It’s frustrating to watch a franchise with so much potential, rich mythology, and a charismatic main character like Hellboy turn into such a soulless mess. This 2019 version tries to step away from Del Toro’s legacy, but instead of finding its own voice, it gets lost in a whirlwind of blood, noise, and poor decisions. From the start, it feels like no one really knew what kind of movie they were making. The script is a disaster: characters show up with zero introduction, subplots come and go without weight, and everything stumbles forward as if several drafts were thrown in a blender and set to max speed. Some scenes could have worked, but the lack of clear direction and chaotic editing ruin any momentum. David Harbour does what he can and occasionally captures that world-weary Hellboy vibe, but the script gives him no room to breathe. The tone shifts constantly—from gratuitous gore to teenage jokes to forced family drama—without anything clicking into place. It feels like watching an extended trailer for something that never really starts. Visually, it has its moments. Some creature designs are cool, and it certainly doesn’t hold back on effects. But that’s meaningless if you don’t know why they’re there or what role they play. Everything feels shallow, like they focused more on making things “happen” than telling a coherent story. In the end, it’s a failed reboot that neither understands the character nor his world. It’s not bad because it’s different—it’s bad because it’s poorly built from the ground up. And the saddest part? Even in the middle of this wreck, you still try to find something redeemable… just because it’s Hellboy.

It seemed like the idea of one lawless night a year had already run its course. But this installment takes things further and presents an even more unsettling scenario: what if the purge didn’t stop when the siren blares? With that premise, the film opens the door to unchecked chaos and delivers a much more brutal portrait of American society, especially its structural racism, fear of outsiders, and hate-driven discourse. There’s no room for subtlety here. From the first scene, the message is clear: this is about rising xenophobia, fanatical nationalism, and a broken system. The script may not be brilliant, and many characters feel more like symbols than real people, but some sequences hit hard and make you uncomfortable. The tension is constant, even if uneven. Visually, it leaves the usual urban setting and leans into a dusty, almost western-like landscape. At times it feels like Mad Max, other times like a rural dystopia full of raw violence. Everardo Gout’s direction keeps the pace high. While some scenes are predictable, others surprise with their political edge and brutality. This might not be the best in the franchise, but it’s one of the most direct in its messaging. There’s no more satirical veil: everything is blunt, explicit, and intentionally provocative. That can feel heavy-handed, but it’s also what gives this film something to say beyond blood and bullets. "The Forever Purge" doesn’t break new ground formally, but it leaves a lasting impression. When it ends, what stays with you isn’t the noise—it’s the question: what if this isn’t fiction? In the end, the scariest thing isn’t the violence… it’s the applause it gets.

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.