FOLLOWING FILMS

Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale brings the long-running saga of the Crawley family to its graceful conclusion. As the third film following the hit television series, it arrives with the heavy task of providing closure to one of Britain’s most beloved period dramas. It succeeds in delivering emotional satisfaction and nostalgic charm, even if it rarely ventures beyond familiar territory. From its opening moments, the film immediately immerses viewers in the refined world that has always defined Downton. The camera glides across the grounds, the music swells, and we return to the comforting rituals of a house where tradition still rules. The production design, costumes, and cinematography continue to be exceptional. Every frame feels carefully polished, a visual love letter to the elegance of 1930s England. There’s a tangible affection behind the filmmaking, as if everyone involved is saying farewell to a place that has come to feel real over the years. Julian Fellowes’s script continu...

Some movies don’t just entertain, they sneak into your life and set up shop in your memories, becoming part of the folklore of your youth. Freaked (1993) is one of those films. Directed by Tom Stern and Alex Winter (yes, that Alex Winter, the “Bill” half of Bill & Ted), it’s a carnival of grotesques, a live-action cartoon of corporate evil, celebrity rot, and mutant rebellion. It’s also one of the funniest, most spectacularly weird comedies ever buried by a studio. My connection to Freaked began the way so many cult-movie obsessions do, with a rented VHS tape. A friend spotted the bizarre cover art at Video Update, took a chance, and brought it to what we generously called a “party” (really just a few comedy nerds eating chips and watching weird movies). We put it on that night and were instantly hooked. From then on, Freaked became a fixture in our little circle. Whenever someone new joined the group, we’d run through the essential films on our mental list, and if they hadn’t see...

John Carpenter’s In the Mouth of Madness (1994) stands as one of the most fascinating and unsettling horror films of its decade. It’s a movie that explores the breakdown of reason and the dangerous power of imagination, blending Lovecraftian cosmic terror with sharp commentary on mass culture and belief. By the mid-1990s, Carpenter was already known for crafting tightly controlled horror films that questioned the limits of reality, and this film pushed those ideas to their most disturbing extreme. What he created is both a love letter to horror fiction and a warning about how stories can consume the people who believe in them. The story follows John Trent, played with growing unease by Sam Neill, a skeptical insurance investigator who prides himself on his logic. At the start of the film, Trent is locked in a psychiatric hospital, raving about the end of the world. From his padded cell, he recounts how he got there, beginning with what seemed to be an ordinary job: tracking down the mi...

#ShakespearShitstorm is an unfiltered explosion of absurdity, a film that refuses to play by anyone’s rules, not even its own. Directed and co-written by Lloyd Kaufman, the founder of Troma Entertainment, this outrageous adaptation of The Tempest blends Shakespearean farce with a torrent of toilet humor, social commentary, and political mockery. It’s equal parts carnival sideshow and angry protest song, dripping in fake blood and bile but strangely committed to its own warped moral compass. The story roughly follows the bones of Shakespeare’s play. Kaufman plays Prospero Duke, a disgraced scientist betrayed by his power-hungry sister and a corrupt pharmaceutical empire. Banished from polite society, he hides away with his daughter Miranda and plots revenge. Years later, when a ship full of his enemies crosses his path, he conjures a storm — or in this case, a wave of drug-induced diarrhea, that leaves them stranded in his bizarre kingdom. The survivors stumble into a world of grotesque...

William Friedkin’s Rampage is one of those strange, half-buried works that seems to have fallen through the cracks of both its era and its director’s reputation. Shot in 1987 but not properly released in the United States until 1992, the film was reshaped, delayed, and nearly lost amid legal and studio troubles. That liminal history fits its tone: Rampage feels suspended between the moral horror of the 1970s and the slick procedural fascination of the 1990s. It’s a disturbing, intelligent, and uneasy hybrid, a courtroom thriller haunted by the logic of a horror movie. The film is loosely based on the real crimes of Richard Chase, a serial killer nicknamed “The Vampire of Sacramento.” In Friedkin’s fictional retelling, the murderer becomes Charles Reece (Alex McArthur), an outwardly ordinary young man driven by bloodlust and delusion. After committing a series of gruesome killings, he is captured and put on trial. The prosecution, led by district attorney Anthony Fraser (Michael Biehn),...

When Æon Flux hit theaters in 2005, it was already burdened by expectation and misunderstanding. Fans of Peter Chung’s surreal MTV animated series expected a cerebral, avant-garde vision of dystopia. Mainstream audiences, lured by the marketing promise of a sleek sci-fi action film starring Charlize Theron, expected kinetic gunfights and a clear narrative. What arrived was something in between, a film simultaneously too strange and too conventional, too cerebral for popcorn audiences yet too compromised for the cult crowd. Still, two decades later, Æon Flux remains an oddly fascinating artifact of early-2000s science fiction cinema, a film whose stylized visual design, though very much of its time, continues to hold up because of its craft and conviction. Directed by Karyn Kusama, then fresh off her indie breakthrough Girlfight, and written by Phil Hay and Matt Manfredi, Æon Flux is set in the 25th century, four centuries after a virus wiped out most of humanity. The survivors live in ...

Mission: Impossible The Final Reckoning feels like both an ending and a reflection, a farewell built on adrenaline, guilt, loyalty, and legacy. It’s a film that constantly looks back while trying to propel itself forward at full speed, as if Ethan Hunt and the movie itself are racing against time, history, and perhaps exhaustion. Christopher McQuarrie returns to direct what is being framed as the culmination of Tom Cruise’s nearly thirty-year journey as Hunt. While it delivers the spectacle fans expect, it also stumbles under the weight of its own finality. The story picks up where Dead Reckoning Part One left off. The rogue artificial intelligence known as “the Entity” is still at large, manipulating global systems and sowing chaos through information warfare. Hunt and his IMF team, Benji (Simon Pegg), Luther (Ving Rhames), and Grace (Hayley Atwell), must locate the device that can control or destroy it before it falls into the wrong hands. Standing in their way is Gabriel (Esai Moral...

When Spawn hit theaters in August 1997, it was billed as something different from the comic book adaptations of its day. Hollywood was dabbling in pulp heroes (The Phantom, The Shadow) and neon-soaked camp (Batman Forever, Batman & Robin), but few films had attempted to translate the darker, more extreme energy of the 1990s comics boom. Todd McFarlane’s Spawn seemed like the perfect candidate: a grim, gothic antihero with a cult following, steeped in hellfire, betrayal, and supernatural spectacle. The theatrical cut of Spawn that audiences saw was a strange beast. At just over 90 minutes, it told the story of Al Simmons (Michael Jai White), a government assassin betrayed by his employer Jason Wynn (Martin Sheen), murdered, and resurrected as Spawn, a reluctant soldier in Hell’s army. The premise is brimming with tragic weight: a man torn between vengeance and redemption, cursed with grotesque powers, and manipulated by the demonic clown Violator (John Leguizamo). Unfortunately, the...

South Korean cinema has earned its reputation for daring storytelling and stylish reinvention, and Kim Jee-woon’s The Good, the Bad, the Weird might be one of the most vibrant examples. Released in 2008, the film is often described as a homage to Sergio Leone’s The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, but it is far more than imitation. Kim takes the skeleton of the spaghetti western and relocates it to 1930s Manchuria, giving the genre a new cultural and historical foundation while retaining the reckless energy of Leone’s classics. The result is a film that feels at once familiar and completely unpredictable. The decision to set the story in Manchuria during the Japanese occupation is as inspired as it is meaningful. This was a turbulent place where colonial powers, outlaws, and opportunists intersected in a landscape that resembled the lawless frontiers of the American West. It gives the film both a mythic and political dimension: deserts and train tracks may echo western iconography, but the...

When Creepshow came out in 1982, it felt like a splash of lurid color ripped straight from the pages of EC horror comics. George A. Romero directed with style, Stephen King supplied pulpy stories, and the result was a mix of camp and menace that captured the spirit of twisted morality tales. Five stories, bound together by a sharp comic-book aesthetic, gave it both variety and energy. A sequel seemed inevitable, and in 1987, Creepshow 2 arrived with Romero stepping back into the role of screenwriter while his longtime cinematographer Michael Gornick took the director’s chair. Right away, the difference is clear: the sequel is leaner, offering just three stories instead of five. There’s plenty of gore, gallows humor, and supernatural justice, but it never reaches the same heights as the original. It feels smaller, less ambitious, and sometimes clumsier, though still worth a look for horror anthology fans. The film keeps the comic-inspired wraparound, this time featuring a character call...

  If you’ve ever waited for a train in one of London’s older Underground stations, you know how creepy those tunnels can feel late at night. Now imagine something lurking down there, something that isn’t just a drunk commuter. That’s the basic setup of Raw Meat (known as Death Line in the U.K.), a 1972 horror film directed by Gary Sherman. It’s a strange, scrappy little movie that mixes urban decay, cannibalism, and dry British humor. And yes, Christopher Lee shows up, but not in the way you might expect. The film kicks off when a rich civil servant mysteriously vanishes in Russell Square station. Donald Pleasence plays Inspector Calhoun, the cranky cop assigned to figure out what happened. His investigation leads him to rumors about missing people in the Underground. The truth is straight out of a nightmare: decades earlier, workers were trapped in a tunnel collapse. Cut off from the world, they survived by eating the dead, and their descendants have been living down there ever si...