FOLLOWING FILMS - Podcast, Movies, Music, and More

Now that it's hitting 4K Blu-ray and DVD, let's talk about the actual box office miracle of 2026, Curry Barker’s Obsession. It is absolutely wild that a movie made for under a million bucks, by a guy who used to make YouTube sketches, is currently sitting on over four hundred million dollars worldwide. If you spend any time on Letterboxd or film Twitter, you literally cannot escape people screaming about this thing. It is the kind of word-of-mouth phenomenon that studios try to manufacture with fifty-million-dollar marketing budgets and completely fail, yet here comes a guy who shot Milk & Serial on a shoestring, dropping one of the most unsettling, deeply uncomfortable supernatural thrillers in years. If you haven't caught it yet, the premise sounds like a basic, almost corny morality tale, but the execution is where it completely warps your brain. We follow Bear, played by Michael Johnston, who is your classic, slightly pathetic, deeply lonely music store employee. He...

The 1971 international co-production Red Sun (released in Europe as Soleil rouge ) remains one of the most fascinating anomalies in global cinema. Directed by Terence Young, the British filmmaker who essentially built the cinematic blueprint for James Bond in Dr. No and From Russia with Love , the movie is an ambitious, genre-blurring hybrid. It marries the cynical, sun-baked landscape of the Spaghetti Western with the rigid, honor-bound traditions of the Japanese chambara, or samurai film. Shot in the rugged deserts of Almería, Spain, the production brought together an almost unbelievable international quartet of stars: American tough guy Charles Bronson, Japanese screen icon Toshirō Mifune, French hearthrob Alain Delon, and Swiss starlet Ursula Andress. On paper, this cross-cultural melting pot sounds like a blatant studio gimmick cooked up to appease multiple global box offices at once. In execution, however, it delivers a remarkably cohesive, tonally unique action-adventure that ...

Joel Schumacher’s Falling Down (1993) is as much a Rorschach test as it is a smog-choked thriller. Released at a point of intense cultural volatility in American history, specifically on the heels of the 1992 Los Angeles riots that exploded after the acquittal of 4 LAPD officers who beat Rodney King on videotape, and during an economic recession that left white-collar workers feeling increasingly precarious, the film captured a precise, ugly, and resonant cultural nerve. Viewed today, it feels less like a relic of the nineties and more like an uncanny, predictive text for the modern landscape of alienation, political polarization, and online radicalization. It is a film about the fracturing of the American Dream, told through the perspective of a man who believed the marketing copy, only to find himself bankrupt in a world that no longer recognizes him. The narrative architecture of the film is deceptively simple, adopting a classic Odyssean structure transposed onto the gridlocked asp...

Kristoffer Borgli has carved out a genuinely weird, unsettling niche in modern cinema. He loves poking at the fragile ways we build our egos and social identities, and with The Drama, he moves away from the viral internet infamy of his previous work to tear apart something much older: the deeply performative ritual of a modern wedding. On paper, it sounds like a standard psychological thriller or a pitch-black comedy about domestic secrets. In reality, the movie functions as a relentless, high-stress endurance test of what unconditional love actually means. Borgli doesn't just tell a story; he weaponizes the audience's expectations, flipping a standard romantic setup on its head to create something deeply deeply uncomfortable. It moves with the slow, agonizing inevitability of a car crash you can't look away from. To get the full, gut-punch effect of what he’s doing here, you absolutely have to walk into the theater knowing as close to zero as possible. The marketing did a ...

There is a distinct kind of nostalgia that comes from a perfectly timed, sun-bleached shot of a wide Los Angeles freeway. It is the visual language of the adult crime thriller, a genre that flourished in the nineties and early aughts before largely retreating to the fringes of independent cinema or morphing into bombastic superhero spectacles. With Crime 101, director Bart Layton attempts to stage a grand revival of this classic form. Adapting Don Winslow’s 2020 novella, Layton pulls together a massive, high-caliber ensemble including Chris Hemsworth, Mark Ruffalo, and Halle Berry to construct a sprawling heist picture that consciously evokes the ghost of Michael Mann. The results are undeniably stylish, frequently gripping, and deeply committed to an old-school aesthetic. Yet, as the title implies, the film occasionally finds itself trapped by its own foundational curriculum. For all its moody lighting, social awareness, and exceptional performances, Crime 101 struggles to break out f...

The knife slips in, the blood flows, and the meta-commentary chugs along. By the time a horror franchise reaches its seventh installment, the options are limited. A series can either pretend it is high art and collapse under the weight of its own unearned gravity, or it can lean into the beautiful, chaotic absurdity of its own survival. Scream 7, directed by franchise veteran Kevin Williamson, wisely chooses the latter. Following a notoriously messy production cycle that involved high-profile cast departures, director swaps, and a massive script page-one rewrite, the film arrived in theaters under a cloud of skeptical anticipation. The early critical consensus was brutal. Critics called it a tired husk, a cynical retreat to nostalgia, and a structural mess. They missed the point. Scream 7 is a lean, mean, and delightfully unpretentious slasher that works precisely because it refuses to take itself too seriously. It is a film that understands exactly what it is, a late-stage sequel desi...

The first half of Takashi Miike's 1999 masterpiece Audition behaves like a melancholic, slightly clinical romantic drama. It details the quiet life of Shigeharu Aoyama (Ryo Ishibashi), a middle-aged documentary producer who lost his wife to cancer seven years prior. He lives a peaceful, rhythmic existence with his teenage son, Shigehiko, who gently suggests that it is time for his father to find a new companion. Aoyama agrees, but his return to the dating pool is not handled through conventional means. Instead, his close friend Yoshikawa, a slick feature film producer, suggests a bizarre and ethically dubious scheme. They will hold a mock casting call for a non-existent movie, allowing Aoyama to interview young women under the guise of finding a leading lady, while secretly searching for a perfect wife. This extended setup takes up almost an hour of screen time. Miike handles it with an unexpected, muted restraint that contrasts sharply with his reputation for gonzo, over-the-top v...

In the summer of 1991, Hollywood delivered a medieval epic that would define the era’s approach to the summer blockbuster. Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, directed by Kevin Reynolds, arrived on a wave of massive hype, fueled by Kevin Costner's post-Oscars star power and a chart-topping power ballad by Bryan Adams. Looking back at the original 143-minute theatrical cut, the film remains a fascinating, deeply entertaining, and tonally bizarre artifact of 1990s studio filmmaking. It is a movie that succeeds not because it is a seamless masterpiece, but because its wild contradictions somehow fuse into pure cinematic joy. The plot follows a familiar trajectory but anchors it in a grittier, post-Crusades reality. Robin of Locksley escapes a brutal prison in Jerusalem alongside a Moorish warrior named Azeem. Upon returning to England, Robin finds his father murdered, his family estate ruined, and the local populace suffering under the tyrannical rule of the Sheriff of Nottingham. Fleeing ...

Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse captures the chaotic reality of creative obsession with raw authenticity. Originally released in 1991, this legendary documentary chronicles the near-fatal production of Francis Ford Coppola’s 1979 masterpiece, Apocalypse Now. Armed with a camera and a hidden recorder, Eleanor Coppola captured the psychological unraveling of an auteur lost in the jungle, transforming a simple behind-the-scenes record into a profound study of artistic ruin. Now, a definitive three-disc box set from Lionsgate Limited rescues this classic and Eleanor’s broader filmography from obscurity, offering a comprehensive look at a family bound by cinema.

The first season of Prime Video’s Fallout defied the historical curse of video game adaptations, achieving what many thought impossible by capturing the exact tonal tightrope of the franchise. Showrunners Graham Wagner and Geneva Robertson-Dworet perfectly balanced horrific, hyper-violent post-apocalyptic dread with a chipper, mid-century retro-futuristic dark comedy. Season 2 takes this established playground and aggressively ups the ante, moving the narrative cross-country from the irradiated ruins of Los Angeles to the iconic, sun-bleached dangers of the Mojave Wasteland and New Vegas. This sophomore outing is bigger, bloodier, and considerably more ambitious. Yet, as the show expands its world to juggle complex faction politics and staggering Pre-War lore, it faces a classic sequel dilemma of whether a series can maintain its tight character focus when the sandbox around it becomes this overcrowded. The answer is a resounding, if occasionally messy, yes. At the beating, irradiated ...

The sleek, matte-black silhouette of the modified Gazelle helicopter cuts through the hazy Los Angeles skyline like a predatory insect, a visual metaphor for the encroaching surveillance state that feels even more pointed today than it did in 1983. John Badham’s Blue Thunder is a remarkable piece of high-octane populist filmmaking, a relic of an era when practical effects and stunt flying carried a weight and physical presence that digital wizardry simply cannot replicate. It is a film of grit, sweat, and kerosene, grounded by a weary, soulful performance from Roy Scheider that elevates what could have been a standard police procedural into a haunting meditation on the erosion of privacy and the terrifying potential of militarized domestic policing. Revisiting the film in an age of drones and ubiquitous data collection reveals a prophetic edge that is genuinely unsettling. The titular aircraft is not just a weapon; it is a mobile panopticon, capable of "looking into a bedroom wind...