The idea of one lawless night to release the pent-up violence of a rotten society was already disturbing from the first film. But here, in this prequel, everything becomes more explicit and political, as if the creators had finally taken off the mask. And the truth is, it works… to a certain extent. The film presents the original experiment that triggered it all, set in Staten Island, with clear parallels to Trump’s America. There’s no subtlety: the reference to a country using violence as a method of social control is present in every frame. The atmosphere manages to be unsettling, and some sequences are really well shot. There are action moments that genuinely grab you, and even if the script isn’t brilliant, at least it knows where it’s going. The best parts come when the film embraces its anger and turns into a shout against structural racism, fear manipulation, and inequality. The lead character, played with a lot of energy, becomes a kind of local action hero that you root for and want to follow. That said, it doesn’t always feel balanced. Some narrative choices are too obvious, and the dialogue is sometimes highlighted as if with a fluorescent marker. Subtlety is not its strength. And if you already know the franchise, there aren't many surprises: this is more of the same, just with a more direct and message-heavy approach. Still, it doesn’t feel like a simple rehash. What really stands out is the social backdrop. There are scenes that clearly aim to make the viewer uncomfortable, to shake up some consciences. It’s not just violent entertainment but a dystopia that dares to point fingers. It might not do so with the elegance of other socially-conscious thrillers, but at least it doesn't stay on the surface. And for a franchise that seemed doomed to wear out its own formula, that’s something to appreciate. In short, it might not be the most polished installment in the saga, but it’s certainly one of the boldest. If you're in the mood for its political message, you’ll probably enjoy it. And if you're just looking for action and blood, you’ll get that too. But this time, there’s more behind the mask.

Despite receiving criticism for straying from the classic tone of the franchise, Star Trek: Discovery has managed to achieve something few series can: reinventing itself season after season without losing its essence. Instead of clinging to nostalgia, it boldly pushes forward — in both time and narrative — with a courageous focus on action, suspense, and a more war-driven atmosphere than other Trek entries. And for me, it really works. One of its strengths lies in its pacing. Discovery doesn’t dawdle. It gets straight to the point. Storylines kick off quickly, there's tension, movement, and a constant sense of urgency that feels more like Picard than Voyager or Deep Space Nine. Everything happens on the edge — characters don’t hold back, they take risks, they hesitate, they mess up… and that makes them real. Sure, there are episodes that get carried away and moments where some secondary characters feel underdeveloped. But when the show hits its stride, it really hits hard. The visuals are stunning, the sound design is sharp, and there are scenes that—on a good screen—completely pull you in. Michael Burnham, played by Sonequa Martin-Green, is the soul of the series. She's grown a lot since the beginning. At first, she was hard to connect with, but over time she’s become someone relatable: contradictory, vulnerable at times, but always driven. She’s not flawless — and that’s exactly why she works. All in all, Discovery has been, for me, one of the most compelling entries in the modern Star Trek universe. I get why purists might be put off, but that’s precisely what gives it value: it dares. Instead of repeating formulas, it explores. And in the end, that’s what Star Trek has always been — an invitation to go beyond.

Not perfect, but surprising. After so many MCU projects that feel mechanical, Ironheart offers something different. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t try to be another epic story about saving the world, but instead a portrait of a young genius who still doesn’t fully know who she wants to be. Riri Williams doesn’t fall into the usual “misunderstood genius” cliché. She has charisma, flaws, contradictions — and that’s refreshing. Dominique Thorne carries the series with a mix of youthful energy and believable doubts, even if she sometimes lacks natural flow. The supporting cast has some great moments, especially in episodes focused on her local environment. What works best is that amid all the tech and action, the series still finds time for emotions and personal conflict. The mix of science and magic doesn’t always land. Some episodes shift tone abruptly or show budget limits in visual effects. At times, the story tries to juggle too many ideas without prioritizing. But it also offers meaningful themes: Riri’s moral dilemmas, underlying social tensions, and some creative narrative choices that break from the Marvel mold. Some may not connect with Ironheart, and others may unfairly compare it to bigger MCU titles. But in its modesty, and its attempt to focus on one girl from Chicago trying to build something greater than herself, there’s honesty. And that’s already more than what most superhero series offer lately.

What a mess. There's no better word to describe Inhumans. I usually try to find something redeemable in almost anything I watch, but here? Nothing works. Poorly written, poorly directed, and completely soulless. And the saddest part? The source material had real potential — all wasted. The story starts with no context, no proper character introduction, and a string of scenes that don’t excite, don’t surprise, and barely make sense. If you haven’t read the comics or seen other Marvel series, you’re lost. If you have, it's even more painful. Plotlines collapse under their own weight, and the few interesting elements are thrown away. The characters are a disaster. Their decisions defy logic, and most of them are symbolically stripped of what makes them unique. The mute lead, who could’ve been compelling, is wasted. And cutting Medusa’s hair? A metaphor for the show’s senseless approach. Visual effects are inconsistent, with some decent moments and others that feel 20 years outdated. The costumes? Hard to take seriously. The low budget is obvious in every scene. If anything is somewhat tolerable, it's Maximus. At least he has a goal, even if it’s not very fresh. Still, it’s not enough. This series could’ve been a key piece in the Marvel universe. Instead, it’s a textbook case of how not to adapt a comic. A real shame.

Sometimes what surprises you most in a spy thriller isn't the action, but the silence. In Amateur, James Hawes avoids easy thrills to build a story where emotion weighs more than car chases or shootouts. Yes, everything you'd expect from the genre is there: agencies, betrayals, secrets—but the camera lingers more on the looks than the bullets. And that's, surprisingly, what makes it different. Rami Malek carries the film with a restrained performance that suits the character, though it might leave some viewers cold. He’s no Bourne, nor does he try to be, even if the comparison is inevitable. His journey is more internal than physical, and that doesn’t always translate into pace or spectacle. But if you play along, it works. The rage, the loss, the obsession—it’s all there, in his eyes, in his tense body, in the way he speaks softly and walks slowly. The script has its clumsy moments, no doubt. Some narrative choices feel forced, and the ending, while coherent, might not satisfy those looking for a classic climax. But there’s an honesty in the proposal that makes up for it. It doesn't try to be a franchise or revolutionize the genre—just tell a story about pain, wrapped in a world of codes and guns. Visually, Amateur chooses a sober style, with clean, understated cinematography. Everything serves the character, the conflict, the grief. It's not a perfect film, but it stays with you. One that prefers to suggest rather than shout. I liked it. Not because of what it has as a thriller, but because of what it hides underneath: an intimate, slow-burning story where the wounds aren’t always visible, but deeply felt. You have to watch it from that place—from loss, not from adrenaline. And if you shift your mindset, you’ll probably enjoy it too.