From the very first episode, Halo makes it clear that it doesn't aim to be a faithful adaptation of the universe millions know from the video game. What we get instead is a different approach—more political, more philosophical, and, in a way, more tailored to television. But in that shift, something essential is lost: the very essence of the game. That intensity, that brutal immersion in a galactic conflict, is missing here. Visually, there’s little to criticize. The production design is strong, and some action sequences do stand out. But it lacks soul. It lacks war. It lacks the sense of urgency that made every game session feel electric. And when epic battles are replaced by clumsy personal storylines or political messages absent from the source material, the result is uneven. The plot tries to stay engaging with internal struggles, betrayals, and ethical dilemmas… but it all feels forced, as if tailored for a generic space opera rather than Halo. Master Chief is well-acted, but never quite becomes the icon he is in the game—and that weighs the story down. It doesn’t help that some choices contradict key elements of the original lore, or that the pacing keeps getting lost in slow, pointless scenes. Some episodes feel like filler, while others rush everything in all at once. If you've never played the games, this might seem like a decent sci-fi series with solid visuals and an interesting story. But for Halo fans, it’s a missed opportunity. And that stings. Because with a universe this rich and vast, the least you expect is respect—and coherence.

If you're going to the cinema for dinosaurs, wild chases, and a good dose of nostalgia, Jurassic World: Dominion delivers. It has the scent of a classic blockbuster, with a fast pace and a clear intention to close the circle by reconnecting with the original trilogy. The return of Sam Neill, Laura Dern, and Jeff Goldblum works well, even if it sometimes feels more like fan service than real character development. The script plays it safe. It repeats formulas that worked before—sometimes with less spark—but the technical execution is spotless. There are spectacular chases, new creatures, and impressive locations, but also plenty of flat dialogue and scenes that could’ve packed more punch. At times, the film gets lost in its parallel storylines, trying to give screen time to too many characters without diving deep into any. Still, it’s honest about what it offers: pure spectacle, with a simple but present ecological message. Truth is, it’s entertaining. It may not reach the magic of the first Jurassic Park, but there are moments that recapture some of that awe. Seeing dinosaurs roam around everyday settings is both disturbing and fascinating. Did the saga deserve an ending like this? Maybe it’s not epic or flawless, but it respects the adventurous spirit that defined it. And for those of us who grew up with these giant beasts, that’s more than enough.

The second Wonder Woman film may not be perfect, but it has something that makes it special—especially for those who still believe in heroes that inspire through kindness. Patty Jenkins once again offers a bright, hopeful vision of the character, and Gal Gadot is flawless: calm, charismatic, and profoundly human. The movie dares to mix tones: from colorful, light comedy to the drama of difficult choices. And while that sometimes creates ups and downs, there are unforgettable sequences—like the opening in Themyscira or the flight through fireworks—that carry the epic soul of the best superhero cinema. Kristen Wiig and Pedro Pascal bring an interesting duality as antagonists, even if their arcs could have been more developed. Still, both are fully committed, and it's refreshing to see a story that allows room for nuance and evolution. This isn’t your typical action blockbuster, and that may throw off some viewers. But that's exactly its strength: Wonder Woman 1984 isn't just about fights or flashy effects—it's about values like truth, sacrifice, and longing. A rare gem in a genre that often favors spectacle over emotion. There may not be a third installment, but for many—my daughter included, who adores her—Diana will always be the symbol that makes us dream. A superhero who proves her strength through compassion, not brute force.

Marvel had been searching for something to bring the spark back. Thunderbolts doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it delivers a much-needed breath of fresh air. Far from endless multiverse chaos and digital spectacle, the spotlight here is on the characters—damaged, complex, and deeply human. Watching them coexist, stumble, and grow is what makes it all work. Florence Pugh shines with a magnetic performance, and her chemistry with Lewis Pullman gives life to a pairing that’s as unexpected as it is endearing. The whole team feels like a bunch of misfits whose emotional clumsiness makes them more believable than most traditional heroes. The film doesn’t shy away from action or humor, but avoids cheap laughs and pointless climaxes. There’s drama, vulnerability, and moments of well-measured levity. Its take on mental health, loneliness, and redemption may lack subtlety at times—but it’s genuine and welcome. Not everything lands. Some secondary characters could’ve used more development, and the third act dips into predictability. But overall, it leaves a warm feeling—like you’ve just watched something that dares to care. Thunderbolts is fun, energetic, and unexpectedly moving. It’s not a revolution, but it’s a clear sign of change. And for the first time in a while, it makes you want to keep watching.

James McAvoy owns the screen in this unsettling remake of the Danish thriller, portraying a man as magnetic as he is disturbing. His performance evokes his role in Split, distancing himself even further from his X-Men days, and confirms that psychological suspense is where he truly shines. From the first act, the film builds a thick tension that never lets go, helped by direction that smartly controls the threat. The pace stays high and the script goes for a less nihilistic tone than the original, but more digestible for a wide audience. Still, it doesn’t escape some Blumhouse tendencies: controlled violence, polished aesthetics, and twists aimed more at surprise than coherence. That said, the discomfort is real, and that’s essential in this genre. Where it stumbles is in the final act. The climax, which should have been explosive, falls short, shifting toward “action thriller” rather than existential horror. It also seems afraid to push too far — as if the script was softened to reach more viewers. That choice weakens its impact, though it remains effective. Even so, Speak No Evil does what many thrillers can’t: it keeps you hooked until the end, making you feel fear under your skin more than through jump scares. It’s not better than the original, just different — with stronger visuals and a narrative rhythm that feels more Hollywood than European. The ambition is welcome, even if the social critique doesn’t fully land. Ultimately, it’s a gripping and intentionally uncomfortable film, featuring one of the most intense performances of the year. McAvoy turns every scene into a minefield — reason enough to keep watching… even if you’d rather cover your ears.