Harta is one of those films that grabs you by the gut and doesn’t let go, even when you’re fully aware it’s pulling every string to manipulate you. It’s not subtle, and it doesn’t try to be—and maybe that’s why it works in certain moments. The story of a woman pushed to the edge by a system that seems to take pleasure in crushing her is as painful as it is necessary. Taraji P. Henson carries the film entirely on her shoulders. Her performance is full of quiet fury, vulnerability, and dignity. You can’t help but empathize with her, even when the script forces her into unlikely or overly dramatic situations. She makes you care, even when the film itself sometimes forgets how to do it. Tyler Perry, once again, tries to say many things. Some land, others miss. At times, the message gets lost in melodrama or clumsy dialogue that insists on explaining everything rather than letting the emotion speak. Still, some scenes work—especially towards the end—because they hit deep. Visually, it’s safe, but emotionally it feels honest. In a year full of cold, calculated releases, this bluntness feels refreshing. Even when it goes too far, there’s something genuine in the pain it channels—something that speaks to a quiet anger many people carry. Harta isn’t perfect. Far from it. But when a film makes you cry out of sheer frustration, even through its flaws, it means something. That kind of impact doesn’t fade easily.

Squid Game started as a gut punch. Its first season shocked audiences with an explosive mix of violence, social critique, and characters as extreme as they were relatable. Beyond the morbid appeal of deadly trials, what really gripped viewers was how it spoke of debt, desperation, and humanity. It wasn’t just entertainment; it was a wake-up call disguised as a spectacle. Season two chose to expand the universe, introducing new settings and more layers around the system behind the games. It lost some of the surprise factor, sure, but made up for it with a more ambitious plot and even more elaborate visuals. Some narrative decisions were debatable, but the show remained addictive, unsettling, and at times, brilliant. The third season brought a powerful close. It was rawer, more introspective, and unafraid to make viewers uncomfortable. While some felt the freshness had faded, this final act managed to land with intelligence and an even darker view of human nature. The writing dove deep into the psychology of the characters, without holding back. What makes Squid Game remarkable is that even in its weaker moments, it maintains a consistent tone and message. The violence isn’t gratuitous—it's brutal, yes, but always purposeful. The aesthetics serve the narrative. Every shot, uniform, and silence carries meaning. That consistency is one of the show’s greatest strengths. As a trilogy, it works. Not every part hits the same, but together, the show holds weight, a clear voice, and a message that stings. Watching the full arc, you begin to understand what the creator meant all along: that the game isn’t fiction, but a painfully close metaphor. In short, Squid Game hasn’t just been a global hit—it’s one of the boldest, most coherent, and provocative series television has seen in years. The initial shock may not return, but the aftertaste it leaves is lasting, uncomfortable, and hard to shake.

This new animated take on Spider-Man surprises with how well it balances classic style and fresh ideas. The visual design nods to traditional comics, giving it a warm sense of familiarity, but the stories feel modern, with a contemporary spin on character development and conflict. It doesn’t try to reinvent the hero, but it manages to make Peter Parker’s early steps as a teenage Spider-Man feel interesting again. It’s funny, heartfelt, and true to the spirit of the character. It’s not flawless, but it deserves credit for respecting longtime fans and welcoming new viewers alike. At its best, it has sharp dialogue, bold creative choices, and a strong rhythm that makes it easy to binge. It might not have the visual fireworks of Spider-Verse, but its simplicity and honesty make it shine in its own way. It’s not trying to be the best — it’s just trying to be good, and it succeeds.

The worst thing about Helstrom isn’t that it’s poorly made — it’s that it feels utterly empty. It doesn’t scare, doesn’t intrigue, and never makes you care about its characters. The premise sounded promising: the children of a serial killer, tied to demonic forces and haunted pasts. But it all fades into lifeless dialogue, characters with zero charisma, and a pace that never truly takes off. It’s not just a writing issue — the casting is also a problem. None of the actors seem convinced by their roles, and that lack of conviction drags the whole show down. Relationships don’t click, emotions don’t land, and even the possessions feel routine. Visually, though, there are some strong moments. The effects are far better than in some so-called “cult” shows. It’s frustrating, because the idea had real potential to blend horror with psychological depth. But it doesn’t go deep, and it doesn’t scare. It ends up stuck in the middle — and honestly, it’s hard to keep watching. A failed attempt, albeit nicely wrapped.

You expected something different. A mutant movie leaning into horror, with a distinct tone, almost detached from the rest of the X-Men universe. And in part, it does. The idea is there, the ingredients too: a group of teens with uncontrollable powers, a confined setting made for tension, and a more intimate approach. But it all falls short. It’s not quite horror, nor a solid entry in the mutant universe. What could’ve been something special ends up feeling like a minor, misplaced, aimless story. What’s most frustrating is the wasted talent. Anya Taylor-Joy and Maisie Williams are fantastic actresses, and here they’re underused in roles that never quite take off. There’s some chemistry among characters, yes, but the film doesn’t dig deep. Relationships are shallow sketches, conflicts barely begin, and just as something’s about to spark, it ends. The script seems afraid to take real risks. Visually, it's uneven. Some effects land, others don’t. While it's refreshing that it's more restrained and grounded than other entries, at times it feels more like a pilot episode than a proper film. There’s no memorable villain or impactful climax. It’s competent, but forgettable. The short runtime helps. It doesn’t overstay its welcome, and it holds your interest throughout. A few themes, though barely explored, offer a glimpse of humanity. Not a disaster, but clearly far from its full potential. Hardcore X-Men fans might be curious. Everyone else will probably move on quickly. It’s frustrating to see what could have been a bold new chapter become a half-hearted experiment.