Not Another Superman Movie: When even the villains didn’t show up to work...

Plot Summary? More Like Plot Suggestion. Let’s try to piece this thing together, shall we?

Our story begins—as all creatively bankrupt reboots do—with a moody, brooding Superman hovering over Earth like he’s trying to remember if he left the stove on. The movie pretends it’s about legacy, alienation, and finding purpose in a post-Justice League world, but let’s be honest: it’s really about Krypto the Superdog, who gets more action, more character development, and more emotionally resonant moments than Clark Kent himself.

A TV Crushed His Head, But Not His Spirit: The Case for Stu Macher’s Return

For nearly three decades, Scream has remained a defining force in horror, constantly evolving and subverting expectations. From its genre-defining deconstruction in 1996 to the introduction of the “requel” era, the franchise has thrived on its ability to push boundaries. Now, as Scream 7 approaches, speculation has reached a fever pitch over the return of one of the most infamous Ghostface killers: Stu Macher. While Scream fans have long debated his fate, mounting evidence, thematic consistency, and narrative potential suggest that Stu’s return isn’t just possible—it’s the most logical next step for the franchise.

The Toxic Rise and Radioactive Fall of the Toxic Crusaders Toy Line.

By the time Toxic Crusaders entered the 1990s toy and animation market, the landscape was already saturated with mutant superheroes, anthropomorphic warriors, and various action-packed cartoons designed for the sole purpose of selling toys. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles phenomenon had created a boom in which every toy company scrambled to launch the next big multi-media, kid-friendly action franchise. Some succeeded (Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers), but many crashed and burned (Biker Mice from Mars, Street Sharks, SWAT Kats), and Toxic Crusaders would, unfortunately, land in the latter category.

Captain America: Brave New World – A Half-Baked, Half-Hearted, Half-Assed Sequel to a Movie We Forgot About.

Oh, Captain, my Captain, what has Marvel done to you? What has Marvel done to all of us? And, more importantly, what has Marvel done to themselves?

As a Marvel fan, it is my solemn, masochistic duty to watch every single theatrical release (I can’t… I just can’t) and every Disney+ mini-series (I can’t… I just… listen, I’m not a masochist). Ever since the Infinity Saga wrapped up in a bow of perfection, we, the fans, have been unknowingly conditioned to expect well-written, top-tier, comic-accurate (for the most part) productions. Marvel couldn’t miss. They were cranking out billion-dollar blockbusters like Kevin Feige had a money printer hidden under his baseball cap. The formula had been perfected, much like Bruce Banner’s Hulk transformation—each film bigger, stronger, smashing harder.

Pet Sematary (1989): A Cinematic Exploration of Grief, Ego, and the Inescapable Nature of Death

Horror is often mischaracterized as a genre built solely on fear—on blood, on shadows lurking in the dark, on creatures and killers that stalk their victims in the night. But true horror, the kind that lingers, the kind that permeates the mind and soul, does not rely on the grotesque or the supernatural. It is the horror of inevitability, of powerlessness, of watching something unfold with the growing realization that there is no stopping it. Pet Sematary, released in 1989 and directed by Mary Lambert, is a film that understands this. Based on Stephen King’s harrowing 1983 novel, the film is not just a ghost story, nor is it merely a cautionary tale about meddling with forces beyond human comprehension. It is a dissertation on grief, denial, and the slow, soul-consuming nature of loss, a story about a man who cannot accept what life has taken from him, who cannot admit his own limitations, and who, in his desperation, brings about his own destruction.

Scream 7: How the Franchise Might Change Horror—Forever… Again

The year was nineteen hundred and ninety-six. Month: December. Day: 20th. I was fourteen years old, and I was about to witness a film that would change horror forever. But first—I had to ditch school.