At first glance, Barbie seemed like it would be light comedy, a kitschy parade of colors and clichés. But Greta Gerwig delivers something far more interesting. The film tries to be many things at once: satire, pop fairy tale, musical, feminist reflection, even a technicolor group therapy session. It doesn’t always succeed, but when it does, it leaves a mark. Margot Robbie shines with a mix of innocence and awareness, playing a doll who begins to ask uncomfortable questions about the world around her. Ryan Gosling, meanwhile, steals every scene as a Ken stuck between inflated ego and awkward tenderness. Their chemistry holds together even the wildest parts of the script. What’s most surprising is how the film shifts from absurd humor to deep commentary without warning. There’s one scene—if you’ve seen it, you know—which hits hard for both what it says and how it says it. The message can feel repetitive at times, but it’s refreshing to see it spoken with courage and clarity. Not everything works. Some parts feel forced, others too obvious. But this is the kind of movie that sticks with you, sparks conversation, and doesn’t vanish after the credits roll. And these days, that’s already a win. Gerwig plays with fire, and though she doesn’t always control the flame, she’s made Barbie part of the cultural conversation again—for reasons very different than before.

Watching The Bad Batch feels like reuniting with old friends from The Clone Wars. The series doesn’t try to reinvent anything, but it does offer a solid and emotional continuation of the stories left behind in the Clone Wars. From the very first episode, you can feel the affection for these characters and the effort to give them a proper send-off. The animation remains top-notch, with well-executed action scenes and an atmosphere that keeps the spirit of Star Wars alive. While this final season is shorter, it’s also more intense, with bold storytelling choices and some very dark moments. Some episodes truly leave a mark, and others subtly tie into the broader galaxy. Granted, since it doesn’t directly affect the movies, the story doesn’t grip as tightly as other recent entries in the canon. Still, it manages to be moving. Watching Clone Force 99 grow, especially Omega, is what really keeps the series grounded. Ultimately, The Bad Batch might not be the most popular, but it’s definitely one of the most sincere. For fans of The Clone Wars, this farewell feels both bittersweet and well-deserved.

Sometimes you watch a film with low expectations but hope it’ll at least surprise you. Not this time. Cuckoo tries to blend genres, atmospheres, and weirdness, but ends up as a messy, aimless mix with no strength or soul. The story starts with a bit of intrigue, but it quickly drags into a slow rhythm with scenes that fail to build tension or interest. It’s hard to connect with anything because the movie itself doesn’t seem to know where it’s headed. The biggest issue is how familiar everything feels. There are echoes of other films that did it better, but here it just feels like an imitation with no personality. The visuals try to be stylish, the music wants to be unsettling, and the twists aim to be shocking… but none of it hits the mark. Even the moments meant to leave an impact just pass by without weight. The only thing that saved it slightly for me was seeing Jessica Henwick again. I hadn’t seen her in a lead role since Iron Fist, and it’s a shame to find her in such a weak project. She clearly has the talent for better things, and here she tries her best despite a script that gives her so little. In the end, Cuckoo is one of those films you forget as soon as it ends. It doesn’t entertain, it doesn’t move you, and it doesn’t leave anything behind. A disappointing experience—especially when actors this good are wasted on stories this hollow.

For years, I thought The Clone Wars was just a kids’ show. Bright colors, odd animation, cartoonish characters… It didn’t help that it aired on youth networks and that many long-time fans simply ignored it. But what a mistake that was. Beneath that first, childish impression lies one of the most complex, mature, and emotionally powerful works in the entire Star Wars universe. Yes, the first two seasons can be confusing. The chronological order jumps around, there’s filler, and not everything seems to matter. But from season three — and especially season four — the show takes a sharp turn. It gets darker, denser, more adult. Plotlines begin to tie directly into future events, and the characters grow with a depth we never saw in the films. Obi-Wan’s arc on Mandalore is tragic and beautiful. Ahsoka’s story is simply unforgettable. Anakin’s evolution — without exaggeration or excuses — is believable and painful. And finally, the clones are treated as what they are: people. Each with a name, a personality, and fears. Then there’s Maul. If you thought he was just a throwaway villain from The Phantom Menace, think again — his arc here is a masterclass in redemption. The final episodes are pure cinema. The Siege of Mandalore is a visual and emotional spectacle that rivals any film. The animation reaches stunning levels, Kevin Kiner’s music cuts deep, and the script acts as a perfect bridge into Revenge of the Sith. Watching it knowing what’s coming doesn’t dull the impact — it heightens it. I finished the series in tears. No exaggeration. Because it made me reconnect with parts of the saga I once dismissed. Because it shows what it really means to be a Jedi, what war really costs, and how betrayal truly hurts. And because it reminded me, once again, not to judge a story by its format, but by its heart. If you’re a Star Wars fan and haven’t seen The Clone Wars yet, you’re missing one of the greatest experiences this galaxy far, far away has ever given us.

Some films arrive quietly and end up hitting hard. Open Range is one of those. I didn’t expect much when I put it on; I even hesitated before watching it. But from the moment it began, it completely drew me in. Not only because it reminded me of the best of modern Westerns (Unforgiven), but because it has soul. It has truth. Kevin Costner proves here that he knows how to make a Western like few others. He directs with patience and precision, and his portrayal of Charley is full of nuance. Charley isn't a traditional hero, nor a villain. He’s a man shaped by his past, with a quiet violence that erupts at the exact right moment. And that final shootout… raw, messy, real. No fancy choreography—just pure tension and grit. The relationship between Charley and Sue is another of the film’s strengths. Subtle, slow-burning, without embellishment. What starts as shy glances grows into a love story that’s simple but powerful. Annette Bening is wonderful, and her chemistry with Costner feels effortlessly natural. What surprised me most was how deeply it moved me. Open Range is about justice, redemption, second chances. And it delivers all of this without underlining it, without begging for applause. It’s all in the looks, the silences, the way characters face what’s coming. Thanks to a radio feature on Sucedió una noche, I gave it a shot. And I’m so glad I did. For me, it’s one of the finest Westerns made in decades. It has the soul of a classic and the heart of a true auteur. A hidden gem that deserves to be rediscovered.