Justin Clark

Masters of the Universe has a beating heart—thoughtfully recontextualizing He-Man as a different presentation of masculinity—and it’s bolstered by a cartoon-perfect representation of the original cartoon’s menagerie of characters and their powers. But the poorly executed, jingling-key cheap elements piled up around that heart are enough to clog it until it explodes.

Mandalorian and Grogu is, basically, four Mandalorian episodes wearing an IMAX trench coat.

Mortal Kombat II is done waiting around. It’s ravenous to get down to bloody business.

Once it turns into a home-invasion thriller, the film becomes more sadistic than hilarious.

BenDavid Grabinski’s film is less of a crime drama than a punch-drunk comedy of errors.

The Bride!’s aims to show that being good in a cruel world is as foolish as falling in love—as foolish as attempting to be out and proud freaks in a repressive society. Guillermo del Toro might be brave enough to let his monsters fight and fuck in their own defense, but Gyllenhaal and her monsters do it nastier, sloppier, and louder as an act of magnificent defiance.

Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die’s obviousness only makes its proximity to the real-life A.I. slop invasion more unnerving, and the extent of what humanity has accepted for convenience’s sake more abhorrent.

Christophe Gans’s film does away with all the psychosexual nuance of Silent Hill 2.

Ryan Prows’s film comes across as just straight-up exploitative.

The beauty of Kristen Stewart’s focus is how she excavates the profound from the mundane.