Brief Consideration: Weapons (2025)

Preamble

For fear of sounding repetitive, I was almost going to do a variant on the last preamble due to how it took a little longer than usual to gather my thoughts on Weapons. And for reasons that still seem out of reach, I’m still searching for why. But that’s foolhardy speculation. Have you had a chance to see Zach Cregger’s Weapons this weekend? Let me know in the comments below.

Brief Consideration

In an era where horror movies seem to be at near bursting point in terms of new releases, Zach Cregger’s Barbarian stood out. This was due to how it felt like a feature-length expansion of the Parlour scene from Psycho, in which both characters were acutely aware of the inherent distrust and danger from their inconvenient living arrangement. Cregger’s follow-up, Weapons, which depicts a community grappling with the sudden disappearance of 17 school children, is a much more ambitious and sly effort.

Rather than rely on a singular location and nesting doll narrative that fleshes out said location and the themes it fosters, Weapons feels much more expansive and fairy tale-esque in its storytelling. In fact, its primary source of inspiration is Magnolia in terms of how it uses its characters to sketch out its themes. The film is split into different parts that tell the story from the vantage point of many characters. The anthology-esque approach is bold and occasionally veers into leading down the garden path territory.

However, I think the structure (particularly emphasised in the sections about a cop and a drug addict) is part of the thematic point. Despite the central tragedy that has shaken the Maybrook community, the characters are far too caught up in their bullshit that they can’t see the forest for the trees when it comes to solving the central problem. They are an embodiment of the famous line from Norman Bates- “We are all in our private traps.” And as such, the stark title “Weapons” is not just how the central evil twists innocence and familiarity for selfish ends, but also how we are capable of doing that to each other (regardless of external manipulation).

The Bates quote also takes on significant meaning in the final stretch of the film, where we discover the nature of the antagonist and the psychological toll it takes on one character in particular. There’s a gut-wrenching emotional truth to these sections that’s as much an indictment of the systems in place as it is the notion of complicity in silence.

Cregger’s subtle direction impresses, particularly in instances when he plays with focus, often blurring the adult characters, which encapsulates the themes quite elegantly. He also juxtaposes this with quite exact and patient medium shots that give rise to a nerve-shattering tension that had me on the edge of my seat. And in a film with quite an ensemble cast, Julia Garner strikes a chord in a performance that balances fragility in the face of mounting public scrutiny and rarefied emphatic defiance.

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Review: The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025)

Preamble

As I sit here and write these words, I realise that this is one of those few times when I have writer’s block. So, dear reader, the following blog post is as much of a white knuckle ride for you as it will be for me. It’s likely because First Steps was my most anticipated movie of the year, or I don’t have much to say. Time will be the judge and jury on that score. With that said, have you seen Fantastic Four: First Steps? Let me know in the comments below.

Review

From a bonkers, unofficial Roger Corman-produced effort to the body horror-inspired 2015 reboot, Fantastic Four has had the worst luck when it comes to gaining silver screen prestige. This has been compounded by The Incredibles, which took the premise of a familial superhero team and delivered a jolting movie about middle-aged malaise, fanboy culture and exceptionalism. In fitting fashion, the 4th time is indeed the charm. The MCU’s debut of Marvel’s First Family is an engrossing effort that delivers in its family dynamics and imaginative cosmic scale.

The 2025 movie depicts the superpowered team 3 years into their careers as protectors of the Earth. However, life becomes harder for the team when, on the domestic front, Sue Storm (Venessa Kirby) and Reed Richards (Pedro Pascal) are expecting their first child. This happens amid an alien visitor – Silver Surfer (Julia Garner), heralding the arrival of a cosmic being, Galactus (Ralph Ineson), who intends to devour the Earth.

Much like WandaVision used a specific era of Americana to explore potent issues such as grief and power, First Steps uses the trappings of a retro-futuristic ’60s to fuel its drama and themes. In this case, the positive and pristine picture of America is akin to The Original Series of Star Trek, whereby humanity is inherently optimistic that it can resolve any difference, war, or problem that plagues the planet. At the same time, this TOS quality extends to the central drama of the movie, which is whether or not Sue and Reed sacrifice their child for Galactus to overlook their planet and, in turn, spare humanity.

On the one hand, this central moral conundrum matches the format of a TOS episode where there would be an ethical conflict or philosophical quandary that would be solved by Kirk, Spock and Bones, who represent different aspects of the human mind, etc. In First Steps, this exploration leads to a community’s broad definition of family in which the Fantastic Four feel responsible for everyone on Planet Earth as extensions of their own family. In this sense, there are also parallels to Star Trek, insofar as the team represents Earth, much like the original crew in TOS, in terms of their Five-Year mission, etc. This is illustrated in a plot point where Reed and his team leave the Earth to find and negotiate with Galactus and the Surfer.

The conflict also leads to drama about the notion of raising a superpowered being whose future is particularly uncertain. There’s great emotional truth in sequences, particularly a scene where Reed decides to stop studying baby Franklin because he believes it’s better to see how he turns out as opposed to analysing and predicting his powers. At the heart of Reed’s arc is his declaration that “Nothing will change” regarding Franklin. As a starting point for a metaphor about parenting, it’s solid. However, it could have been finessed to affect the entire team as opposed to just Reed and Sue.

And this ties into my central criticism of First Steps. Whilst I appreciate that it’s in its own bubble compared to the rest of the MCU, it could have been bolder in some of its storytelling because it’s so insular. The film exists on a strange line between breathless (in its world-building) and sometimes belaboured in other aspects. The result is that the stakes feel personal but not global because we don’t see enough of the world.

This is a shame, as First Steps feels like the most lived-in comic book movie since Watchmen. The set design is elaborate and detailed, with areas such as Ben Grimm’s school having a realistic texture. This is complemented by the use of scale, which makes the cosmic threat feel tangible. From Galactus’s Kaiju-esque towering presence to the Surfer’s balletic movements, First Steps does not skimp out on its galactic entities. In this regard, the movie feels like a loving tribute to Jack Kirby’s artwork that often shone with an enchanting power. Matt Shakman (primary director of WandaVision) also commendably depicts this scale in the filmmaking, whether it’s long shots of the Surfer’s movements or medium shots where Galactus’ body parts take up the entire frame. Also, like WandaVision, Shakman plays with aspect ratios and film format to immerse the viewer in the retro world (such as an early montage in grainy 16mm).

Despite having some initial rough scenes, Pedro Pascal won me over as Reed because of the quiet intensity he brought to the role. He’s often the person who comes up with the least popular answer to a moral problem, and Pascal’s reluctance to articulate that felt unique and human. Pascal is matched by Vanessa Kirby, who brings a grounded poise to Sue Storm and arguably is the soul of the quartet. Ben Grimm gets the least on the page, but Ebon Moss-Bachrach has a salt-of-the-earth charm that gives a lot of his scenes a genuine weight and pathos. But Julia Garner steals the show as the newly interpreted Silver Surfer, whether reflecting on her almost sensual movements or forthright vocals that have a semblance of tragic resignation. It does not hurt that the silver-coloured being has a haunting theme by Michael Giacchino, whose use of choral elements provides the film with its optimistic and imaginative punch.

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Brief Consideration: I Know What You Did Last Summer (2025)

Preamble

“Well, well, well”, as Angelina Jolie’s Maleficent once said. There’s no reason for the quote other than to create a dramatic opening to the post. This is perhaps the longest time since I last saw a film and wrote about it. It’s not for lack of trying. It’s partly been down to time and a genuine bafflement about how I feel about the film itself. However, that stone has been turned, and with that said, have you seen the new I Know What You Did Last Summer? Let me know in the comments below.

Brief Consideration

Despite having the same screenwriter as Scream (Kevin Williamson), the original I Know What You Did Last Summer was a far more humble genre picture. It barely rose above mediocrity, thanks to some exciting sequences, its coastal setting, and a likeable cast. With this in mind, a legacy sequel would seem like a low-stakes and non-offensive trifle. However, the 2025 entry is anything but with an angle that shoots for the moon but never leaves the stratosphere due to a fundamentally muddled approach.

Taking place nearly 30 years after the original, the legacy sequel tells the story of Ava (Chase Sui Wonders), who returns to Southport for her friend’s engagement party. Whilst out there, she catches up with old college buddies who decide to take an inebriated, light night drive. Tragedy strikes when one of the friends causes a driver to steer off course. Whilst the group tries their best to save the driver from falling from a great height, they ultimately fail and vow to walk away, keeping the event a secret of silence. A year later, Ava’s best friend Danica (Madelyn Cline) has another engagement party. But this time, it has an ominous air as she receives an anonymous letter with the declaration- “I Know What You Did Last Summer.” The message sparks a chain of events that has echoes of the 1997 Southport attacks.

The second sequel exists on a tightrope between brutal and subversive. For every new grisly slasher sequence, there’s a twisty plot element. In theory, this is exciting, but in execution, it comes across as quite flawed. Critically, the new slasher film aims to add a dimension of empathy (especially around its central female friendship), but instead, it ends up feeling quite callous. For every instance of emphatic check-in and concern, there’s a shot fired at the notion of self-care. This chiefly comes in the film’s best sequence, where Danica’s boyfriend is murdered whilst she’s listening to a relaxation tape in a bubble bath. Through some savage editing and exacting medium shots, the sequence has tension and fun. However, it solidifies the film’s fine line between subversive and genuine.

This aspect is encapsulated in the twist ending. Conceptually, it builds upon some of the red herring material from the original film. However, given the events of the second film and the thematic mines this movie attempts to explore, it comes across as relatively shallow. As a means for the events of the original to gain prominence, it’s interesting. Still, we never hear the other side of the conspiracy beyond the superficial, immediate effects for some of the central cast. Along with an interesting idea of how one of the characters is processing the events sexually, you have a film that has more bark than bite. This is a shame as Jennifer Love Hewitt’s and Chase Sui’s performances occasionally imbue the movie with a fleeting sense of emotional truth.

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Review: Superman (2025)

Preamble

If there’s one film that awakened me from my longer review-based slumber, then it would have to be a Superman film directed by James Gunn. He’s a filmmaker that I’ve enjoyed writing about over the year despite my misgivings with some, if not all, of his work. So, without further ado, I shall not leave you in suspense. Have you seen Superman this weekend? Let me know in the comments below.

Review

At this point, every new James Gunn movie feels like a referendum on the man’s work. For all his cult movie sensibility and Troma roots, I’m often left feeling quite emotionally distant from most of his output (courtesy of a mixture of sentimentality and irreverence). So, an inquisitive eyebrow was raised when he decided to tackle Superman, who arguably is one of the most wholesome characters in all of comics. The results are fascinating, if not a little scattered. Gunn’s 2025 interpretation of the Man of Steel throws a lot at the wall, but most of it sticks with a touching and thrilling sense of play that feels refreshing.

The newest Superman feature depicts the title character 3 years into his role as Metropolis’ protector. After experiencing his first defeat at the hands of another meta-human (superpowered beings) and getting involved in an international incident, Superman must come to terms with his role as a superhero, as mounting pressure comes from both his personal and costumed life.

The most commendable aspect of this newest incarnation is that it emphasises the “Man” in Superman. Part of this comes from the comic inspirations (mainly in the form of Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely’s All-Star Superman). The comic arguably marks Superman at his most wacky, combining many Silver Age ideas with a commendable sense of pathos through the character’s terminal plight. 

Gunn takes this heart and goofiness as a mantra for his incarnation as he stuffs the movie (to near breaking point at times) with a lot of Silver Age material. Elements such as Krypto, a screeching Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced) and Guy Gardner (Nathan Fillion) exist without ceremony or buildup. Instead, they’re staples that permeate the world. In this way, Gunn’s sensibility reminded me a lot of George Lucas’ world-building in the Prequel Trilogy, whereby the excitement came from what visuals were just around the corner.

Gunn juxtaposes with some quite disciplined filmmaking. Even in his lesser efforts, I’ve appreciated how the director utilizes Mise-en-scène. In Superman, he uses the technique to punctuate his point about superheroes, insofar as they’re inherently unglamorous and fleeting. This occurs in the scene where Lois (Rachel Brosnahan) and Clark (David Corenswet) have an intimate conversation, set against the backdrop of the Justice Gang taking on a colourful threat. Medium shots and close-ups of the couple play against a carefully projected image that features a maelstrom of colour from an alien threat that emits a purple beam of light. At once, it’s postmodern in its portrayal of how disengaged audiences have become from the skybeam threat in comic book movies. It also illustrates how much Gunn values the emotions and intimacy we share, as Lois and Clark strive to mend the cracks in their relationship.

I also appreciated the operatic use of close-ups, whether it’s an incandescent Lex Luthor (in the third act) or the moment where Lois looks back and sees Metamorpho (Anthony Carrigan) for the first time. The moment is uncanny and deeply human, reminding me of the grace notes of empathy displayed in Gunn’s first feature, Slither, where Elizabeth Banks’ character stared at her husband (in his monstrous new guise). Moments like this moved me, along with Lois seeing Clark’s childhood bedroom, as she reflects on the life he had before her. And the editing makes some savage cuts that reminded me of panel transitions. The boldest being when a character is dropped in the third act, and it cuts to fizzy tablet being dropped into a water bottle.

On the page, Superman has a lot of ambition, including exploring how the story of the character has always been an immigrant one, which plays into modern ideas of birtherism that parallels Trump’s questioning of Obama’s heritage. At the same time, there’s a new wrinkle of how Clark keeps his adopted parents at arm’s length in favour of his Kryptonian birth parents, whom he credits as the reason for his existence as Superman. This is compounded by Superman’s place in a brewing foreign war. All these elements are excellent, but they’re never given the finesse to be explored meaningfully, so they drift either as awkward ideas that are swept under the rug (at worst) or represent half-baked musings (at best).

This is a shame, as the actors can only lift the screenplay up so much. David Corenswet makes for a towering Man of Steel, playing the character with the self-assurance of an unyielding football manager. Rachel Brosnahan is a formidable presence as Lois, who has an ear and drive for a good story. Nicolas Hoult is relatable and obsessive as Lex Luthor, who holds a profound hatred for the Man of Steel. But Edi Gathegi steals the show as Mister Terrific, whose deadpan delivery and dry wit encapsulate Gunn’s ethos of superheroes in this film. They may be superficially extraordinary, but they can still be absent-minded and all too human in their mundane struggles. 

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Brief Consideration: Bring Her Back (2025)

Preamble

It’s a real sign of the times when you start to feel out of whack about release dates. As of writing, Bring Her Back has been released in US cinemas and is currently available on VOD. However, in the UK, it is not released until August. I caught it last night at a surprise horror movie screening at my local cinema. It’s been one of my most anticipated films of the year. With that said, have you seen Bring Her Back? Let me know in the comments below.

Brief Consideration

In some ways, Bring Her Back plays like the starker doppelganger to Osgood Perkins’ The Monkey. Its narrative depicts a Foster Mum’s (Laura, played by Sally Hawkins) desperate attempts to bring back her daughter by victimising a partially blind orphan, Piper (Sora Wong), and her older stepbrother, Andy (Billy Barratt). Much like The Monkey, Bring Her Back deals with how we cope with grief and death. Whilst the former looked at the subject and chose to respond to it with a wry smile, the Australian horror movie instead uses it as a jumping off point to explore the extreme lengths we go to preserve our loved ones.

The approach is bold with many skin-crawling sequences that lean into the scuzziness of the VHS format to paint a harrowing picture of the cult like practices that spur Laura’s actions. The directing duo, Danny and Michael Philippou, punctuate this with the use of shallow depth of field to make the audience perceive the environment like Piper’s, and constraining camera moves that made me feel claustrophobic. In this way, the pair easily top their directorial debut (Talk to Me) from a cinematic perspective. Sally Hawkins is also a revelation in a performance that skirts the line between subtle, passive aggressiveness (via small gestures and emphasised line readings) and operatic sweep, conveying deep-seated pain.

However, for all of the genuine horror and startling imagery, Bring Her Back left me at arm’s length for much of its running time. This is due to its many interesting materials being told to us rather than shown. Whilst the actors do a commendable job in conveying painful truths, they can’t escape the talky nature of the screenplay. Some of the revelations also exist solely for the shock factor, rather than being something that could be explored. A reveal in the third act about Laura’s former occupation is a prime example of this. At the same time, the screenplay tiptoes around some of its more insidious implications, leading to an unearned ambiguity.

The result is an effort that feels empty in what it attempts to convey. It’s neither Monkey’s Paw nor Twilight Zone, but instead a series of loosely connected ideas about grief, abuse and gaslighting that compound to disturb but little else.

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Further Thoughts: 28 Years Later (2025)

Preamble

Today is my birthday. Rather than fixate on the existential angst of growing a year older or the general nonsense of the day, I thought I’d rather get on the proverbial writing mic, and deliver some late night musings.

Since first seeing it, 28 Years Later has lingered with me. Perhaps it’s the inherent Britishisiness or the strong case that it’s the first horror movie to contend with Post Brexit Britain. But on its viewing, I think it’s something far more evocative. As an aside, I will not be discussing the ending. I think my last brief piece covered my interpretation of it. Plus, there’s so many other excellent perspectives on it that are worth seeking out as opposed to regurgitating. The same goes for viewing the film as a post Brexit tome. So, with that said, have you ventured back to cinemas to watch Danny Boyle’s latest? Let me know in the comments below.

Further Thoughts

28 Years Later provided something far more primal for me on a second viewing. This comes from the film’s structure. The first half depicts Jamie and his son, Spike leaving their island to the mainland for the preteen to kill his first few infected. The paternal section is an exercise in tough love whereby respect is earned via seeing the central creatures as entities without a soul or humanity.  It also gives rise to embellishment and myth-making as Spike’s time on the mainland is exaggerated for the sake of community jubilation. It also introduces the notion of a far-off Doctor, who may be able to answer what ailes Spike’s mother- Isla. But more fundamentally, the section represents the fall of the father, his mindset, practices and cycle of toxic tough masculinity. During my initial viewing, I read this as a cycle of how we perpetuate young men being prepared like soldiers for war (a romanticism of WW1 and 2). But right now, it reads as something far more emotive in its coming-of-age narrative. 

The second section, which charts Spike’s journey with his mother to find Dr Kelson is the antithesis. It’s emotional, empathetic and powerful in its showcasing of maternal instinct. In fact, it’s such a primal emotion that it can come to the fore in situations that seem counterintuitive. The first example shows Isla in a dreamlike scene killing an infected before it even has a thought about attacking Spike. The more prominent example shows Isla coming across a pregnant infected woman. She consoles and connects with the mother-to-be before delivering her baby. It contrasts with Jamie’s view of the infected and shows how in a post-apocalyptic world, we can still connect (even if it’s in the most primitive way).

The result of the two sections is Spike being able to express his truth (via a letter sent to loved ones back on his island). Much like Across the Spider-Verse, 28 Years Later is about the conflict between parents and kids. The latter want to spread their wings and tell their story. But it’s also about how parents die in their children’s eyes, whether it’s a literal death, or a perspective shift in how you once saw that person you once held in high regard.   

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Brief Consideration: 28 Years Later (2025)

Preamble

I was reminded whilst waiting for 28 Years Later to start just how prevalent the horror genre has become. I mean there are programmed trailers and all, but it’s near saturation point. However, 28 Years Later has stood out in my mind as a film to be curious about (especially when returning to the original recently). Anyway, have you seen the Danny Boyle-directed sequel? Let me know in the comments below.

Brief Consideration

28 Years Later is a harrowing and poignant sequel that greatly moved and terrified me. Set nearly 30 years after the original outbreak, the film is about a father-son duo, Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) and Spike (Alfie Williams), who venture from their island to the mainland to carry out a series of coming-of-age rituals. 

If the original was about the notion of empathy and killing then the sequel is about the loss of innocence. Many moments throughout the movie show something fairly benign being undercut by the haunting reality. The opening involving an episode of Teletubbies being savagely interrupted by an adult rage virus attack illustrates this aspect well. 

Alex Garland’s screenplay posits that no matter what, a child’s purity is going to be ground down, whether it’s a tear-inducing ceremony to mark a parent’s passing or the first time Spike is commanded to kill recently turned infected. 

At the same time, Garland takes a macro societal view that even when we are ravaged by a virus that’s wiped out most of the population, we still repeat the same patterns. We still train and treat our young like soldiers in war (in the name of the queen and region), and the maternal instinct is still a formable force that keeps any virus thinking at bay. This is coupled with the opening and coda suggesting that institutional abuse is still prevalent, especially if it wears the face of a local vicar or a seemingly helpful man who is very oddly dressed.

In this way, it feels as though Garland has more of a voice in this film than the 2002 film. However, that could be recency bias given his preoccupations in his directorial efforts (Men and Civil War in particular). 

Having said that, Danny Boyle, along with returning cinematographer, Anthony Dod Mantle, creates some striking imagery. This is apparent in a shimmering effect that results in some shots having a desert dune quality and visceral zombie point-of-view shots (filmed using multiple iPhones). 

But some of my favourite shots were Boyle and Dod playing with colour. There are dreamlike depictions of the infected in red that give the movie a surreal Giallo quality. These instances of medium shots and close-ups are punctuated by newsreel footage that accentuates the themes in profound ways. The editing also plays with time in a way that disorients us and gets us to experience the concept through a fragmented lens (matching the plight of one of the characters).

Overall, 28 Years Later pleasantly surprised me. Aside from its themes, filmmaking and acting (Jodie Comer is the highlight in her heartbreaking depiction of a fractured mind), the film reminded me why horror cinema is so appealing. It can get us to confront tough subject matters with an accute sense of frankness that can be healing and cathartic.

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Brief Consideration: From the World of John Wick: Ballerina (2025)

Preamble

Well this feels strange. Coming of the Season 2 train for The Last of Us has been odd, but glad to become a full time movie blogger once again. With that in mind, have you seen Ballerina. Let me know in the comments below.

Brief Consideration

John Wick felt like a breath of fresh air in a cinematic landscape where universes seem at bursting point. It combined organic and efficient world-building that fostered a Russian doll-style unravelling of its universe. This aspect coupled with a dry wit and an effortless subtle swift in genre resulted in an ultra-violent soap opera franchise. It is with this paradigm in mind that Ballerina enters the fray. 

John Wick’s first spin-off is an interesting and impressionist film that blurs the line in its universe-building. Set in between the events of the third and fourth film, Ballerina tells the story of an aspiring assassin called Eve (Ana De Armas), who stumbles upon a clue, leading her on a retributive path for her past that puts her on a collision with John Wick (Keanu Reeves). 

Many of the best filmmaking moments in Ballerina are medium shots where the audience’s view is obscured or blurred, whether it’s through the use of fire or water. The technique gives us a faint impression of what we’re seeing. It’s also key for illustrating Eve’s journey and how it’s not seeing the forest for the trees.

Her vengeance is singular and selfish but does not take stock of the historical pact or cycle she’s undoing. It’s this aspect that makes the movie intriguing. Much like the character, the audience is caught up in the fulfilling promise of exacting revenge, but we soon find ourselves caught up in the larger ramifications of the story and themes. 

In this regard, Ballerina retains the narrative and world-building acumen of the mainline series. But in incidental moments, it also captures the darkly comic edge of my favourite entries. Moments such as a Chaplin film being used as a punch line to a killer blow or an amusing riff on Chekhov’s gun (involving a violent barmaid being locked in a room) illustrate this aspect in spades.

Ana de Armas delivers on the promise she showed in her brief appearance in No Time to Die. She brings a scrappy physicality that combines with forthright line deliveries that hide a deeply wounded interior. And Keanu Reeves delivers some subtle moments of empathic resignation in his brief appearance as Wick. Much like his performance, Ballerina works because of the notes it plays. It gets us to pause as opposed to wishing the bubble would just burst.

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Review: The Last of Us, Season 2, Episode 7: Convergence

Preamble

I’ve honestly been dragging my feet on this review. Despite seeing the finale at a relatively sensible time, I guess I’m feeling paralyzed in writing about it. I guess that’s sentiment for you. It can be bewitching and sweet. But it can also be a giant pain, the kind that stops you in your track. Personal thoughts aside, have you seen the finale for the second season of The Last of Us? Let me know in the comments below.

Review

Much like Season 1’s closing chapter, the final episode of The Last of Us’ second season is fleet and short. In this way, Convergence proves to be a double-edged sword. It gets us on an interesting track for the third season but at the expense of dramatic potency. After finding out some information about Abby’s whereabouts, Ellie and Jessie venture out in search of Tommy.

Despite its length, it’s a credit to Convergence for how much it covers. The majority of the time is focused on Ellie and Jessie. In particular, the latter goes from someone who chastises Ellie’s approach and mission to developing a begrudging respect for the young woman. As a mini-arc, it’s not bad as it expounds more on the love triangle and makes Jessie’s death even more tragic. 

However, it does take away from the core drama between its central lead characters. Ellie and Dina’s pivotal scene in the game where the former’s injuries are being attended does not have the same punch as its source material. Instead, its different emphasis only really draws interest in the silent introspective moment that Dina has. Isabella Merced commendably portrays the seeming internal warryings of Dina, who realises that her and Ellie’s pursuit may be all for nought. This coupled with the moment where Ellie does not look at Dina after returning from murdering Owen and Mel results in the episode’s most subtle and powerful drama. But it does reinforce a problem with the season in terms of what it chooses to focus on and highlight etc.

The same goes for odd contrivances and off-screen antics that seek to make the season feel shallow as opposed to rich and interesting. What remains is a slow embrace of the bleak tone that permeated the game. To that end, there’s also another interesting attempt to parallel Ellie and Abby. The former’s berating of Jessie for not saving a Seraphite kid has echoes of Abby’s eventual arc with Yara and Lev. It also reinforces Ellie’s notion of community and how it’s not relegated to people within a certain space, but to the people she meaningfully encounters (especially applicable to Joel).

On a cinematic level, the episode does remain consistent with the virtues of the rest of the series. In particular, the lighting continues to be a bright technical spot (pun very much intended). In fact, perhaps more than any episode in the season, the lighting choices give the episode a real-time quality via the time of day having subtle shifts. This combined with natural sources in the form of fire torches and the use of moonlight combine to create an urgency that’s sometimes lacking in the central drama of the episode.

The episode is also somewhat redeemed by the ending, which feels like a stark shot across the barrel in illustrating the game’s structure and approach to TV viewers. There’s artistry in the transition from startling cliffhanger to a dreamy beginning for Abby’s third-season prominence. Along with the promise of the character being used to grapple with the show’s preoccupation with post-outbreak leadership, and you have the makings of a fascinating Season 3. 

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400th Post: Why Writing is Important To Me

Raw and unleashed. These may sound like buzz words for a pay per view wrestling match. However, in all seriousness, it’s important to exercise these qualities once in a while. Anniversary posts can be bitter sweet. They can be celebrations for the milestone in question. Or they can be like terrifying admissions that the well is dry. Outside of what you write about, the lingering doubt of whether you or not you truly have anything to say is persistent. And as I sit here amidst a Bank Holiday weekend in May, I’m throwing caution and all pretense to the wind, and instead trying to indulge in a little raw sentiment.

As A.I. continues to dominate our cultural landscape, I’m reminded more and more about why writing is important to me. Without wanting to sound highfalutin, but I think there’s something inherently primal in the act. For as far back as we can remember, we’ve attempted to immortalize our stories and experiences through the written word. In fact, many translations of great works of art involve transcription and written context. And in the pre-digital age, Film Critics’s reviews were a gateway into a time and place of our culture (through the prism of a film). I truly believe that despite the abundance of videos, shorts and reels that take up our bandwidth, there’s something pure and personal in a piece of writing.

And as A.I. ramps up and continues to be part of writing systems, I think a little spark of humanity will die. We will be relying on tools for our expression as opposed to doing the hard work of trying to give life to them. I’ve never bothered with Chat GPT and nor will I. In my stubbornness sprinkled with a little ego, I believe my digital chicken scratchings are fine as is (warts and all).

At the same time, writing keeps me accountable. Like anyone, I have my demons and they’ve sadly flared up in instances this year. But the one thing I have always had is my writing. Each blog post is an act of self faith that the blank page will be filled with authentic and considered thoughts. It’s never enhanced by a system or mind altering substance. Instead, I always believe that something will come, even if its at the eleventh hour or during a seemingly dry spell. And in the 10+ years that I’ve done this, that’s been a constant.

As the old adage goes, the best things come in three, so with that in mind, my final reason for why writing is important is because of the community it fosters. I may be a good old fashioned lurker (to use a bit of streamer lingo), but I truly enjoy and am humbled by the reviews that I read. I’ve also had the pleasure of interacting with some excellent folks on this site and Letterboxd. It’s been great to see the talent on display and how various people articulate their thoughts. On a larger point, this is why it’s good to not indulge in echo chambers. Reading contrasting views and opinions leads to a deeper appreciation on a piece of art or subject matter.

If you’re still here, then I thank you greatly for listening to my TED talk. I really have tried to write as spontaneously as I can. Hopefully there’s some small measure of consideration that you usually find in my other posts. But for now, I appreciate your continued indulgence. I’m just a humble man with a blog with enough ego to think my stuff is good enough to publish. I’ve hit some highs and lows in recent years on the writing front. And I would not trade a single moment of it for the world.

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