FOLLOWING FILMS - Podcast, Movies, Music, and More

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 ...

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...

It is a strange thing to watch a movie from 1998 and feel like you are looking at a lost artifact from 1984. Paul W.S. Anderson’s Soldier is a film that arrived at the wrong time, perhaps even on the wrong planet, but it carries the DNA of a very specific, very muscular era of science fiction. It feels like a cousin to the grit of The Terminator or the blue-collar exhaustion of Aliens. It lacks the slick, digital sheen that would soon define the turn of the century, opting instead for massive, practical sets, heavy pyrotechnics, and a lead performance that is almost entirely silent. It is a movie built on the back of Kurt Russell’s squint, and in the late nineties, that wasn’t quite enough for a cynical audience. But looking at it today, it feels like a masterpiece of minimalist storytelling tucked inside a maximalist action shell. The connection to 1984 isn’t just about the vibe; it is literal. David Webb Peoples wrote the screenplay, and he is the same man who co-wrote Blade Runner. ...

The Pang brothers’ 2002 supernatural horror film The Eye (original title Gin Gwai ) remains a seminal work within the East Asian horror boom of the early millennium. While it is often grouped alongside J-horror classics like Ringu or Ju-On , this Hong Kong and Thai co-production distinguishes itself through a unique blend of visceral body horror and a deeply empathetic character study. It explores the terrifying intersection of sensory perception and identity, asking what happens when the very tools we use to navigate the world become windows into a reality we were never meant to witness. The film is far more than a collection of jump scares; it is a meditation on the burden of sight and the inescapable weight of the past. The narrative follows Mun, a twenty year old classical violinist who has been blind since the age of two. When she undergoes a risky corneal transplant to restore her vision, the initial wonder of light and color quickly curdles into a nightmare. As her sight retur...

Joe Dante is a mad scientist of the suburban variety. He takes the familiar comforts of our living rooms and the mundane routines of our lives, then he injects them with a frantic cartoon energy that feels like it might burst at the seams. Seeing Innerspace for the first time on a grainy VHS tape back when I was eleven or twelve years old felt like discovering a secret transmission from a much cooler, more chaotic dimension. My parents had a top-loading VCR in our basement that made a heavy mechanical clunk when you pushed the tape down, and that sound was the starting bell for a journey into the microscopic. Back then, I didn’t know who Dennis Quaid was and was only familiar with Martin Short as Ed Grimley, but to me, after watching Innerspace, they were the two halves of a perfect comedic brain. The movie starts with a premise that should be terrifying, a miniaturized pilot injected into the body of a hypochondriac grocery clerk, but Dante turns it into a high-speed chase that never ...

After nearly a decade of supernatural mysteries, Demogorgons, and Eighties nostalgia, the definitive physical collection of Hawkins’ history is finally coming home. Arrow Films, in partnership with Netflix, has officially announced that Stranger Things: The Complete Series will be released on Blu-ray and stunning 4K UHD this summer. Fans can return to the Upside Down when the full box set launches on July 27 in the UK and July 28 in the US and Canada. Pre-orders are live now for what is being described as the ultimate tribute to the cultural phenomenon. For the first time in the show's history, every single chapter, from the 2016 disappearance of Will Byers to the record-breaking 2025 series finale, will be housed in a single collection. “We always dreamed that Stranger Things could be owned in its entirety,” creators Matt and Ross Duffer said in a joint statement. “Not just as a collector’s set, but as a way to preserve the show for decades to come.” The release follows a historic...

If you want to understand the exact moment that high fantasy on the big screen transitioned from campy fairy tales into something visceral, blood-soaked, and operatic, you have to look at John Boorman’s 1981 masterpiece, Excalibur. Long before Peter Jackson brought a literalist grit to Middle-earth, Boorman was out in the Irish countryside capturing a version of the Arthurian legend that feels less like a history lesson and more like a collective fever dream. It is a film that exists in a state of constant, shimmering intensity, where every suit of armor glows with an otherworldly chrome and every forest seems to be breathing. It is easily one of the most beautiful and deeply strange movies ever made, and it remains the definitive cinematic take on the rise and fall of Camelot. The story follows the entire arc of the legend, starting with the brutal, rain-slicked nights of Uther Pendragon and ending with the misty departure to Avalon. What makes Boorman’s approach so unique is that he ...

If you’ve ever wondered what it would look like if an Italian filmmaker tried to rip off The Omen, Star Wars, and Close Encounters of the Third Kind simultaneously while high on espresso and fever dreams, you’ll find your answer in the 1979 madness that is The Visitor. This isn't just a movie; it’s a psychedelic artifact of a time when the cinematic rulebook was thrown out the window in favor of pure "vibes" and avian-based violence. The film opens in a blinding white void where an intergalactic warrior named Jerzy—played with a magnificent, weary gravitas by the legendary John Huston—meets a cosmic, bald Christ-figure played by Franco Nero. They are surrounded by dozens of bald children in a scene that looks like a high-fashion cult meeting. They are locked in a multi-dimensional war against "Sateen," an ancient evil force whose genetic legacy is currently manifesting on Earth in the form of a foul-mouthed eight-year-old girl named Katy who lives in Atlanta. It...

T eenage Mutant Ninja Turtles  (1990) occupies a fascinating spot in pop-culture history. It arrived at a moment when the ninja turtle craze was at full commercial saturation, cartoons, toys, arcade games, and yet it chose, somewhat boldly, not to simply replicate the candy-colored tone of the Saturday morning series. Instead, director Steve Barron and the filmmaking team looked back toward Eastman and Laird’s original Mirage comics, blending grit and humor into a film that was darker, moodier, and more grounded than most viewers, especially parents, expected. That unexpected tonal mix is precisely why the film still holds up more than three decades later. Visually, the movie is immediately defined by its practical effects. Jim Henson’s Creature Shop created the turtle suits, and they remain one of the film’s greatest strengths. These suits could so easily have slipped into camp or awkward immobility, but instead they manage a delicate magic trick: the turtles look tactile, weight...

“Snakes on a Plane” has always lived at the intersection of joke and movie, meme and text. Released in 2006 and instantly absorbed into internet culture, it’s a film whose title seemed to do all the work in advance: there are snakes, and they are on a plane. The promise is both absurdly high-concept and blatantly literal. Yet within that simplicity lies the reason the film remains oddly enduring: it is fully aware of its own ridiculousness and leans into it with gusto. The premise is straightforward pulp. An FBI agent, played with relaxed authority and winking intensity by Samuel L. Jackson, escorts a key witness on a commercial airliner. A crime lord, unwilling to let justice unfold through ordinary legal channels, arranges to sabotage the flight by releasing a cargo hold full of venomous snakes midair. Chaos ensues, bodies pile up, oxygen masks drop, and the laws of herpetology bend to the needs of cinema. What follows is part disaster movie, part creature feature, and part meta-come...

Evil Dead Rise arrived with a heavy legacy on its shoulders. Sam Raimi’s original trilogy and Fede Álvarez’s 2013 reboot each carved out their own identities: slapstick-meets-splatter in the former, relentless sadistic intensity in the latter. Lee Cronin’s Evil Dead Rise doesn’t try to imitate either version wholesale. Instead, it relocates the franchise’s core elements—cabin-in-the-woods isolation, the Necronomicon’s malevolent pull, and gleeful practical gore—into an urban high-rise and asks whether the Evil Dead brand can thrive in a fresh setting. It turns out it can, and with surprising confidence. The film wastes little time establishing tone. After a brief cold open that ties into the larger narrative, the story focuses on a crumbling Los Angeles apartment building and two estranged sisters: Beth, a rootless guitar tech facing a personal crisis, and Ellie, a tattoo artist barely managing life as a single mother of three. What follows is a familiar spiral into possession, madn...