, the experience became automatic. He settled in. He enjoyed it. He looked forward to it. And now, he sought it out on his own.

I felt absolute joy that this family was embarking on their own journey in that way, and I hope they stay the course. I hope they keep taking their kids to the movies. Because it’s up to them to keep the experience alive. They are in charge of the future.

No pressure, guys.

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It’s been almost four years since I left professional film journalism.

The hardest thing for me was leaving the life. I still love the life. I mean, we were treated like movie stars with a website, we had it all just for the asking.

Our wives, mothers, kids, everybody rode along. I had shelves full of studio swag. I had stacks of comped Blu-rays next to the bed.

Anything I wanted was a phone call away. A screener link to a new movie or show. An interview with an A-list star.

I’d fly to London for three days, then fly back and never unpack my bag, flying right back out to another exotic location to watch a movie being made that I wouldn’t see for another year.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything. When I was broke, I just put it all on a credit card. We ran the narrative, sure, but we sure as hell weren’t being bribed or paid off to any degree. No bill collector ever took cheap studio swag as payment. But I did it anyway, because I loved it.

People came to me for jobs, to be featured on the site, or to offer me a trip around the world. Everybody had their hands out; everything was for the taking.

And now it’s all over.

And that’s the hardest part.

Today everything is different. There’s no action. I have to wait around like everyone else. Can’t even get decent screeners. Right after I left, I had to watch the new Game of Thrones when it debuted on HBO like everyone else.

I’m an average nobody.

Get to live the rest of my life as a schnook.

The irony of doing the Goodfellas ending here is that I went to YouTube to watch the final scene to refresh my memory of Ray Liotta’s voice-over narration as Henry Hill.

You know what channel I watched it on?

JoBlo Movie Clips.

FADE OUT:

Throughout this book, you’ve grown up with me. You’ve ventured throughout my days becoming a film nerd, a film student, a paratrooper, a news editor, an editor-in-chief, a senior writer, and now a movie news ronin, putting myself in exile to seek greater fortunes.

We’ve traveled the world together, from London to L.A. to New York to Texas to New Zealand to Australia to Bulgaria to Japan. We’ve attended some wild events, from Comic-Con to CinemaCon to Sundance to endless set visits and junkets, many of which never even made it into these pages.

It’s been the wildest ride of my life (so far) and one I had to share. It was never about bragging or trying to convince you I was some kind of legend for doing what I did. I chased this dream, and I was lucky, not special, passionate, not predestined.

A tremendous amount of this book, this endeavor, this travelogue, this confession of a movie blogger, was as much a therapy session as it was an opportunity to relive the adventure and provide perspective on what it means to do this job.

Our lives often feel too long and too short at once, and we each have what feels like a small window to accomplish anything of note within our given lifespan. Unfortunately, we don’t often get a notice of expiration, so it’s up to us to just keep going until it arrives.

Initially, I chased this dream because I loved movies and wanted to be part of the world that created them. I wasn’t seeking fortune or glory, neither of which came with the job anyway. I wanted to immerse myself in an art form that had affected me deeply and continues to do so, and I knew in my heart and soul that I had to seize every moment, because it would never last.

And that’s what the dream became: an adventure.

Lying on my deathbed, I will look back on my time as a movie blogger as an experience I lived to its fullest, without regret or shame. I will smile in whatever way I can, knowing that I followed my passion into a life worth living, despite any hardships or the eventual collapse of it all.

Instead of chasing movies to write about, my life became a movie.

And as the lights fade up and the curtains close for all of us, it is my greatest hope that we all seek out the adventure of our lives, no matter what that may be.

Whether you’re writing about movies, drilling for oil, building a start-up, treating patients, serving your country, or whatever purpose fuels you…

…my hope is that you find time to enjoy a movie with some loved ones and, within that moment, and in your own life’s journey…

…you enjoy the show.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book would not exist without the experiences that built it, and all of those experiences involved a multitude of people, directly or indirectly. My thanks, respect, and love are shared here:

To my wife, Maria, and my son, Dash, for their love, support, and participation in this wild adventure. I am eternally grateful to have shared these experiences with you, many of which are in these pages.

To my lifelong friends, Sean Coyle, Zaki Hasan, Brian Hall, and Phil Retay, who have provided friendship, inspiration, camaraderie, and grateful support of my endeavors.

To the many studio reps and talent who helped make all of this possible, including Carol Cundiff, Molly Alves, Melanie Klein, Seana Bagood, The Universal Girls, including Jen Black, Cecilia Sandoval, Mandy Rodgers, the late Jackie Cavanagh, and everyone who ever invited, booked, transported, or accommodated me along the way.

To my friends and colleagues from the movie news trenches, including my successor and favorite Canadian, Chris Bumbray. Keep fighting the good fight.

To the talent that said “yes” to me throughout the years, including Ryan Reynolds, Rob Liefeld, Robert Rodriguez, the late John Landau, Peter Safran, James Wan, Walter Hill, Ridley Scott, and everyone who shared a speed-dating moment with me throughout this journey. It was an honor, even if most of them have no memory of it.

To my fans and supporters, who have backed this project through Substack and shared my work with others. It continues to be my honor to have you along for the ride.

To Rob Keyes, who gave me a shot at Screen Rant, even if that shot served to prove I was ready to move on.

Lastly, to Berge Garabedian, without whom this story would not exist. His faith, mentorship, and leadership brought me into the fold, and I will forever be indebted to him for sharing his dream with me.

2026 Paul Shirey. All rights reserved.

“Confessions of a Movie Blogger™” and all related titles, logos, and branding are trademarks of Paul Shirey.

This installment is part of a serialized nonfiction work based on the author’s personal experiences. Some names, dates, locations, and identifying details may be altered to protect privacy.

No part of this work may be reproduced, redistributed, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief quotations used in reviews or commentary.

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Being a writer is a process. Perhaps writers are never writers. We are always becoming writers. Sure, you can learn all the rules and applications of a specific language and begin to string words together in a way that makes sense, creates an emotional reaction, conveys action, or presents dialogue.

But it’s in the “how” of that process where writing is born. For me, the writers I’ve admired, emulated, even copied, are the ones who break all the rules we’re supposed to follow. They take the premise of language, kidnap it, run away with it, raise it as their own, and unleash this stolen child upon the world, shaped in their image.

That may sound like philosophical hyperbole, and perhaps it is, but the point is that finding your voice doesn’t come with following the rules. You learn the rules, even master them to a degree. Then, you break them. Defy them. Mold them to fit your own style and perspective. And, in doing so, you find your voice. You sit down and start writing, and each new sentence is a discovery of who you are and what you’re trying to say.

The same process happens when you start writing about movies, or any form of art that you seek to understand, appreciate, or critique. There’s a beauty in that. There’s the resounding thought that simply talking about art makes it art. Now, I don’t think that a listicle about the Top Ten Best Marvel Films is a work of art, but it is art we’re talking about nonetheless.

I abhor articles like that. And I have every right to, because I’ve written articles like that. Lots of them. I’ve also written pieces that I’m immensely proud of. I chased those types of stories. I love writing about things I love, things I hate, things that challenge me, things that inspire me, and things that perplex me.

In a decade of writing about movies and pop culture for JoBlo.com and Screen Rant, I learned more lessons than I could ever capture in a single book. Many of them were about who I am, who I aspired to be, and who I didn’t want to become. I also learned about Hollywood, filmmaking, marketing, promotion, and the inner world of movie news, far beyond what I knew as a fan scouring my favorite sites.

I became those sites, as you’ve read throughout these pages. I contributed, for better or worse, to the online culture of movie news, lending my own voice and perspective at the highest level, while playing the game and applying the tricks of the trade to keep the gears moving. I was the system. And then, I wasn’t.

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Spoiler Warning - This review is a little early and does contain spoilers. If you want to save your read until after you’ve seen the film, then now’s your jump off point.

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It’s been five years since Tom Holland’s MCU Spider-Man swung through theaters, but the wait for his return is finally over with Spider-Man: Brand New Day, which manages to pick up after the events of the last film, Spider-Man: No Way Home, while advancing it to the present day in clever, comic-book-style fashion.

Shang-Chi and The Legend of the Ten Rings director Destin Daniel Cretton takes over directing chores from the previous trilogy’s director, Jon Watts, adding a fresh, street-level perspective, which is far more reminiscent of the Raimi/Maguire era of Spidey films than any of his appearances in the MCU thus far.

While Spider-Man: Homecoming, the first solo film with Holland as Peter Parker/Spider-Man played in a somewhat more grounded arena, Brand New Day immerses us in it, fulfilling the promise of what Spider-Man: No Way Home left us with at the end, which saw the webslinger transported into the heart of the New York City, where his comic roots were born.

That said, being in the city isn’t exactly a fully grounded or dour affair, as there is a clumsy playfulness to Spider-Man in the film, which comes from a place of him stumbling into adulthood and struggling to figure out his place in a world where his most treasured friends have no idea who he is.

Holland himself has matured tremendously, looking more like a man than a boy, with his physique filling out to the point that he’s almost too muscular a Spider-Man. Holland plays the lonely, heartbroken, and conflicted hero with the same boyish charm as before, but with a deeper sense of pain and longing than we’ve seen before. He’s not only grown up at this point, but he’s suffered, and Holland does a great job of exuding that onscreen.

Zendaya’s MJ and Jacob Batalon’s Ned Leeds are back, also retaining the charm that’s made them such lovable characters in the MCU, but there’s an air of longing within them as well, seeing as they have completely forgotten their lives with Peter Parker, but continue nonetheless, now graduates of MIT and rooming together as they begin their own adult lives.

Like the Harry Potter series of films, we, the audience, are very much watching these characters grow up almost in real time, considering the structure of the film. It’s been hard enough to track what the hell is going on in the MCU since Avengers: Endgame, so it’s nice to have a film series that aligns with prior events fairly effortlessly.

Jon Bernthal’s Punisher (who is never actually called that here) has a much bigger presence than I anticipated, acting as a kinda-sorta ally to Spider-Man, even if their methods of dealing out justice don’t align. After multiple appearances in the Daredevil series, two seasons of his own series, and most recently his own one-shot (Punisher: One Last Kill), Bernthal is firmly established as the MCU’s Frank Castle/Punisher and it works for that environment.

It’s been interesting watching Marvel/Disney fold the Netflix show characters into the MCU proper, and I wish I could say it’s been seamless, but it hasn’t. It hasn’t been terrible, but it’s been terribly disjointed at the least. Bernthal’s Punisher in all previous appearances has been a violent killing machine, much like the comic-book version of the character, but he is as Punisher-lite as it gets in Brand New Day.

As a lifelong Punisher fan (I have at least 90 percent of all his comics), I have simply accepted that this is the best we’ll get for now. Multiple attempts have been made to adapt this character, and none of them have nailed it, even if Bernthal’s has come the closest. He’s far too chatty and playful, something Frank Castle never is in his comic roots, which, ironically, is what makes him such a unique and tough character to adapt.

In Brand New Day, he swears a lot and gives Spider-Man a lot of guff, acting more like a big brother to the character than anything. But I get it; Bernthal and Holland are friends in real life, they love working together, they’ve got great onscreen chemistry, and it works in this MCU iteration. If you’re not a stickler for how The Punisher is (or rather, should be) portrayed, you likely won’t care, and you’ll enjoy their banter.

The villain of the film is, as most theorized, not really a villain at all. Someone is using mind-control to wreak havoc on the city, zeroing in on the multiple offices of Damage Control, which has become a kind of police force that houses super-powered criminals, while also giving them employment (in this case, the ninja clan known as The Hand).

That someone, of course, is none other than Jean Grey, played by Sadie Sink.

Sink is perfectly cast in the role. She’s young, talented, a natural redhead, and her time on Stranger Things now feels like a really long audition to become an X-Man. It’s an odd choice to introduce her through a Spider-Man film, and I’m not entirely convinced it was the best direction, even if it still works.

That said, it also feels a bit like a gimmick to backdoor the X-Men into the MCU, cheating Spider-Man out of a more focused film with his own roster of rogues who have yet to appear. We get snippets of Scorpion, Tombstone, Boomerang, and Tarantula, but that’s about it. I had hoped that there would be a bigger reveal of a larger villain at play (Chameleon, perhaps?), but they go all-in on Jean Grey, who ironically serves as a more cerebral kind of villain in the film, with her powers seeming to conflict with Spider-Man interestingly.

Spider-Man, it appears, is going through some changes. Spider-Puberty, if you will. It’s a metamorphosis of sorts, brought on by his changing conditions, literally, figuratively, and emotionally. The change involves him becoming angrier, more powerful, and more…spidery.

It’s ultimately a metaphor for his shift into adulthood, as he enters the next phase of his life, resisting it at every turn. He even goes to see Dr. Banner, teaching at a local college, to see how he is handling his Hulk transformations. The last time we saw Banner (or Hulk) was in the She-Hulk series, where he apparently had everything under control and was training his cousin how to manage her newfound powers. No explanation is given as to why he needs a dampener to control the Hulk now, but it plays a big role in Spider-Man attempting to control his changes similarly.

After discovering Jean Grey’s identity and tracking her down at one of the Damage Control locations, all Hulk breaks loose, leading to a showdown between Spidey, Punisher, and Hulk, which serves as one of the more exciting action scenes of the film.

Cretton brings the same kind of energy he did with Shang-Chi, making the acrobatics, stunts, and fights easy to follow and staged in-camera as much as possible, which is a credit to the film overall. I never felt like I was trapped in a CGI nightmare, and appreciated when Cretton slowed things down to let us appreciate what was happening.

When the action is in play, there isn’t a moment lost. That said, some repetitive and drawn-out dramatic beats overstay their welcome throughout the film, and while Jean Grey’s motives are slowly revealed, the mystery of it all feels stretched thin and isn’t quite as powerful a reveal as I had hoped for.

The modern storytelling tendency to break into a flashback or side scene in the middle of the action has gotten tiresome and overused, and while I understand the impact it can have, it can also serve as a distraction when you’re invested in a moment, particularly a finale. It’s okay to let the film play out without jumping away from the action every time, but the filmmakers felt it was necessary here (and it works in a cameo as well), but I’m not convinced it was.

Despite my issues with inconsistent pacing and drawn-out moments that dragged rather than added, there’s a lot to love about Spider-Man: Brand New Day. My favorite aspect of the film was that Cretton takes us literally to street level and cinematographer Brett Pawlak brings the gritty and vibrant world of New York City to life beautifully, capturing the daily life of the city in all its squalor and splendor.

It certainly makes the case for the best-looking Spider-Man film to date, coupled with VFX that only add to the film, never taking away. From production design to music to performances, Brand New Day sees the MCU once again focusing on quality over quantity, helped no doubt by producer Amy Pascal and the team at Sony who oversee the property.

The debate will certainly rage over whether this is the best of the Spider-Man films or not. In terms of box office, I predict it will shatter records. Our audience clapped, cheered, and laughed throughout. It accomplishes everything a Spider-Man film should, while also giving us a deeper, slightly darker, more grown-up webslinger than we’ve had in a while (including Spider-Man 3’s emo Spidey and The Amazing Spider-Man 2’s devastated Spidey).

I’d rank it in the upper tier, top five for sure (including the Spider-Verse films, which I put at the top as well). The great thing is that even as much as the property has changed hands, it has remained consistently solid. Some of the films work better than others, but they’re all enjoyable, and they all capture the essence and appeal of Spider-Man. He’s an easy assignment to ace, much more than The Punisher, anyway.

Regardless of where it ranks, it’s a great addition to the Spider-Man lore, and a solid step forward for the MCU/Sony version of the character. While the post-credits scene teases another faraway adventure sometime in the future, I hope that we can reunite with Peter, MJ, Ned, and the other Big Apple players for a fully street-level Spider-Man romp next time, without the burden of laying up other franchise characters in the process.

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So, how much did the studios pay me to write this book?

$200 cash, a bottle of cheap scotch, and nude pictures of your mom.

In all seriousness, we need to talk about access journalism. If you’ve made it this far, you should already understand what modern entertainment journalism looks like. Now I want to dig deeper into what access journalism actually is, how it works, and how it doesn’t.

Access journalism is, by one definition, “reporting that prioritizes continued access to sources over aggressive scrutiny, often resulting in softer coverage.”

So, does that mean that access journalism is compromised journalism?

Yes.

And no.

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It’s fascinating to watch new artists emerge. It’s even more fascinating to see those artists become masters of their craft. In the last few decades, we’ve seen a multitude of new filmmakers enter the scene, shaping (and reshaping) the language of cinema in ways that challenge, inspire, thrill, intrigue, and entertain. In the 90s, it was filmmakers like Quentin Tarantino, Kevin Smith, David Fincher, and Paul Thomas Anderson, amongst others, who followed multiple generations of filmmakers before them.

On the heels of the 90s wave of talent was Christopher Nolan, the British-born director who set a precedent with his experimental, non-linear storytelling, powerhouse performances, and synergy of sound and music intermingled in a way that creates pulse-pounding tension right up until the credits roll.

2000s Memento set the stage for Nolan’s style, remaining the most complex of his films to date in terms of storytelling. From there, Nolan played with more straightforward narratives, particularly in his The Dark Knight trilogy, but the rest of his filmography is littered with the type of back-and-forth cutting that keeps the viewer perplexed, invested, and enthralled, sometimes to a fault.

Nolan’s latest effort, an adaptation of Homer’s The Odyssey, is another step forward in the evolution of his filmmaking journey.

A refined, viscerally charged epic that both expands and contracts the world of myth in a way that makes it feel both fantastic and historical at once. It demands your attention, challenges your perceptions, and rewards your immersion by the minute, building toward a climax that feels earned.

Matt Damon takes on the lead role of Odysseus, the measured yet conflicted warrior of Ithaca who answers the call to gather troops to join in the fight against the Greek city of Troy. Led by the legendary Agamemnon (Benny Safdie), Odysseus concocts the plan to use the “gift” of a Trojan Horse to infiltrate the city during the 10-year siege, effectively ending the war.

But that’s merely the first half of his journey, having left behind a kingdom (Ithaca), a wife (Penelope, as played by Anne Hathaway), and a son (Telemachus, as played by Tom Holland), all of which wait on a precipice for his return. In his absence, an unruly band of suitors has gathered in an attempt to force Penelope to remarry and take over the seemingly abandoned kingdom.

The rest of the tale, enthralling readers since the 8th Century, is a journey of epic proportions. A man-eating cyclops, armored giants, an army of the dead, a witch, sea monsters, and the gods themselves all infest Odysseus’s journey home, which Nolan crafts in a way that feels, for the first time in its many incarnations throughout the years, like something real, even if almost otherworldly in nature.

Damon’s Odysseus is brave, wise, and determined, but also overly confident, conflicted, and tortured. His defiance of the gods is almost a voluntary penance for his victory at Troy, which haunts him at every turn. In many ways, the story itself, from Homer’s poem to Nolan’s adaptation, is a story about a warrior’s quest for peace after years of war, which is not a straight-line journey. His sins and victories are intertwined, and whether it’s fate, the gods, or a self-imposed sentence, a price is paid on the pathway to that peace.

I read Homer’s work in high school and was fascinated by it, like most kids who are exposed to it at that time. Joseph Campbell pulled from The Odyssey extensively in his own examination of the hero’s journey, a template that has served an overwhelming majority of works for centuries and continues to do so.

What Nolan has made is very much a tribute to that, as he doesn’t attempt to make it something other than what Homer intended. I’m no scholar of The Odyssey, but the connection is as strong as the string on Odysseus’s bow. While it may seem that Nolan is crafting something larger, deeper, or somehow different given his earnest, immersive, rattling, spectacle-filled style, The Odyssey is a fairly straightforward take on the source material, showing a level of passion and respect, while also deviating at times to fit his cinematic vision.

This should come as no surprise, but many have gone to great lengths to politicize the film at every turn, taking offense at a three-hour adaptation of a 600-page poem not getting every single detail on the screen. Adapting any novel to film requires changes and sacrifices, even just at the technical level. This is not new. And it will always be so.

The casting uproar, which is attempting to create a “woke” narrative of The Odyssey, is misguided at best. That’s not to say that you couldn’t disagree with certain casting choices, but to call it purposely woke is just untrue. Nolan has built amazing and diverse casts for all of his films, and The Odyssey is no different.

Is some of it controversial? Sure. But, even at that level, it can feel inspired. The two biggest complaints come from Lupita Nyong’o as Helen of Troy and Elliot Page as Sinon, both of which are fair criticisms, but neither right nor wrong in terms of casting. It’s mostly indifferent.

For me, the only real issue is that Lupita is, in fact, a beautiful woman, but they don’t go out of their way to highlight it. When it comes to Sinon, Page fits the role to a degree, but can’t help but bring the baggage of previous films as the opposite sex along. It’s one of those cases where fame takes away from presence.

Still, both Page and Nyong’o put forth good performances, so it’s easy to let yourself be lost in the movie, rather than being a stickler on casting. There are much greater things on display here.

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Damon fits Odysseus well, looking the part very much physically, delivering a performance that echoes the qualities of the long-standing character, while bringing a layer of strength and pain that the role needed for Nolan’s vision. Is he the perfect choice? Hard to say, as many could embody the role and bring something to it, but Damon is no doubt exceptional in his interpretation.

The supporting cast is almost too large, but there are some great surprises throughout, which is one of the hallmarks of the film, serving as a showcase of talent, as much as a cool new take on a very old poem.

Tom Holland is excellent as Telemachus, the son of Odysseus, who must deal with the array of suitors attempting to woo his mother into marriage. It’s almost a coming-of-age journey for the actor, who sheds his boyish image to a large degree with this part, elevating him into a new sphere of acting that will no doubt serve him (and audiences) for a long time to come.

Anne Hathaway makes for a strong Penelope, the wife of Odysseus, who is marred by one calamity after another, living her life in a constant state of unrest. Hathaway brings that anxious struggle to life with a sad tension that serves the story well.

The standouts, for me, were John Leguizamo as Eumaeus, the loyal servant to Odysseus, as well as Robert Pattinson as Antinous, the conniving and cowardly suitor who attempts to steal the throne of Ithaca.

Leguizamo is a veteran actor who has been in almost everything, but this is the first time he’s done anything so restrained, yet impactful as a character and an actor. He’s not the standard choice you’d expect for such a role, but that’s what makes it so great (and what makes all the complaints about the casting in the film so insipid), and Leguizamo brings the role to life with a fatherly strength that is needed.

Pattinson is a chameleon at this point, able to shapeshift into whatever role he embodies, be it a sparkly vampire, a dark knight, or a mythological asshole. It’s amazing to see how much he has grown as an actor throughout the years and how fearless he is at taking risks, both defying and embracing Hollywood at once. I love that he can be a hero or a villain from film to film so seamlessly, and his Antinous is every bit the bad guy you love to hate.

The rest of the cast, from Odysseus’s men to the various people (and creatures) they encounter throughout, bring a much-needed breadth of personality to the proceedings, which, for me, makes an even stronger case for a diversified cast.

As someone who hates actual “woke” casting and politically-charged pandering, I found zero offense to any of it in The Odyssey, nor did I find any of the story itself to contain such things. In fact, I believe Homer’s original work exists to challenge and push boundaries, not just to tell a sweeping story. Homer’s work is full of spectacle, sure, but it’s also full of humanity’s struggle, much of which can be deciphered as parable, irony, or some other measure of hidden messaging that shines a light on the plight of human existence.

In terms of spectacle, Nolan stages the many trials of Odysseus’s journey with a sense of supernatural surrealism, which makes the monstrous and frightening aspects feel intensely real. CGI is used to ground these elements, rather than push them over the top, and it’s a stunning balance.

The Cyclops (played by Bill Irwin) sequence is frightening, horrific, and almost magical in how it’s presented. The armored giants feel like an imposing force, rather than an unconvincing CGI nightmare. The sequence with the witch Circe (played by Samantha Morton) is unlike any I’ve ever seen on film, executed in shocking, brilliant fashion.

There are more sequences to behold in the film, playing out with the same level of creative flair that Nolan sets up. He never deviates from his established vision of The Odyssey, which is no easy task. If there’s an area where some may struggle with The Odyssey, it’s the disjointed narrative that jumps backwards and forwards frequently, sometimes in Terrence Malick-like fashion, inserting random shots that may not make sense in the moment, but pay off by the end.

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In that way, at least a modicum of patience is needed to truly enjoy The Odyssey. If audiences are just sitting around waiting to get from spectacle to spectacle without anything deeper, then they will surely be tested. The opening half hour of the film plays almost like a highlight reel of sorts, cutting back and forth as the stage is set for everything to come after.

None of that bothered me, but I can see how it may be a challenge for some viewers.

By the end, The Odyssey more than earns its climax, a feat that often eludes films of this nature. For those who are well aware of how Homer’s The Trial of the Bow plays out, it will come as little surprise, but Nolan executes it with the same momentum that had our blood pumping at the finale of The Dark Knight Rises. It’s not always the case, but when Nolan sets his sights on a proper payoff, he knows how to keep audiences white-knuckled to their seats in eager anticipation, dangled by a string of high tension.

I am an ardent fan of Nolan’s work, although some of his films have never resonated with me. Dunkirk left me cold, while I felt somewhat deceived by what Oppenheimer was sold as. Tenet was a wild concept, but it fell short in my eyes. But Nolan’s Memento, The Prestige, Inception, The Dark Knight Trilogy, Interstellar, and now The Odyssey have cemented him, in my eyes, as one of the greatest filmmakers of all time.

It’s a lot to take in, and this is my initial reaction to the 70mm screening I saw at AMC Lincoln 13 in New York City, which was stunning to behold and had a pulsing auditory experience that elevated the score by Ludwig Göransson mixed with Nolan’s earthquake-inducing sound design.

I’m sure I will come to more conclusions after a second viewing, as The Odyssey demands another look. One of my general rules that dictates whether a movie is truly great or not is whether it warrants a second viewing. There are Academy Award winners out there that I never need to see more than once.

The Odyssey beckons a second viewing and likely a third, and that’s just in theaters alone. It’s a tremendous win for visionary filmmakers like Nolan, a showcase for an immense cast of talented actors, a spectacle floor for the creative teams that amplify it to greatness, and a blessing by the gods that is keeping cinema alive and well.

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After a year of homeschooling and sitting on the sidelines of the movie news game, I couldn’t ignore the desire to be back in the trenches. There was no regret over my decision to leave JoBlo.com, but something still lingered, a question that needed to be answered, a block that needed to be checked, one more path to explore.

Although I wasn’t in the game, per se, I was still doing interviews through The Beard and The Bald Podcast, and even on my own through my YouTube channel, which I started years prior as a means to do unboxings and movie commentaries, serving as an outlet for the things I was interested in that weren’t part of a website gig.

During that time, I interviewed some cool people, including The Terminal List author Jack Carr, film composer John Murphy (Sunshine, 28 Days Later), actor Wes Studi (Last of the Mohicans, Heat), as well as the previously mentioned director Walter Hill, which was a dream interview, as he’s always been one of my biggest filmmaking influences and a true master of the craft.

Those interviews, as well as the podcast itself, kept me afloat during the height of COVID and in between classwork for homeschooling. But, even if it kept me satisfied to a degree, there was still a part of me that had to know what the other side of the business looked like.

As I did those interviews and continued my investment in the goings-on of Hollywood, I felt a draw back to my roots, where I just wrote about movies, including reviews and commentary, long before I ever was paid to do so, but now with a vast wealth of knowledge, experience, and insight that I didn’t have before.

Although the JoBlo.com money wasn’t substantial, I was surviving without it completely, thanks largely to selling a home and living off the proceeds, which lasted only about a year. I made it work, but it would eventually run out, and I had to think about some kind of supplemental income to keep me going, even if it was just part-time.

I knew I had options, as I’d made many strong connections throughout my time working for JoBlo, with the vast majority of them being positive. I wasn’t in the habit of making enemies, and I knew the key people who ran all the popular sites, including the big, corporate-owned ones.

At one point, before leaving JoBlo.com, I’d talked to the folks at ComicBook.com about potentially moving over there, but it never moved beyond discussions. They were one of the leading sites, and I knew both Brandon Davis and James Viscardi from there, and liked them both a lot.

But, I had a deeper affinity for Rob Keyes, one of the editorial directors at Screen Rant. Although I rarely read the site, I liked Keyes a lot and was always happy to run into him on set visits, junkets, and conventions. He was very down-to-earth, very smart, and had a good sense of humor and way about him that made me respect and admire him. He was good company.

It was a roll of the dice, in many ways, but I decided to reach out to Keyes and see about a position at Screen Rant. If it turned into something, cool. If not, so be it. I had nothing to lose, and for something exploratory, I felt Keyes was someone who would understand what I was trying to do.

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To say that COVID changed things would be an understatement. It changed Hollywood and the entertainment industry at large, not to mention society on the whole. By March 2020, Hollywood was at a standstill. Productions halted or shut down completely, finished films were shuffled off the release calendar, and streaming suddenly became the hottest option in town, one which would forever alter the means of distribution.

What this meant for me as Editor-in-Chief of JoBlo.com was a complete stop to all travel. No more set visits. No more in-person junkets. No more Comic-Con, CinemaCon, or Star Wars Celebration. No more Sundance, no more sneak peek screenings.

Everything started being canceled in a domino-effect crescendo.

Essentially, I would be confined to my house in Alaska, parked behind a laptop.

Indefinitely.

I have kept a journal since 1993. It’s sporadic, with entries ranging from daily and weekly to biannually, but it’s been consistent nonetheless, starting in lined notebooks before becoming a Word document.

In the years I worked for JoBlo.com, there were countless journal entries where I talked about quitting. It wasn’t that I hated the job. Rather, it was never something I’d envisioned doing for the rest of my life. As the role evolved, as most jobs do, I found myself constantly asking whether the juice was still worth the squeeze.

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In the entirety of my career as a film journalist, I’ve only attended three film premieres. One of the biggest reasons for that is that I didn’t live in New York or Los Angeles. I was invited to endless premieres, but couldn’t attend because I lived in Alaska and couldn’t just take an Uber to Hollywood Boulevard.

Sure, I was on the “blue carpet” for X-Men: Apocalypse and attended multiple early look screenings, as well as a multitude of press screenings, but when it came to the real deal, red-carpet premieres where everyone was dressed to the nines and posing for photos as they walked in, I logged only three.

Ironically enough, they were all in London.

The first was for The Expendables 3, which I was invited to shortly after my set-visit coverage debuted. It was a personal invite, not just an invite for the site. I remember getting the call from Sam, the Lionsgate rep, and I was honestly humbled.

I remember being uneasy about it to a degree, as I knew Berge was weird about personal invites. It was ironic, as he always wanted a “voice” for the site, yet anytime someone was personally singled out, he got weird about it. I was the Editor-in-Chief, though, so why that would be weird is anyone’s guess.

I was also uneasy because Sam had invited me to the set of American Ultra, an action-comedy starring Jesse Eisenberg and Kristen Stewart, a few months prior, and Berge made me turn it down. He didn’t really have a good reason for it, and I felt it was bad form to turn it down. He reasoned that we were doing too many set visits of late, but I didn’t really buy it. But he was the big boss, and his word was law.

For the record, I think it’s idiotic for any site to turn down opportunities like that, especially if you’re looking to establish yourself and work inside this crazy machine. I’m not saying you should do anything and everything, but just a year later, we’d be sending someone to the set of Barbershop 3, so obviously skipping American Ultra didn’t make much sense.

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I went into Supergirl not so much with an open mind, but with low expectations.

I wasn’t rooting against it, nor did I decide to dislike it from the start.

If anything, I hoped it would be one of those movies that’s better than expected, if not at least a substantial improvement over last year’s Superman, which launched a cinematic reset for DC Studios, the newly branded take on the world of DC Comics superheroes on the big screen, headed by CEOs James Gunn and Peter Safran.

I’ve been a longtime fan of James Gunn’s work, from his early films to his projects in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and Peter Safran has been involved in some of the better DCEU projects, including the highest-grossing one of them all, Aquaman. Between the two of them, they’ve done some great work.

Unfortunately, they haven’t found that stride with their new DC endeavor, which is as frustrating as it is disappointing because it feels like this new venture should be a slam dunk for them. And, perhaps to some fans, it is, but for many others, myself included, it’s off to a terrible start, now thanks to another lackluster entry with Supergirl.

Directed by Craig Gillespie (I, Tonya, Cruella), Supergirl stars Game of Thrones alum Milly Alcock as Kara Jor-El, the cousin of the Last Son of Krypton, who takes on a very different persona than we’ve seen in previous incarnations, save for the version portrayed by Sasha Calle in The Flash.

Alcock’s Supergirl is feisty with a brazen, reckless attitude, driven by a desire to “do good” regardless of her desire to do the opposite. It’s a decidedly different path for the character than her more “vanilla” personifications, which would be fine if it didn’t feel so forced.

At every turn, they really want you to know that she is a rebel who doesn’t care, even though she constantly gets wrapped up in everything she says she doesn’t care about, which makes the whole act feel disingenuous or, at best, just an act.

Maybe that’s the point, but it doesn’t feel that way, as Kara never reckons with it.

Alcock has presence, and she looks the part, but she never reaches a point as the character where you feel invested in her outcome, because it all feels so predictable. We’re meant to accept that she is struggling with her identity in a post-Krypton world, having grown up in a literal Krypton bubble before being launched to Earth to join her cousin, but it’s paper-thin at best.

Since she grew up with her parents and came to know Krypton (as well as adopting the menace that is Krypto), she acts out her frustration of failing to adapt to life on Earth (although we never actually see her even try) by doing alien-world bar crawls on red-planet worlds so she can feel the effects of the alcohol.

Sure, she’s rebellious and spunky, but she’s not really any fun either, as any opportunity to show her as even slightly relatable or interesting is traded for an incoherent barroom brawl or scuffle that’s about as exciting as a CW show (sorry, previous Supergirl).

It’s all very woe-is-me until she meets a young girl on a mission of vengeance against a maniacal alien marauder named Krem, played by Matthias Schoenaerts, who looks like a Hellraiser Cenobite and acts like an ’80s action-movie Euro slimeball. He mostly dances around, laughs maniacally, kills randomly, and is always eating or drinking something. That’s all you’ll learn about this throwaway baddie, another in a long string of them in the superhero genre.

The girl, Ruthye, played by Eve Ridley, is another cookie-cutter youthful vengeance seeker with no real skills, but all the tenacity in the universe to try and win us over. Unfortunately, that stereotype ship sailed long ago, and now it just feels tired and boring.

Supergirl finds a pulse when Jason Momoa’s Lobo shows up, but it’s a faint pulse, so don’t get too excited.

I should be writing a review for a solo Lobo movie instead of a solo Supergirl movie. Had Lobo been the lead character with Supergirl making a small appearance, we’d be talking about a different experience, as Momoa’s enthusiasm and presence make for a far more entertaining ride than anything Kara does in the entirety of the film.

And, really, Lobo is just far more interesting than Supergirl as a character.

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David Corenswet pops up a few times, showing his connection to Kara, as well as his concern for her well-being, but it’s far too “aw, shucks” for my taste, as it was with his solo film last year. I like Corenswet and wish him well in the role, but he’s no Henry Cavill or Christopher Reeve, leaving much to be desired from a character that’s meant to be part of the DC Trinity.

What bothers me most about Supergirl is that it’s not really about anything. It thinks it is, but it skirts the edge so thinly that what you’re left with is a “revenge is bad, m’kay” kind of vibe, which is immediately contradicted in the finale, making it all fairly pointless.

The film also takes zero risks. We get lots of characters urinating or vomiting, from Krypto to Kara to a random guard, which is hardly edgy or even funny, and there are plenty of creatures, ships, and locations, but most of them are just a blur of something that’s been done before, with a force of villains that feel like little more than a Mad Max version of Gunn’s Ravagers in Guardians of the Galaxy, except devoid of any personality whatsoever.

I don’t know if it was a budget constraint or not, but many of the locations are just a single structure in the middle of some random landscape, making it all feel small, despite Kara and Ruthye trotting from one location to the next, asking the locals at every Mos Eisley cantina where the bad guys are (literally the whole plot of the movie).

The arc of Supergirl seems to want to be about Kara finding her people or, at least, making peace with being on Earth, yet none of that is displayed in the film. Instead of giving her a genuine “want” in the film, it’s essentially a “find the antidote” plot to save Krypto from a poison he’s shot with by Krem, who conveniently wears the only antidote in a neat little bottle around his neck.

Sure, the film can be about her saving her dog, I guess (complete with a ticking clock that kind of just doesn’t matter after a while), and helping out an orphaned kid because, hey, she’s kind of an orphan, too. But the stakes never feel high, there isn’t an ounce of suspense (unless you consider Kara waiting for a sunrise to recharge her powers suspenseful), and the needle-drop action is a murky, boring mess.

The thing is, with the amount of talent and money put into Supergirl, it should be a better film than what it is, which is about as generically entertaining as you can get.

You have movies like Obsession or Backrooms being made on shoestring budgets and achieving far greater depth, style, tone, concept, and vibe than Supergirl can muster on $175 million.

At this point, I’m checked out of this “punk rock” rebellious DC Universe that seems to think having an IDGAF attitude is enough to make heroes cool, but it’s beyond lazy and boring. Real heroes make sacrifices. They suffer. They strive. They fight against insurmountable odds. They hold to an ideal that goes beyond themselves.

Enough with the petulant children in tights, flipping the bird, saying PG-13 swear words, and stumbling through plots that require no growth whatsoever. Here’s hoping the next DCU effort, Man of Tomorrow, which combines both Superman and Supergirl in one film (with guests, of course), will be the “third time’s a charm” this new DCU needs, or we’re in for a long slog of films that feel more like homework than entertainment.

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A24 is never one to shy away from weird, oddly-paced, beautifully shot, well-cast melodramatic fare that often confuses audiences more than entertains them. They are the MCU of arthouse cinema at this point, and I welcome it heartily, but that doesn’t mean everything they churn out is a banger.

Directed by Michael Sarnoski (Pig, A Quiet Place: Day One) and starring Hugh Jackman, Bill Skarsgård, and Jodie Comer, The Death of Robin Hood feels a lot like a film that you imagine in your mind when you think about the final days of a heroic character.

The only thing is, we rarely get those films, because most films about fabled heroes, as much as real ones, frequently end on a high note.

With The Death of Robin Hood, you get to see the twilight years of such a “hero”, which is anything but Happily Ever After. In truth, it’s not happily ever after for anyone, as we all find our way to the grave eventually, and it’s rarely a moment of great fanfare.

Jackman is well-suited to the role of an aging Robin Hood, playing a measured, introspective protagonist who has seemingly accepted his fate, trying to outrun his sins until the burden of them catches up to him. It’s basically Old Man Robin Hood (as opposed to Old Man Logan) with a quiver and bow instead of claws and a healing factor.

Sarnoski employs a visual language akin to Robert Eggers”, in that even the “ugly” things look beautiful, bringing the real-world location of Northern Ireland to life with a natural, alluring wonder that contrasts with the harsh, weathered terrain. If nothing else, The Death of Robin Hood is a beautifully captured film, just not a great film on the whole.

The film takes the myth of Robin Hood and reimagines it within a historically accurate medieval timeframe. What would a real-world Bandit in the 1200s actually look like? What would become of his life after living as an outlaw for decades?

Hint: It ain’t great.

Based on the ballads of Robin Hood from the 12th to 14th centuries, in which the character of Robin Hood was painted as more of a violent outlaw hacking off heads, rather than a swashbuckling hero saving maidens from brutal local dictators and tossing coins to the poor.

Jackman’s Robin may be calm and measured, but he’s also brutal and succinct when he’s called to violence. He is a man who has killed enough to know what must be done to finish the job, and that’s on full display when those moments arrive.

Naturally, the violence is portrayed as harsh and unforgiving, but living in the post-Terrifier cinematic world, it’s hard to be shocked by it anymore. It struck me that filmmakers will have to go to some difficult places moving forward to incite the same kind of visceral reactions that were so easily won in decades past, especially for desensitized viewers like myself.

Not that every film needs to push the limits of horror, gore, and brutality, but when it’s called for, the impact needs to fit the tone. The Death of Robin Hood pushes some boundaries, no doubt, but just enough to fit the story. Nothing is redefined here, not that it needed to be, but at the same time, if nothing new is being said (or done), then you have to wonder why it exists.

An almost unrecognizable Bill Skarsgard shows up as Little John, Robin Hood’s longstanding partner in crime, who seeks the famed outlaw’s help to take out a group of men who kidnapped his family and took over his farm once they discovered his true identity. The fallout of this endeavor leaves Robin in dire straits, with Little John dropping him off at a Priory to be cared for by Jodie Comer’s Sister Brigid.

This all happens about a quarter into the film, which shifts from a violent story of revenge and struggle to one of quiet, somber healing and the pain of past sins catching up. But in terms of violence or action, the film abandons them for a more meditative stance, attempting to show Robin Hood as someone willing to kill in his final years but also willing to show mercy instead.

Early on, Robin Hood makes it clear that he is simply waiting for death, even welcoming it. He is too old to start over, and running out of places to run and hide. He’s killed so much that the sons and grandsons of his victims are endlessly on his trail from generation to generation.

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All of this is compelling by way of a character study, but the melancholy lull that affects The Death of Robin Hood after the initial first third leaves very little to look forward to. There’s a not-so-surprising reveal toward the end that puts Robin Hood at odds with finding redemption and facing his past, and he makes a choice that leads to his end.

But there’s no last battle. No final charge. No grande finale that leaves the audience on a high. It mostly meanders into a dreamlike end, pulling at the strings of the old Robin Hood ballads, rather than giving the audience what they’d hope for.

While some would argue that it’s not meant to be that kind of film, the issue is that it’s hard to pin down what kind of film it actually is. It’s obvious what it wants to be, as it’s not as deep as it may think, but with so many creative liberties taken on a story that’s never been proven to be true, why not give the film a third act that enhances and matches the tone it began with, rather than letting it slowly drift out to sea?

I have no doubt many will leave The Death of Robin Hood saying, “That’s it?” and I don’t think that they’re wrong to feel that way. While there’s a lot to admire and enjoy, it simply doesn’t tell (or re-tell) the legend in a way that satisfies on a broader scale.

It’s one of the bigger issues I have with “arthouse” films, in that they have so many amazing elements in place, but the attempt to be subversive is frequently detrimental to the basic enjoyment of the film. If it’s a slog, it’s a slog, no matter how well-filmed and well-acted it is.

While I won’t say The Death of Robin Hood is a slog, it’s not a journey I need to take again, as I know the destination is a long, brooding, and anti-climactic one.

For my Robin Hood money, I’d rather have Kevin Costner shooting a flaming arrow at the screen in slow motion, but if you prefer yours with a gray beard, limp, and a lot of sitting in a room in the dark, then The Death of Robin Hood is for you.

After my initial run working Comic-Con in 2013, I would return every year not just to cover it, but to plan, coordinate, and work it with a small team for JoBlo.com.

I went from a team member just happy to be there to the boss in charge of everything in a very short time. Each year brought its own challenges, and each year it felt like we were bringing back reliable people to help cover it, while testing out new ones, some of whom were not invited back after their initial run.

It had become the main event of our annual coverage, even as CinemaCon slowly crept into that territory (and, in my opinion, was a better allocation of our resources altogether).

Upon learning of how the previous Editor-in-Chief, Mike Sampson, had run things before my arrival, which involved hoarding Hall H passes for himself, while making the team wait in overnight lines, as well as skimpy coverage of the event itself, I took it upon myself to make Comic-Con as well-oiled a machine as possible for JoBlo.com the second I was put in charge of it.

But the planning didn’t start just before Comic-Con began.

The preparation was year-round, as I knew the biggest asset you could have in terms of access to interviews, press lines, and Hall H passes all came down to your relationships with studios.

Winning over reps wasn’t that hard (well, unless it was Disney), as I wasn’t faking it. I came to genuinely like and enjoy the vast majority of the reps I worked with, and even to this day, will chat with them over e-mail when they send out a press blast, like a digital hallway high-school reunion. I truly miss running into them, seeing them on trips, junkets, and yes, the heart-stopping insanity that is Comic-Con.

Building good relationships became a staple in gaining access.

Sometimes, it meant doing favors throughout the year by pimping a trailer or poster that we weren’t all that excited about, and sometimes it meant taking something down, particularly leaks or unauthorized stuff that we’d usually keep up.

To me, it was almost a political game in that sense, but I felt that if I led with good intentions and equal respect, then I couldn’t go wrong.

So, for anyone looking to build and run a movie news site and eventually gain access to talent or venues at Comic-Con, my lesson to you is this: Be kind.

Be respectful. Be a good person. Be confident. Be fearless, but not reckless. Don’t be afraid to ask for things, but do so from all the places I just mentioned.

The worst they can say is no, and even then, they’ll still remember you asked, and the next time the answer may be different.

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From Austin To Wellington With The Troublemaker

When I was in my early 20’s, before I worked at a TV studio, I worked all manner of odd jobs. I was an electronics salesman at Service Merchandise, I was a deli worker at a grocery store, and one summer I delivered moon jumps, aka bouncy houses. I had a small Mazda pick-up truck and could fit up to five of these massive things on the back, which were stacked and rolled like giant burritos.

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I would deliver, set up, and then return to pick up the moon jumps throughout the day, taking them all over the Chicagoland area for birthday parties, block parties, or whatever event needed a giant inflatable room for kids to jump in.

It was hard work, and I was always caked in sweat, muscles screaming, and hydrating like crazy in the scorching Chicago summer heat. But the owner of the moon jumps paid cash under the table, and it was good money for a guy my age. While I was delivering these moon jumps, there would often be times when I’d basically have to park my truck and wait until it was time to pick up the next moon jump, which could sometimes be an hour or more.

So, I packed a cooler full of drinks and food and always had a book on filmmaking with me. One of the books I read that summer was Robert Rodriguez’s “Rebel Without A Crew,” which covered his journey making El Mariachi, a Spanish-language action film shot on a shoestring budget, which opened the doors to his now decades-long career.

Reading that book, soaked in sweat, chugging Gatorade, and eating thrown-together sandwiches from home, I felt a tinge of hope. Rodriguez’s words were inspiring, like a kick in the ass to follow your dreams, chase your passion and never give an inch when it comes to fulfilling that promise.

I pored over every page of that book, re-reading passages that stuck out to me as if trying to memorize them and reprogram myself to live those words, as I dreamed of a life outside of delivering inflatable bouncy houses.

These were the early days of my filmmaking journey, when it all felt within reach, but still so far away. It was on the cusp of my film school days, only a few months before I would meet my lifelong film friends who would join me in our early endeavors, all of us eventually branching out into Hollywood in our own way.

The thing about the “early days” of any career dream is that they’re full of as much fear and doubt as they are passion and hunger. One of those paths has to win to move in any direction. I credit Robert Rodriguez with lighting the fuse of my passion at that time, when things could’ve gone very differently had I succumbed to the anxiety and trepidation of pursuing a career that guaranteed nothing and risked everything.

Rodriguez proved that the risk was worth it, but your heart had to be in it. It’s not enough to dream or hope; you have to master your craft as much as your creativity, and I meant to do just that.

Fast forward almost two decades, where I followed my heart in a variety of ways, and I suddenly found myself on my way to Austin, Texas, to meet with the man himself at Troublemaker Studios for an Alita: Battle Angel set visit.

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For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with UFOs, aliens, and otherworldly things. I can’t pinpoint where it began or why, but it’s been a staple of my curiosity from childhood to adulthood, and the fascination has only grown. I remember when the Time Life “Mysteries of the Unknown” books came out in the late 80s and early 90s, I was desperate to get my hands on them.

I found them in the library of my high school, which I would flock to nearly every day after lunch to peruse the section on the topic of all things unexplained. Those books were a portal for me, and I sought them out time and again until I finally purchased them many years later, along with nearly every UFO book I could get my hands on.

I tried reading Whitley Strieber’s “Communion” when I was younger, but it was too complex for me then. I saw Fire in the Sky at the movies and was mesmerized, eventually buying Travis Walton’s book of the account. Whatever I could find, I latched onto it, pored over it, and struggled to make sense of it. At one point, reading “Abduction” by John E. Mack, I had to stop.

I got to a point where I was too freaked out to continue. I was afraid to know any more than I had already gathered.

But I never stopped staring at the sky, even wishing for my own abduction at times. Not because I wanted to be molested by outer space creatures, but because I wanted to know the truth.

Is it all made-up nonsense? How could there be so many similar experiences from so many people? Why do they corroborate so many details? Is it a mental illness that people experience collectively? A cult? A government-sponsored conspiracy theory to distract the masses? Why can’t we get clearer images of these things? Why do so many doubt, while so many believe?

I could go on and on, but like The X-Files mantra, I wanted to believe.

Now, we’re living through a whole new era of actual disclosure, with U.S. government officials fighting for the truth to be revealed, people within the inside of these government and non-government entities testifying before Congress, while new files, images, and videos are being released in batches, granting a level of transparency we have never seen before.

And even with all of that, it’s still just skimming the surface.

For Steven Spielberg’s latest effort, Disclosure Day, it feels like another round of that, with a fictional story wrapped into a tale of real-world disclosure that dips into many commonly asserted variables of the UAP/UFO and non-human world, but never far enough to unpack the aspects that are truly beyond fascinating, troubling, and perplexing.

In sum, it’s not particularly challenging on a real-world level and far too vague in a fictional sense.

Rather than choose a more documentary-style approach to the material, Spielberg essentially crafts a chase film, leading to a finale that, even as compelling as it is, falls short of the bigger impact it could have landed.

Ambiguity is the name of the game here, and while Spielberg clearly wants to pull the non-human threads until they’re bare, he resists giving us anything that feels real or plausible, opting instead to introduce literal plot devices and clever clairvoyance instead of anything convincing.

These things wear thin after a while as we never get any understanding of the “why” behind anything and, subverting or holding things close to the chest or not, the why always matters.

Vagueness is fine for fantasy sci-fi, but for a film that deliberately targets real-world disclosure, it doesn’t disclose much that you couldn’t dig up going down a late-night Google or ChatGPT rabbit hole.

The film stars Emily Blunt as a local weather reporter who is “activated” at one point, presumably because the world is about to enter a vague WWIII scenario with North Korea. This piece of the story is meant to show the world is in chaos over the potential event happening, but mostly, we just see people hoarding at a gas station to sell that point.

Blunt is terrific here. Almost too terrific, really, as her performance is over-the-top in some aspects, feeling she’s acting her ass off in a more serious movie. You could take that as a compliment or a complaint about her performance, but she clearly showed up to give her all for a Spielberg film, and it mostly works.

Once “activated,” Blunt is suddenly able to “read” people, and it somehow leads her toward a whistleblower on the run from a non-government agency called WARDEX led by Colin Firth’s ruthlessly dedicated CEO. In a role I presumed would touch on remote viewing, stargates, or any of the many real-world aspects of these organizations, Spielberg instead uses the aforementioned device.

The device is a handheld alien device that allows the user all manner of strange abilities, chief among them entering someone else’s mind or even making themselves invisible. At one point, someone is teleported, but that event is all but ignored later, particularly at a moment when it would’ve been quite helpful for the protagonists.

Firth is a solid villain here, but could’ve been much more sinister had we gotten to know more about how he got to where he was and why he cared so much to keep things secret. We don’t need a life story for everyone involved, but a clear motive sure helps when trying to make sense of why people do what they do in any given plot.

The whistleblower character is played by Challengers’ Josh O’Connor, who exudes a solid man-on-the-run persona, but with a secret. His girlfriend, a former nun, is played with strong intensity by Eve Hewson (Bono’s daughter), but her arc is a wobbly one, as she represents the question of faith in a world that has confirmed non-human entities are real and among us, then disappears almost completely in the third act.

The concept of religion, God, and faith is certainly fascinating and worth exploring within the context of UAPs and non-human lifeforms, but it’s covered briskly and with little fanfare, wrapped up neatly with a Biblical quote.

For something that’s such a huge part of human existence, it feels like it should get more than a phone call.

Colman Domingo provides another solid performance to add to his resume, but it doesn’t quite reach the heights of his work on Euphoria or even Michael, for that matter. As the ringleader of the group fighting for disclosure, he’s something of an enigma as well, and I still can’t make heads or tails of his role within the film’s story. Perhaps that’s the point, but like most of the characters in the film, it just doesn’t feel like we know enough about who they really are to fully invest.

Still, Domingo continues to be a welcome presence in whatever project he appears in, and I hope that journey lasts a long time.

Written by Spielberg and frequent collaborator David Koepp, Disclosure Day is an oddly assembled film that wants to be something more meaningful and impactful, but is hamstrung by the chase plot that frequently ties up the story with things we’ve seen many times before (and done much better by all involved).

At this point, if you’re going to do a car chase, it had better be something truly special. From William Friedkin to Justin Lin to Spielberg himself, we’ve seen car chases done in nearly every fashion at this point (with props to Paul Thomas Anderson for taking a new swing at it in his recent film, One Battle After Another).

If we’re literally going down that road again, it needs to be something we’ve never seen before.

I think the audience’s interest is underestimated in that regard. Sure, we need a jolt here and there to keep things moving, and perhaps what Spielberg supplies in Disclosure Day is just enough, but for those of us who have a genuine thirst to see the real-world reports, stories, and speculation brought to life, it feels like a distraction.

There’s a lot of tease and build-up until the film’s finale, which shines a light on many real-world events but doesn’t say anything definitive or lead the audience to believe one thing or another, instead taking them to a door that can be opened and explored, or that could be left shut and ignored upon leaving the theater.

For many, I think it will leave the door shut, just as it will in real life. While the film dances around the idea of how disclosure will impact civilization on the whole, from daily life to religion to the question of existence, they sidestep the very real likelihood that many simply won’t care or won’t believe, no matter what you throw at them, right up to wheeling out an alien body on live TV.

I can hear it now: “That’s AI! Fake! Government conspiracy! A lie!”

When you start talking about things like stargates, inter-dimensional beings, simulated reality, etc., people’s heads start to spin, and Disclosure Day isn’t really interested in pushing the audience that far, ironically, as if they aren’t actually ready for real disclosure.

But perhaps that’s where Disclosure Day will succeed, as the trove of material out there is ripe for the picking. From decades (hell…centuries) worth of evidence, testimonials, and stories that seem too wild to believe, as well as the flood of newly released material from the U.S. Government, the thread is blowing in the breeze to be pulled.

But those like me who have studied this stuff for decades will find Disclosure Day to be fascinating only to a degree and well short of what it could have accomplished if it really leaned into the more convincing, scary, and hopeful aspects of what disclosure will no doubt bring when it truly arrives. There’s a bigger, better, and deeper story that could’ve been told with the elements that already exist with Disclosure Day, but we ultimately get the safe, predictable version.

For many, Disclosure Day will be a fun sci-fi romp, and maybe that’s enough for a trip to the movies. But if you’re looking for a movie that really goes for it and unearths the things that we know are out there, it will surely be a disappointment, even if it’s a well-crafted disappointment by a talented and influential filmmaker like Spielberg.

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Seeing Ghosts For Doctor Sleep

For most of my life, I never considered myself a “horror guy”. As a kid, I remember my Dad and brother loving horror films, but I was always afraid. I don’t know if it was the gore, the monsters, the supernatural, or what, but I refused to watch horror films. Every so often, I’d catch one, forcing myself to endure it, and always regretting it.

Perhaps it was an overactive imagination or my propensity to believe in the strange and unknown, but horror just felt like a door you weren’t supposed to open. Throughout the years, though, that began to shift, and by the 1990s, I was more keen to explore the genre. The truth is, even as I was deathly afraid of many of the films, there was an unexplainable draw to them that I couldn’t deny.

The irony, of course, is that in my own fictional writing, the majority of my work has been in the horror genre. One would think it would be action, superhero, or something in between, but the stories that fascinated me enough to write an entire book or screenplay were the ones that delved into the more frightening aspects of the human psyche.

I say all of this because even though I would never call myself a “horror guy” even to this day, there’s an allure to the genre that intrigues me more than any other. And even with that said, I still wouldn’t call it my favorite genre. I know, I know. I’m a conundrum.

So, when called upon to visit The Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado, for the Doctor Sleep junket in 2019, I packed a bag, said my prayers, and leapt into the darkness, ready for whatever awaited me.

Little did I know it would be much more than I bargained for.

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Six-year-old me would’ve lost his mind watching Masters of the Universe. Especially after ten-year-old me was extremely let down by the 1987 version starring Dolph Lundgren. I remember leaving the theater after that one and feeling the early pangs of disappointment at something I had high hopes for. It was one of the first times I can remember seeing the hype crumble before my eyes and feeling betrayed as a result.

Fast forward nearly forty years later, and the version that would’ve won me over as a kid is somehow not good enough as an adult, yet still much better than the first iteration.

Masters of the Universe has been a property simmering in development hell for nearly as long as that forty-year wait, finally moving forward with Amazon and director Travis Knight (Bumblebee, Kubo and The Two Strings) with a $170 million budgeted epic that leans into the vibrant designs of the toys, while also leaning into the absurdity of the cartoon, both of which put out a decidedly different aura.

British actor Nicholas Galitzine picks up the sword for this new take and absolutely looks the part, carrying the bulk and demeanor with ease. Veteran actor Idris Elba takes on the role of Man-At-Arms, while Riverdale’s Camila Mendes fills out the part of Teela, who will no doubt be the first crush for many new viewers, the same as the cartoon version was for me.

Alison Brie camps it up as Evil-Lyn, while an unrecognizable Jared Leto takes on the villainous role of Skeletor. From a casting standpoint, there really are no issues here. Nor are there issues with costumes, as the heroes and villains leap onto the screen as if just torn open from a blister card. There’s something absolutely awesome about that, and a smile crept onto my face when favorites like Ram-Man, Beast-Man, Moss-Man, Fisto, Mekaneck, Tri-Clops, and The Sorceress (played by Morena Baccarin) appeared.

The same attention is paid to the vehicles and settings to a large degree, including Castle Greyskull and Snake Mountain, neither of which gets much of an exploration outside of their facade and a throne room. A shame, as I spent hours upon hours playing with those sets as a kid, and it felt like a missed opportunity to take us deeper into them.

Which is kind of a metaphor for where Masters of the Universe doesn’t work.

Knight had the unenviable task of balancing the film between the expectations of old guys like me who grew up with the toys and the cartoon, while ushering it into the modern era for a very different audience with very different sensibilities. And, for anyone worried that the film isn’t true to the cartoon, fear not, as it is.

But let me ask the rhetorical question: When was the last time you actually watched the cartoon, and how much do you remember?

Because I guarantee you that it isn’t what you think.

I did this very thing a few years ago, seeing that the cartoon was streaming somewhere, and watched a few episodes. It was jarring how silly it was. Of course, I loved it as a kid. It was made for that kid. But I grew up, as did you, and the nostalgic feels of He-Man and The Masters of the Universe were carried on the backs of our childhood, but rarely, if ever, revisited, to the point that we all forgot what it actually was.

A few years ago, writer/director Kevin Smith revitalized the franchise in animated form with Masters of the Universe: Revelation and Masters of the Universe: Revolution, both of which represent the best “grown-up” version of this property to date, including the new film. Smith acknowledged and leaned into the nostalgia and some of the silly humor, but took a more comic-book approach to it all, giving it far more weight as a fantasy series that didn’t have to avoid what it actually was.

Masters of the Universe, for all its intention to honor the costumes, lore, and spirit of the property, can’t seem to decide what road it wants to take, so it just takes them all, while acting like it’s ashamed to even exist.

Rather than leaning into it in MCU style, the film instead wants you to be in on the joke until the action kicks off, at which point it wants you invested and thrilled. Then, just when you think you’ve found the balance, it wants you to invest in its theme-of-the-week narrative that repeats every known hero’s journey trope that could be pulled from Joseph Campbell’s grave.

That may sound harsh, but that’s how it felt watching the film. For $170 million, there’s got to be a thematic angle that doesn’t feel like it’s written by ChatGPT.

Early on, there was a lot of backlash based on the inside joke of Adam’s nameplate on his desk at work that announces his pronouns as He/Him. This got a lot of folks in a twist, thinking the film would be “woke” in some way. And while that joke, clever as it is, isn’t a woke aspect at all, the film actually is a little woke, but not in the traditional sense.

In trying to make He-Man both powerful and a hero, they really lean into his Human Resources identity on Earth as some kind of human “superpower” of empathy and understanding, with the character frequently putting his sword away to…talk.

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It would be different if He-Man/Adam had anything particularly interesting, enlightening, or character-building to say, but the majority of the film has him acting shamelessly aloof, shy, weak, stupid, and annoyingly awkward. The filmmakers are clearly aiming for a Thor: Ragnarok vibe here, but Knight is no Taika Waititi in the humor department. Even Taika overstayed his welcome, as what worked in Ragnarok did NOT work in the follow-up, Thor: Love and Thunder.

There’s a ceiling for fantasy humor, and Waititi found it. Unfortunately, Knight took the wrong lessons from Waititi’s Thor films and applied them here. The biggest miss is that while the actors all fit their roles just fine here, none of them have comedic chops. Thor’s Chris Hemsworth is legitimately funny, and the supporting cast of Thor: Ragnarok is comprised of many actual comedic actors.

Thor: Ragnarok’s humor was funny and clever, whereas Masters of the Universe is awkward and cringe-worthy. So many of the jokes (IE the majority) never land, with some of them being unexpectedly excessive (He-Man to Fisto: “You fist people.”) and others ridiculously juvenile. Then, in an effort to feel “cool,” they throw in some swear words like “shit” and “asshole” because why not? I’m sure they swear in Eternia, right?

Yes, Skeletor in the He-Man cartoon was a total clown. Many of us have forgotten that. He was way more Cobra Commander than Darth Vader. Unfortunately, Knight and the screenwriters remembered the clownish antics of Skeletor all too well and went out of their way to remind us. Leto does exactly what’s asked of him, I suppose, as I can’t make heads or tails out of his performance as I don’t recognize anything about it that screams, “Hey, that’s Jared Leto!”.

But Skeletor is sufficiently silly, just like the cartoon, even when he’s evil, melting Moss Man into a pool, then turning to Evil-Lyn: “Look! I made mulch!”

That’s what we’re dealing with here.

Now, here’s the conundrum with Masters of the Universe: the action is actually great. It’s not Zack Snyder-level epic, per se, but it’s hard-hitting and well-choreographed to the point that I felt impressed by what they accomplished. It’s a shame that after each action sequence we get either a sappy emotional beat that overstays its welcome or a stupid one-liner that never lands. They just can’t seem to enjoy the moment and move on.

I mean, at one point, He-Man is crying. Like, loudly. And that’s where I feel Masters of the Universe ultimately goes wrong. It wants to be deeply faithful to the look of things, but when it comes to anything masculine, heroic, or powerful, it wants to make sure we all understand that it’s better to have feelings, talk things out, and go ahead and cry if you need to first.

If all of that fails, then it’s okay to beat someone up.

The one thing I wrestle with here is perspective. The child within me would love this movie. The adult in me did not. That’s the struggle, and I think a lot of people will rationalize away the film’s significant weaknesses to enjoy those callbacks to an era of sitting in front of a TV and hearing that theme song and watching He-Man transform “By the Power of Greyskull”. Those moments gave me goosebumps as a kid and, even as a craggy adult, seeing them in live action still made me smile.

This is the beauty and the curse of art. It grows and changes with us. Sometimes it gets better, sometimes it gets worse, and sometimes you just become indifferent to it. Sometimes, you can’t remember what appealed to you to begin with. For He-Man, perhaps it was always best when I was a kid, and it will always be that way. Perhaps a new generation will discover Masters of the Universe through this film, and it will mean something more (or different) to them.

Just like my feelings on Star Wars after seeing The Mandalorian and Grogu, sometimes you simply outgrow things, and sometimes they outgrow you.

Nostalgia only carries you so far, and if the things you love don’t grow with you, then they grow apart, and I feel like my longtime love of Masters of the Universe is safely tucked away in the past, while leaving the continuation of it to whoever wants to pick up the sword.

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One of the most frequent questions I get when people find out about my work as an entertainment journalist is either A) Who was the worst celebrity interview ever, and B) what was the best trip you ever took?

Both of those are loaded questions and not always easy to answer, because the answer is: it depends. Many of these questions have already been answered in this book. But, when it comes to my travels around the world, there are definitely some that stand out, being unique, eye-opening, or once-in-a-lifetime.

Or, just really damn cool.

What follows is my attempt to share those experiences, some of which you may not believe.

Sometimes, I’m not sure I believe them.

Meeting Godzilla and Pikachu in Tokyo

In 2019, I got one of the absolute coolest invites ever for a junket trip. Warner Bros. reached out with a double whammy that was far too good to pass up (in truth, I never wanted to pass anything up).

Fly to Tokyo, Japan, for not one, but two junkets. One for Detective Pikachu and one for Godzilla: King of the Monsters. Two perfectly suited movies for a Japan experience and a journey I’ll never forget.

If you haven’t caught on yet, these big press events are just that…an event. It’s rarely as simple as just flying in somewhere, staying in a hotel, watching a movie, and interviewing talent, then going home.

Okay, sometimes it is that simple, but for these global tours it’s always something special, akin to an all-paid vacation booked through a travel agency that fills your day with one activity after another, frequently plying you with food and alcohol along the way.

You are wined and dined to death, but nobody is mad about it. And, if that makes you feel like journalists are bribed, well, maybe you’re not wrong. Because, in these big event instances, we kind of are.

But, let’s also be clear about what’s really happening here. It’s not like someone is bribing us to write nice things about Jeffrey Epstein or cover up an oil spill. This is, quite simply, promoting a movie.

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The Mandalorian and Grogu has arrived, the first Star Wars movie to hit theaters in seven years, since The Rise of Skywalker put an end to a wobbly, directionless trilogy that was rushed to theaters amidst the sale of Lucasfilm to Disney in 2012. The sequel trilogy, beginning with 2015’s The Force Awakens, seemed to split audiences, with some longtime fans loving it, while others abandoning ship, especially after the divisive second entry that was The Last Jedi.

The first series to debut on Disney’s streaming platform, Disney+, was The Mandalorian, an original concept created by director Jon Favreau and developed with Dave Filoni. The series debuted in 2019 and became an instant success, especially with the inclusion of Grogu, aka Baby Yoda, who took the world by storm with his infinite cuteness and childlike antics. Coupled with Din Djarin, aka The Mandalorian, portrayed by Pedro Pascal, the series captured the underworld of the Star Wars universe with a host of new and familiar locations and characters, along with guest appearances galore that helped propel the show to the top of the charts.

Lasting three seasons, The Mandalorian quickly and easily became a household name, again with the help of the merchandising power of Grogu. The everlasting popularity of Boba Fett, the first Mandalorian character to be introduced in The Empire Strikes Back, was also a big factor, as fans had been clamoring to see more of the character ever since (he would return in his own show with The Mandalorian on Disney Plus, The Book of Boba Fett).

A fourth season of The Mandalorian was seemingly off the table, with Lucasfilm instead opting to put their money on a feature film follow-up. With so many previously announced Star Wars projects being cancelled like dominoes falling, The Mandalorian and Grogu would be one of the last projects announced and the first one in theaters after the long hiatus.

It’s been an absolute mess since Disney acquired Lucasfilm, made even worse by the mismanagement of former president Kathleen Kennedy, who failed to plan and execute several potentially great projects, while losing talent that includes the likes of D.B Weiss and David Benioff, Kevin Feige, Patty Jenkins, and Colin Trevorrow, amongst others, while pushing forward projects (with a few exceptions) that flopped theatrically and on streaming.

Now, the first big effort under the new leadership of Lucasfilm CEO Dave Filoni is here, hoping to bring in their Disney+ audience, as well as capitalize on the massive cute factor of that little green martian known as Grogu, not to mention the growing star power of Pedro Pascal and the familiarity of the post-Return of the Jedi world.

From a business standpoint, it’s a smart play and a measurable gamble. From a creative standpoint, there’s wiggle room, but not a lot, as The Mandalorian and Grogu is, essentially, a sequel. Or, if you prefer, a serialized continuation of their saga, which is well in line with George Lucas’s original vision for the property. So, the film would have to operate within a mostly established environment, which is, again, a pretty safe gamble for trying to lure people back to a galaxy far, far away.

I am a big fan of The Mandalorian series. It captured me from the drop and I’ve said on numerous occasions that I felt it was the best new Star Wars project since the prequel trilogy. Yes, I’m one of the “haters” who tapped out after The Last Jedi and The Rise of Skywalker failed to deliver. I loved The Force Awakens upon its initial release and felt like there was mystery and allure back in the world of Star Wars. Then, The Last Jedi came out and…that was the end of that.

So, for me, The Mandalorian was redemptive. Hell, it even redeemed the piss poor portrayal of Luke Skywalker in The Last Jedi. But, mostly, it just felt like Star Wars. It felt like I was in a world created by Lucas, not some “visionary” new take that would bastardize beloved characters. It was fun, cool, adventurous, and packed with mythology and lore that hadn’t been explored yet. While some episodes worked better than others, I loved each season as much as the last and was sad to hear that the show would end, but excited that their journey would continue on the big screen.

I saw the 25-minute preview event of the film (which ended on the first appearance of Rotta the Hutt, voiced by The Bear’s Jeremy Allen White) and had a blast with it. It gave me hope that the movie would be at least as good as the series.

Then, I saw the full movie.

And…well, it IS as good as the series. Absolutely no argument there.

But, while it’s as good as the series, and essentially operates as an abbreviated fourth season, it’s not exactly a great Star Wars film. Is it fun? Yes. Is it adventurous? Sure. Will that be enough for most? Absolutely.

So, what the hell is the problem?

The problem isn’t really a problem. It’s just my preference. So, I while I concede that The Mandalorian and Grogu is a solid, fun, old-fashioned Star Wars ride and that it doesn’t necessarily have to be more than that, I still wish that it was.

The issue is that throughout the film I kept seeing doors opening for great things to happen, for things to be explored a little deeper, for moments to have more impact, and then they just…didn’t.

The film’s story is as simple as you can get. Too simple, really. Sure, it’s fit for a two-hour movie, but damned if I didn’t miss the explorations of Mandalorian lore or Grogu’s history, lineage, and training, as well as the show’s propensity to bring in guest stars, cool weapons, gear, tech, and villains in the series. There was so much character to play with and seeing The Mandalorian have to make a new ship, new armor, and new weapons really felt like a classic hero’s journey.

The film doesn’t do any of that. Instead, it operates squarely in a go-here/do-this format without any real investment in who these characters are or where they’re going. We don’t learn a single new thing about Din Djarin or Grogu, which feels like a major misstep in basic character development, especially in a sequel. Yes, we want to see the things we love and are familiar with, but we also want to see them grow.

The other issue is with the villains of the film, who never feel quite evil enough or interesting enough to invest in. Sure, it’s cool to see some more Hutts onscreen, and while the twins are a compelling duo of baddies, we never really fear them. The same can be said of Embo, the bounty hunter who tracks and captures Din Djarin. Fans of The Clone Wars animated series will no doubt recognize him, but even so, we learn nothing about him whatsoever, and while formidable, he doesn’t offer much in terms of personality or presence, outside of just looking cool.

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I suppose you could argue the same point for Darth Maul, but he also had a lightsaber and looked menacingly cool.

Tracking down Imperial rebels is also a fairly boring endeavor and one that Star Wars needs to break free of. After multiple films and the entirety of Andor, I don’t need to see another stuffy Imperial villain for a long, long time. With so much material in the decades of Star Wars Legends books and comics, I just can’t imagine that there aren’t some awesome villains to pluck from there. Or, just make some new ones. That works just as well (perhaps better).

The other major issue I had with The Mandalorian and Grogu was the lack of any truly epic or iconic moments. Sure, there are some cool shots here and there and the action is on par with the series for the most part, but on a cinematic level it doesn’t touch any of the major moments fans would recall from prior films.

You can call this my own personal nitpick and, well, this is my review, so that tracks, but for big action/sci-fi/spectacle films, I firmly believe in the splash-page capture of iconic moments in a film. Think John McClane leaping off Nakatomi as it explodes in Die Hard. Neo dodging bullets on the roof in The Matrix, Captain America finally saying “Avengers Assemble” in Avengers: Endgame, Deadpool and Wolverine smashing through the bus window in all their bloody glory in Deadpool and Wolverine, or the silhouette of Luke and Vader squaring off in Cloud City in The Empire Strikes Back.

All of these are thoughtful, creative, badass, memorable shots and moments that you’ll never forget. I can’t recall anything like that in The Mandalorian and Grogu. In my opinion, every movie should be chasing these moments, no matter the genre (yes, comedy can do iconic as well). When I read a comic, I’m always anticipating at least one splash page (or double splash if I’m lucky) that capitalizes on a built-up moment in the story. It’s earned, it’s awesome, it’s iconic, and, it’s expected. It’s the same concept for iconic shots/moments in a film.

Favreau is an interesting talent in that he is serviceable as hell, can get the job done, pull out some great performances, and knows his way around VFX. And, he’s got enough hits under his belt to prove his value.

But, that doesn’t change his lack of style and showmanship. Had this film been directed by Michael Bay, The Russo Bros, David Leitch, Denis Villeneuve, Taika Waititi, Shawn Levy, or any of the many directors who understand the impact of leaving something lingering on the brain, then I wouldn’t be typing this paragraph.

I enjoyed The Mandalorian and Grogu, but I don’t think it’s any better than the series. That can be taken as either a compliment or a complaint. It just depends on your mileage when you show up at the theater. For a massive IMAX experience, I think it falls short of what it could’ve been, even if it’s still a good time. Why isn’t that enough?

Because I know it could’ve been more.

There’s a moment later in the film where it becomes much like a silent film, as Grogu cares for an injured Din Djarin and is forced to fend for himself. It was the most interesting and contemplative moment of the film, teetering on exploring something really great with Grogu, but again, it never gets off the ground. Every time it gets close to exploring something more, it falls back to the most basic, simple premise.

For some, this won’t be an issue, and that’s all good. And, perhaps as a lifelong Star Wars fan, this will always be a conundrum. While we can enjoy the simplicity of the universe, the longer we’re invested, the more likely we’ll want to go deeper. And, sometimes, we’ll just want to go back to the way it was.

But, I will say this: I brought along my seventeen-year-old son and his girlfriend, and they both loved the film. My son even went on to say that it was the first film that “felt like a Star Wars film” to him, which could also be because it’s the first one to come out in seven years.

That said, the great thing is that The Mandalorian and Grogu, much like the OG trilogy, the prequel trilogy, and even the sequel trilogy, will serve as a gateway into a galaxy far, far away for many, and that’s a cool thing. I like that Star Wars is still around and that new audiences are still discovering it, even if I find my own passion for it waning and shifting as time goes on.

I don’t know what Star Wars will become in the decades ahead of us, and at some point, I won’t ever know. I think we’ll all have a Star Wars era that will forever be our favorite and most meaningful. There’s a beauty in that appreciation. It’s personal.

In some ways, it’s nice to be free of having to be so monumentally invested in every new project, given the trajectory since Lucasfilm was acquired by Disney. I can care, not care, love it, hate it, whatever. It’s not tied to my existence like the OG or prequel trilogy was. I’ll leave the future of that burden to the next generation. I hope it serves them well.

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RUNNING THE MACHINE

Anyone who has ever risen to a rank that puts them in charge of others knows the true weight of such a thing. In the military, I started from the bottom, working my way up and eventually toggling between Platoon Leader and Squad Leader, handling the lives, training, and discipline of anywhere from seven to thirty men at one time.

The difference between that and dealing with a civilian workforce is vast. Mostly, I couldn’t make civilians do push-ups when they fucked up.

For JoBlo.com, we had a regular staff of roughly fifteen contributors, which soon blossomed to close to forty when YouTube took off and became something of a second job. We not only had writers, columnists, reviewers, and interviewers, but video editors as well. It felt like it grew overnight, and although there was a lot to keep track of, I never felt like it was too much to handle.

Which isn’t to say I wasn’t tested. Because I absolutely was.

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