Revisiting Prison Break end to end (revival included) confirmed two things: its opening run is dynamite TV, and the farther it gets from the prison, the more wear shows. Season one is a breathless puzzle—inked blueprints, micro-missions, tension episode by episode, and suspense paced almost like music (Ramin Djawadi’s score helps). It’s high-grade entertainment. The cast clicks, too: Wentworth Miller crafts a cerebral hero without losing humanity, Dominic Purcell balances him with weary grit, and Robert Knepper makes T-Bag an unforgettable villain; in season two, William Fichtner (Mahone) elevates the manhunt as Michael’s dark mirror. Then the cracks appear: conspiracies that balloon, miracle coincidences, and a repetition of beats that sometimes demand more faith than logic. Sona (S3) injects fresh air but briefly; S4 pivots to a “heist squad” vibe with mixed results; the 2017 return is fun, though it feels more espionage than escape. Even so, Prison Break remains a highly watchable binge: addictive, expert at cliffhangers, and driven by characters who hook you. If you once dropped it, the full ride is worth it… even if the best memories stay behind bars.

Escape Room starts with an idea as simple as it is appealing: several strangers trapped in rooms that seem impossible to overcome. It doesn’t bring anything new to the genre, but it manages to hook the viewer thanks to a fast pace and settings that, at times, surprise with their ingenuity. The film is most enjoyable in its first half, when each room becomes a new challenge full of tension and details that keep the audience engaged. That’s where the movie works best as a pastime: fast, with well-timed scares and clever enough not to bore. The problem comes when the script tries to be more ambitious than necessary. The twists are predictable, the characters feel too archetypal, and the final resolution doesn’t live up to what was promised. There’s a clear obsession with laying the groundwork for a possible sequel, which weakens the ending. Even with those shortcomings, Escape Room delivers on what it promises: a light thriller that entertains while it lasts, even if it’s quickly forgotten once you leave the theater. A film that doesn’t aspire to more than providing a moment of tension, and in that sense, it succeeds.

I didn’t expect much from Wolf Man, but it turned out to be a pleasant surprise. What begins as another reinterpretation of a Universal classic ends up revealing itself as a film with its own soul, blending horror with an intimate story of love and loss. Leigh Whannell avoids cheap scares, opting instead for atmosphere, where the monster coexists with a deeply emotional family backdrop. Julia Garner shines with an intense and vulnerable performance, confirming herself as one of the most compelling actresses of her generation. Her chemistry with Christopher Abbott strengthens the most dramatic moments, where horror intertwines with the pain of a father fighting to protect his family. That human layer is what lifts the movie above others in the genre. Visually, Whannell crafts tension through tight framing and a shadowy cinematography that traps the viewer in an oppressive atmosphere. Some may wish for more gore or explicit violence, but the film leans into another kind of unease: broken bonds, inherited trauma, and sacrifice. It may not revolutionize the genre or deliver constant shocks, but its strangeness and emotional weight make it stand out. Beyond the werewolf, what remains is a story about unconditional love and the impossibility of escaping what one carries inside.

There are Bond films that feel out of place in the saga, and this is one of them. It doesn’t belong to the official EON line, and although Sean Connery returns to the role, it feels like a somewhat forced comeback. Seeing him again in the tuxedo with a gun is intriguing, but it’s also clear that time had passed and the character no longer fit him naturally. The story, a reworking of Thunderball, lacks the vibrancy of the stronger entries and drags at times. The script tries to balance this with humor and secondary characters, but the classic Bond spark only shows up intermittently. The real highlights come from Klaus Maria Brandauer’s intense villain and Barbara Carrera’s magnetic presence. Visually it delivers, with solid settings and polished cinematography, but it never reaches the elegance or freshness of other films in the series. It stands today as a curiosity, almost a collector’s item, letting us see Connery’s final 007 performance—more of a rare artifact than an essential entry.

There are films that leave a mark because of when you first saw them, and A View to a Kill is one of those for me. At ten years old, I was captivated by Duran Duran and their theme song, and maybe that explains my fondness for this Bond entry. Rewatching it years later, I still see its flaws, but also its irresistible 80s magnetism. The movie is a parade of excess: impossible chases, a flamboyant villain played by Christopher Walken, and the ever-fascinating Grace Jones, who steals every scene with her wild and ambiguous presence. Everything screams “1980s,” from the aesthetics to the music, which can work both for and against it depending on your perspective. Yes, Roger Moore was clearly too old for the role, and some scenes border on parody, but he still manages to hold his ground with his trademark irony and charm. The story doesn’t reinvent the saga, but it makes up for it with personality and sheer spectacle. Seen today, A View to a Kill works as a cocktail of nostalgia and light entertainment. It may not be the most solid entry, but it’s certainly one of the most memorable, condensing the spirit of an era into one adventure. For me, it remains among the most enjoyable.