• Ironheart

    Ironheart

    Teen genius builds flying death suit between midterms. Also, there’s a demon.

    Look, Riri Williams is a 19-year-old engineering prodigy from Chicago who builds an Iron Man suit out of spare parts and emotional trauma, and Marvel said, “Yes, let’s add magic to that.” Enter The Hood, a villain who appears to have raided both a thrift store and a cursed monastery.

    Riri’s suit is powered by cutting-edge tech and grief, which in the MCU is basically standard operating procedure. Her AI assistant is her dead best friend. Her enemies are mystical gangsters. Her guidance counselor is probably a S.H.I.E.L.D. plant. And somewhere in the background, Mephisto is maybe lurking again like a raccoon in the MCU’s garbage can.

    Dominique Thorne is apparently incredible as Riri, delivering heartfelt speeches while flying at Mach 3 and dodging flaming curse bullets. Anthony Ramos plays The Hood, a villain who looks like he’s about to either hex you or drop a mixtape. He’s got a cloak, a chip on his shoulder, and access to the dark arts, which is a bold resume for a guy named Parker.

    There’s also some dude in a bunker with missiles, but no one remembers him because hello, magic hoodie.

    The show reportedly juggles a gritty Chicago vibe, heartfelt coming-of-age moments, and Marvel’s usual CGI wizard fights where everything explodes in slow motion while someone whispers “I believe in you.”

    Thematically, Ironheart is about legacy, loss, and whether you can out-tech the literal devil. Plot-wise, it’s been described as Iron Man Jr. with a side of Doctor Strange and the Electric Kool-Aid Tech War.

    Critics say it’s uneven but charming. Reddit says “mid.” Marvel says “trust the process.” I say it’s a heartfelt rollercoaster with a rocket-powered science nerd and a villain who owns both a glock and a grimoire.

    3.5 out of 5 repulsor blasts and one enchanted Timberland boot.

  • The Naked Gun (2025)

    The Naked Gun (2025)

    The Naked Gun (the reboot, not the 1988 classic that had a higher body count of banana peels than bullets)

    So there’s a new Naked Gun movie, which I have not seen but feel fully qualified to review because I once watched Airplane! while under the influence of NyQuil and a Costco-sized box of Cheez-Its.

    This reboot stars Liam Neeson, who is mostly famous for playing characters who threaten to do horrible things to people over the phone. But now he’s playing Frank Drebin Jr., a police detective who solves crimes primarily by tripping over things and accidentally blowing up half the city. This is a big career shift for Neeson, who usually responds to criminals with intense lines like “I will find you… and I will kill you,” and now has to say things like “I will find you… but first I need to get this toilet plunger off my head.”

    The film is directed by Akiva Schaffer, a member of The Lonely Island, which is a comedy group known for songs like “I’m on a Boat,” which is what I assume Liam Neeson screamed during filming when he slipped on a rubber ducky and flew through a window into the harbor.

    I read online that Seth MacFarlane produced this, so you already know it’s going to contain jokes that ride the line between “hilarious” and “I’m going to be sued.” Also, Pamela Anderson is in it, playing some sort of romantic interest, because this film lives in an alternate reality where that pairing makes sense and defies all known laws of physics, chemistry, and age-appropriate flirting.

    The plot – and I use that word in the loosest possible way – involves Drebin Jr. trying to stop something that’s probably a crime, although most of the trailer just shows him getting hit in the groin by a series of increasingly improbable objects, including a falling air conditioner, a ceiling fan, and, I think, a small goat.

    There’s also a scene where Liam Neeson wears a Catholic schoolgirl outfit, which I’m sure was in his original “List of Things I Never Thought I’d Do After Turning 70.” At this point I have to assume Neeson accepted this role either because (a) he lost a bet, (b) his agent is a chaos goblin, or (c) he thought this was another Taken sequel and no one corrected him.

    Meanwhile, David Zucker, the original director, has gone on record as saying he hates this reboot and was not asked to be involved. That’s Hollywood-speak for “I am sending them a flaming paper bag of angry nostalgia.”

    There are cameos. There are fart jokes. There’s a scene involving a twerking suspect and a taser. There’s probably a running gag about Neeson mistaking his gun for a banana. And of course, there’s a joke involving a courtroom, a sneeze, and at least three counts of accidental public nudity.

    And folks: I did not make any of that up. Except the banana. But I’m 90% sure it’s still in the movie.

    I give this movie one confused Liam Neeson, three head injuries, and a C+ in law enforcement competency.

  • The Unholy Trinity

    The Unholy Trinity

    Shootouts, Gold, and Samuel L. Jackson Doing Something Weird in a Saloon

    The Unholy Trinity is a modern western where jealousy, buried gold, and the film rights to every shoot-’em-up cliché collide in dusty Montana. Pierce Brosnan plays Gabriel Dove, a sheriff with decent facial hair and unresolved Civil War flashbacks. Samuel L. Jackson shows up as St. Christopher, a charismatic outlaw who may or may not be improvising half his lines just to keep things interesting. And Brandon Lessard plays Henry Broadway, a young man on a revenge mission who looks like he’s never actually ridden a horse but definitely owns at least one bolo tie.

    I haven’t seen it. But I’ve watched the trailer, skimmed critic reviews, and accidentally wandered into an online debate about whether it’s “a tribute to classic westerns” or “two hours of dusty people yelling at each other while sitting weirdly still.”

    The plot revolves around some very 1800s things: revenge, betrayal, injustice, and buried Confederate gold — which, like most Confederate ideas, probably wasn’t that valuable to begin with. There’s also a wrongly accused woman, a lot of hats, and what I can only assume is a dramatic standoff in front of a church or possibly a general store that sells bullets by the scoop.

    Critics say Jackson and Brosnan “keep the film afloat,” which is film critic code for “the plot wandered off but we like the actors.” The Washington Post called it a “low-budget, underwhelming B-movie,” which still sounds better than most meetings I’ve had this year.

    And yes—this dropped right as Brokeback Mountain hit its 20th anniversary, which means some people were probably hoping for another complex, layered, emotionally gut-wrenching western. The Unholy Trinity is… not that. It’s more of a shoot-first, emotionally-process-later kind of situation. Less longing glances and more “pass the dynamite.”

    But hey, not every western needs to make you cry in a tent. Some are just here to give Samuel L. Jackson a rifle and let him monologue about justice while chewing beef jerky.

    I give The Unholy Trinity 3 out of 5 dusty stares, and I assume someone gets shot mid-sentence by a character named Wyatt, Colt, or “the banker.”

  • Bride Hard

    Bride Hard

    Bride Hard is what happens when someone types “What if Die Hard, but bridesmaid?” into ChatGPT at 2 a.m. after a bachelorette party and then greenlights the first draft. It stars Rebel Wilson as Sam, a covert government agent who is trying to take a break from all the espionage and assassination to attend a wedding—because nothing says “relaxing getaway” like organizing flower arrangements while also body-slamming terrorists.

    According to the internet (which, as always, is a completely reliable source unless you’re asking about vaccines or how many spiders you swallow in your sleep), the plot involves Sam attending her best friend’s destination wedding on a private island. Then—surprise!—a group of international bad guys crash the party, probably because they weren’t invited and RSVP’d “yes” out of spite. This forces Sam to kick off her heels, unclip the garter belt, and unleash some bridesmaid-themed vengeance using presumably whatever weapons were available in the bridal suite. Curling iron? Deadly. Hair spray? Flammable. Bouquet? Ninja star.

    The director is Simon West, who previously brought us Con Air, which featured Nicolas Cage with a southern accent so strong it set off car alarms. So expectations were somewhere between “unhinged genius” and “straight-to-Redbox sequel no one asked for.” And early reviews seem to lean toward the latter. Critics described it as “cringe comedy with abs,” “a chaotic mess in formalwear,” and “a movie that exists.”

    Rebel Wilson, to her credit, reportedly got injured while filming and kept going, which makes her officially tougher than me, because I once took two Advil and canceled a Zoom call. She said she wanted to do her own stunts, and she did—proving that nothing says “method acting” like getting socked in the face in a chiffon dress.

    There’s also a subplot, allegedly, about the power of female friendship. Because even if your bridesmaids forget the snacks, they will absolutely help you kill a man with a veil. The movie tries to blend empowerment with explosions, which is always tricky unless your name is Mad Max: Fury Road. This is more like Mad Max: Matron of Honor—if Max had trouble with Pinterest boards.

    Word on the street is that Da’Vine Joy Randolph fires a cannon in this movie, which honestly should be its own genre: Oscar Winners Operating Artillery in Rom-Coms. If Judi Dench starts swinging a katana at a baby shower in 2026, we’ll know where this trend started.

    I haven’t seen Bride Hard, but I can tell you this: someone probably says “This wedding is about to blow” and then something explodes. I also feel confident that at least one character yells “Not on my big day!” while roundhouse-kicking a man into a punch fountain.

    RATING: 2.5 out of 5 exploding centerpieces.

    One point for Rebel’s commitment. Half a point for the cannon. One full point for the mental image of a bouquet being thrown with enough force to decapitate a mercenary.

  • Eddington

    Eddington

    The Pandemic Western That Asked: What If TikTok Was Armed?

    Eddington is like bingeing a pandemic conspiracy forum while eating cowboy-shaped cookies dipped in existential dread. Ari Aster has somehow convinced Joaquin Phoenix to trade in his usual silent brooding for gun-barrel sermons about “reclaiming our sovereignty,” which is either about COVID or his neighbor stealing his recycling bin.

    Pedro Pascal struts through town hall like a man who once read the Constitution on a bar napkin and now won’t take off his bolo tie. Emma Stone plays a quietly unraveling dollmaker, which is either a metaphor or just the side hustle of every mom in 2020. And Austin Butler—bless him—plays a TikTok prophet named Vernon Jefferson Peak (which also sounds like a state park where teens go missing). He spends most of the movie livestreaming end-times poetry while standing on a pickup truck bed surrounded by chickens and despair.

    Set in May 2020, this “modern Western” includes everything we were too emotionally fragile to relive: mask feuds, civil unrest, political cosplay, body doubles, livestreamed showdowns, and the slow death of empathy, all shot in the gorgeous light of a world on fire. Critics are calling it a “masterpiece of anxiety” or “a film that made me want to live in a bunker made of Clorox wipes.” There are reportedly moments so intense audiences gasp, cry, or just quietly reevaluate their social media habits.

    I haven’t seen Eddington, but based on the trailers, the reviews, and the sweaty online discourse, I’m pretty sure it’s the only film where a cowboy debates virology while doomscrolling next to a burning Walgreens. And honestly? That’s cinema.4 out of 5 cultish influencers baking sourdough while explaining The Deep State via interpretive square dance.

  • Another Simple Favor

    Another Simple Favor

    Secrets, Sequins, and the Most Casual Federal Crimes You’ll Ever See at Brunch

    Another Simple Favor is the sequel nobody saw coming and yet somehow completely expected. Once again, Anna Kendrick and Blake Lively return to play America’s most emotionally unstable PTA friendship — where every coffee date turns into a federal investigation.

    I haven’t seen it. But I’ve watched the trailer, read the headlines, and skimmed enough online think pieces titled “Is Suburban Murder Chic Now?” to confidently pretend I have.

    The plot picks up after the first movie’s mildly unhinged blend of murder, fraud, and really good outfits. Now they’re off to Italy, because if you’re going to make terrible life choices, you might as well do it somewhere with excellent wine and questionable extradition treaties. There’s a destination wedding, multiple bodies (allegedly), and at least one scene where Blake Lively delivers a thinly veiled threat while wearing designer sunglasses the size of satellite dishes.

    Anna Kendrick’s character remains that rare combination of sweet, twitchy, and terrifyingly adaptable. Blake Lively’s character, meanwhile, continues to operate somewhere between fashion icon and probable FBI watchlist. And based on the vibe, someone definitely hides a weapon in a purse shaped like an exotic fruit.

    Early reactions say the sequel doubles down on the twists, the cocktails, and the “did she really just do that?” moments. Expect plot twists stacked like overpriced macarons, passive-aggressive compliments delivered with a smile, and a soundtrack that makes you feel vaguely cooler than you actually are.

    Another Simple Favor is not really about friendship. It’s about trust issues, buried secrets, and the fact that everyone on Pinterest probably has at least one felony they haven’t mentioned yet.

    I give it 4 out of 5 designer cover-ups, and I assume at least one wedding guest doesn’t make it back through customs.

  • Elio

    Elio

    A Kid, Some Aliens, and Pixar’s Ongoing Mission to Emotionally Break Parents

    Elio is Pixar’s latest entry in their “What If Feelings Had Feelings?” cinematic universe. This time, instead of toys or emotions or the concept of death, they’ve decided to traumatize us through the lens of intergalactic diplomacy. Because nothing says “family entertainment” like a shy middle schooler accidentally becoming Earth’s ambassador to a council of extremely judgmental aliens.

    I haven’t seen it. But I’ve watched the trailer, read the early buzz, and sat through several YouTube reaction videos featuring grown adults tearing up at a teaser involving an alien blob hugging a child. So yes, I’m fully emotionally compromised.

    The plot follows Elio, a socially awkward 11-year-old who somehow gets beamed up into space after answering the phone wrong, and is immediately informed that he represents all of humanity. Naturally, the fate of the species now rests on the diplomatic skills of someone who still mispronounces “quesadilla.”

    The alien council looks like something out of a Lisa Frank fever dream: glowing jellyfish overlords, sentient geometric shapes, and one creature that appears to be a living mood ring. Meanwhile, back on Earth, Elio’s mom—who works for a secret government agency—probably reacts like any parent would: equal parts panic, denial, and trying to find a Wi-Fi signal strong enough to yell at NASA.

    Critics are already calling it “visually stunning” and “deeply heartfelt,” which is Pixar code for “You will cry, and you won’t know why.” The real plot twist isn’t whether Elio saves humanity, it’s how many parents will sob uncontrollably at the inevitable emotional monologue about being misunderstood, belonging, and loving your weird kid for who they are.

    Also, based on Pixar tradition, there’s probably a heartbreaking scene involving a stuffed animal, a flashback, and at least one emotionally devastating music cue designed to haunt you for days.

    Elio is about identity, family, and the crushing weight of representing Earth while still being grounded if your grades drop. It’s funny. It’s colorful. And it’s one more reminder that Pixar is fully committed to emotionally ruining everyone under the guise of animated wonder.

    I give it 4 out of 5 galactic therapy sessions, and I assume at least one alien learns what a juice box is and questions whether humans should be allowed to exist.

  • 28 Years Later

    28 Years Later

    More Zombies, More Trauma, and Definitely No One’s Just “Taking a Quick Look Around”

    28 Years Later is the long-awaited sequel to 28 Days Later and 28 Weeks Later, which makes this the third installment in a franchise where the only thing more contagious than the Rage virus is generational trauma. Danny Boyle is back directing, which means whatever happens will be beautifully filmed, emotionally devastating, and probably involve someone getting tackled through a pane of glass.

    I haven’t seen it. But I watched the trailer, read several spoiler-free breakdowns, and stared at a blurry leaked set photo for six minutes like it was a magic eye puzzle. From what I’ve absorbed, the movie is set decades after the original outbreak, meaning humanity has either bounced back or completely lost the plot. I’m betting both.

    Aaron Taylor-Johnson stars as the next unfortunate soul with enough optimism to try “rebuilding society,” which, in these movies, is code for “will probably be chased by infected while holding a child and crying.” Jodie Comer is in it too, which means someone will deliver a haunting monologue about grief while wiping blood off their cheek in cinematic lighting. Ralph Fiennes also shows up, which guarantees at least one deeply ominous conversation over a campfire.

    The trailer opens with a peaceful moment. Which is immediately ruined by chaos, screaming, and someone being tackled into a pile of bones. There’s a crumbling city, a group of emotionally broken survivors, and that one guy who insists “we’re safe here” right before the infected Kool-Aid Man through the wall.

    The Rage virus is allegedly “different now,” which could mean it’s faster, smarter, or it texts you before attacking. Either way, people are dying, running, and delivering emotional exposition while holding flashlights that are clearly about to go out.

    Critics are calling it “a brutal return to form” and “unrelenting.” Which sounds great if your idea of fun is watching people slowly realize the apocalypse wasn’t the worst part—it’s what comes after when people start doing weird stuff with makeshift governments and canned peaches.

    28 Years Later is not about hope. It’s about survival. It’s about loss. It’s about realizing that when the lights go out, the real danger isn’t just the monsters outside—it’s your deeply unqualified friend Gary who thinks he should be in charge now because he once watched a documentary about wolves.

    I give it 4 out of 5 panicked flashlight flares, and I assume at least one character says, “We’re all infected,” with tears, rain, and just the right amount of whisper-screaming.

  • How to Train Your Dragon (Live-Action)

    How to Train Your Dragon (Live-Action)

    It’s Like the Animated One, But With Real Humans and a Dragon You Can Almost Pet (If You’re Brave)

    DreamWorks has decided it’s time to remake one of the most beloved animated films of all time—because apparently we live in a timeline where every great movie eventually becomes a live-action reboot with more lens flare and emotionally intense teenage side-eyes. Enter the live-action How to Train Your Dragon.

    Mason Thames plays Hiccup, the misunderstood Viking teen with a haircut that says “I journal.” Nico Parker is Astrid, the no-nonsense warrior girl who somehow looks terrifying even while holding a flower. And Gerard Butler returns as Stoick the Vast, because he’s legally required to yell with a Scottish accent in any movie involving swords or fatherhood.

    The dragon, Toothless, is now rendered in full ultra-HD realism, which means you’ll probably feel deeply bonded to him by the end of the movie—or at least mildly betrayed when he doesn’t exist in real life. He’s still got the big expressive eyes, the catlike reflexes, and the ability to make grown adults cry with one blink.

    I haven’t seen the movie, but I have watched the trailer 37 times, read every headline, and accidentally joined a Facebook group called “Toothless Truthers.” So I’m qualified. Internet discourse is torn: some people say “It’s beautiful and nostalgic,” while others are furious that the dragons don’t look like the animated versions, even though they still breathe fire, which feels like the bigger deal.

    Also, there was minor controversy about Astrid’s casting, because no one can simply enjoy anything anymore without arguing about it in 240-character increments. Still, reviews are already calling it “visually stunning” and “a faithful reimagining,” which is critic code for “Please don’t yell at us on Twitter.”

    There’s probably a heartfelt montage where Hiccup learns to trust himself by flying directly into danger. There’s probably a scene where Stoick screams, “He’s not ready!” while a village burns in the background. And there’s absolutely a moment where Toothless does that little head tilt and every audience member immediately forgives the entire Hollywood remake machine.

    In conclusion, How to Train Your Dragon (live-action) is soaring back into theaters to make you cry, cheer, and maybe Google “How much does it cost to adopt a CGI dragon?”

    I give it 4 out of 5 dramatic flight sequences, with bonus points for every time someone learns an important life lesson mid-air.

  • Predator: Killer of Killers

    Predator: Killer of Killers

    Time-Traveling Death Alien vs. Every Warrior Hollywood Could License

    In Predator: Killer of Killers, the Predator franchise finally answers the question absolutely no one asked: “What if we dropped a dreadlocked space hunter into a historical re-enactment buffet?” This animated anthology film reportedly features the Predator facing off against warriors from multiple eras—Vikings, samurai, Roman soldiers, maybe a caveman with a rock and a grudge.

    I haven’t seen it. But I have watched the trailer, four fan breakdowns, and a TikTok where someone ranked the Predator’s historical kill-to-vibe ratio. So I’m fully qualified to tell you this movie looks like an ultra-violent field trip through time.

    According to everything I’ve read, this thing is bloody. Like, “your popcorn might flinch” levels of bloody. And it’s animated, which just means the gore is somehow extra creative. There’s an entire scene where a Predator allegedly dismembers a Mongolian warlord mid-speech while a thunderstorm plays the drums in the background. This is not verified, but it feels right.

    Each segment drops our friendly neighborhood intergalactic skull collector into a new era with new prey. And yes, someone probably says something like, “What are you?” before immediately dying. It’s a Predator tradition. The vibe is equal parts Love, Death & Robots, Assassin’s Creed, and whatever your cousin with the cool tattoo collection would pitch after two Red Bulls.

    There’s no central plot, just historical carnage and themed bloodbaths. It’s like Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure if they replaced Keanu Reeves with a cloaked alien who collects spinal cords for fun.

    Predator: Killer of Killers might be the most unnecessary, over-the-top installment in the franchise—and I say that as someone who watched Predator vs. Santa Claus on YouTube once. But it also might be brilliant. After all, what other franchise can pit an invisible plasma-cannon-wielding alien against a Viking berserker and have it make sense?

    I give it 4 out of 5 beheaded history buffs, and I will absolutely be watching it the second I’m brave enough.