Some films arrive with so much hype you expect them to define a generation, but they end up as little more than a footnote. That’s the case with The Beach. I waited 25 years to see it, and in the end I hadn’t missed much. The film starts strong, with the promise of an initiatory journey and Leonardo DiCaprio fresh from the Titanic phenomenon. But it never quite knows what it wants to be: part glossy music video, part tropical thriller, part social allegory. In none of these areas does it fully succeed. Visually it’s striking — Boyle has always had an eye for staging, and the Thai landscapes look stunning. The soundtrack is also memorable, easily the most lasting element. But the script is unfocused, pretending to reflect on utopias and community ideals while settling for hollow lines and predictable twists. DiCaprio carries the role but his character feels underwritten, more a guide through pretty backdrops than a fully fleshed-out protagonist. The supporting cast barely registers, deepening the sense of superficiality. In the end, The Beach feels empty. It flirts with grand ideas but delivers little beyond postcard beauty. Watchable for its visuals and music, yes, but ultimately forgettable — a flashy surface hiding a hollow core.

Some horror films, even without reinventing the wheel, at least manage to unsettle. Night Swim tries to play in that league but falls short. The premise is promising: a suburban pool with dark secrets. The problem is that beyond that initial idea, the script doesn’t know how to sustain the tension and ends up relying on predictable twists and scares that never truly land. Visually, there are a few strong moments: the underwater sequences convey unease and manage to trap the viewer in that sense of invisible danger. However, the editing leans too heavily on familiar tricks of the genre, and most jump scares are far too easy to anticipate, which robs them of impact. The cast does what it can, especially Kerry Condon, who brings credibility to a script that doesn’t give her much to work with. Wyatt Russell is solid as well, but the real issue isn’t the performances — it’s the lack of a more consistent and daring development. The second half feels deflated, as if the film drowns in its own clichés. There was room to take risks, but instead the film chooses a safe and predictable path. In the end, Night Swim entertains here and there but doesn’t stand out in a genre that increasingly demands more creativity. It’s the kind of movie you can watch without effort, but just as easily forget. A missed opportunity that feels more like shallow splashing than genuine horror.

It’s entertaining thanks to strong performances and a well-crafted atmosphere. However, the plot becomes predictable at several key points, which reduces both surprise and emotional impact. Despite this, the film manages to hold the viewer’s attention with an immersive setting and effective tension. The lack of originality in certain aspects prevents it from standing out fully within its genre.

Few series manage to grab you from the very first episode without relying on cheap tricks or flashy twists. Everything here depends on the atmosphere of a small town where secrets weigh heavier than the air itself, and on the central figure of Mare Sheehan. Kate Winslet is simply outstanding: raw, unadorned, embodying a woman scarred by loss, routine, and a community that never lets her breathe. The script doesn’t reinvent the genre, but it knows how to use every twist and revelation so that suspense blends with an intimate portrait of its characters. What could have been just another crime thriller becomes a human study that moves as much as it intrigues. The direction handles the pacing beautifully, unafraid of silence, and turns every detail of the setting into a piece of the story. The best part is how it combines the crime element with the personal. Mare’s cases are not just puzzles to solve but reflections of broken lives around her, and often the investigation is just an excuse to show vulnerable people trying to move forward. Winslet is supported by a strong ensemble, but she carries the weight of every scene. Mare of Easttown doesn’t aim to dazzle with spectacle but to tell an honest, harsh, and deeply human story. And it succeeds magnificently, proving once again why Kate Winslet is one of the finest actresses of her generation.

I left Fantastic Four: First Steps with the feeling of having watched a promising trailer stretched into a two-hour film. It looks good: the sixties retro-futurism is eye-catching, the production design is polished, and Michael Giacchino delivers an elegant score. But when it comes to heart, the movie falls flat. The script is so cautious it feels like it’s tiptoeing: it sets things up, hints, speeds up, and rarely delivers. It neither surprises nor excites. The cast does its job, but rarely shines. Pedro Pascal feels odd as Reed, more worried looks than a mind at work; Vanessa Kirby holds the drama with skill, Ebon Moss-Bachrach brings humanity to Ben, and Joseph Quinn adds some spark… occasionally. The cosmic threat is visually impressive, sure, but dramatically it weighs less than it should: the climax is serviceable, nothing more. The worst part is the drowsiness that creeps into the second act: scenes drag, jokes fall flat, and choices chase cheap applause instead of building tension. I get why some praise this “back to basics,” but to me the essence of the Fantastic Four is unleashed imagination, family using ingenuity, and set pieces full of ideas. Here, the wrapping is there, but the engine is missing.