My Cultural Diet

20 years after villagers rescued and trained him to be a deadly swordsman, Nick Parker returns to the US to track down an old Army buddy, only to discover that he’s long gone and left behind a wife and kid. After the woman’s suddenly killed, Nick sets off for Reno with the kid in tow in the hopes of saving his friend. The always watchable Rutger Hauer certainly gives it his all in this Hollywood remake of 1967’s Zatoichi Challenged, playing a Vietnam vet whose blindness masks his skill with the sword — and that’s about all Blind Fury has going for it. Most of the time, it’s just a jumble. One minute, it’s a gritty crime film involving drug dealers and corrupt cops, the next a goofy road movie with Parker imparting some valuable life lessons to the young lad (Brandon Call of Baywatch and Step by Step fame), and the next a martial arts flick. Contrary to its poster, though, no ninjas actually appear in Blind Fury, though Shô Kosugi (Enter the Ninja, Pray for Death) does have an extended cameo as an assassin hired to kill Parker. On a side note, director Phillip Noyce would later go on to direct such acclaimed films as Rabbit-Proof Fence and The Quiet American.

There’s a scene in Tenet where the protagonist, upon learning the truth about entropically reversed bullets, is simply told “Don’t try to understand it. Feel it.” That’s also pretty good advice concerning Donnie Darko. Yes, there are in-depth explanations for its bizarre, circular storyline involving time travel and parallel universes. And those explanations might even be relatively coherent. But Donnie Darko is best experienced as a vibe. Which is not a knock on Richard Kelly’s script, which is full of excellent lines (e.g., “Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion.”) and poignant treatments of alienation and loneliness. Nor is it a knock on the film’s performances, and in particular, Jake Gyllenhaal as the titular character, a deeply troubled high school student who begins receiving strange apocalyptic visions. Donnie Darko may be too ambitious for its own good, but it nevertheless unfolds with a confidence that belies the fact that it was Kelly’s directorial debut (he was only 25 years old at the time), and its keenly wrought sense of time, place, and atmosphere is engrossing. Watching it now, nearly 25 years after its release, the film’s flaws are readily apparent. But so, too, are all the reasons why my friends and I became so obsessed with it back in the day.

Because it features vampires, Ryan Coogler’s Sinners will forever be categorized as a horror movie. However, it’s more than that. Much more. And therein lies the problem. Writer/director Coogler, re-teaming with frequent collaborator Michael B. Jordan, swings for the fences with his story of twin brothers (played by Jordan) who return to Jim Crow-era Mississippi with a bunch of ill-gotten wealth and plans to launch their own juke joint, only to encounter something far darker than the local KKK. Coogler’s sprawling film tackles a lot: the lingering effects of slavery and segregation, the history and cultural importance of blues music, family legacies and drama, religion, and of course, the undead. Unfortunately, it never quite comes together in a truly cohesive manner, but rather, feels like three or four movies struggling to fit inside the runtime of just one. Sinners moves in some truly unexpected ways — in the film’s central number, for instance, a young bluesman’s music breaks down the barriers between eras, allowing the past, present, and future to collide in stunningly executed fashion — and there’s no denying Coogler’s scope and ambition. Although it’s clear why Sinners has become one of 2025’s biggest movies, it just didn’t cohere for me.

In the not-too-distant future — as envisioned in 1991 — Japan’s senior population is crippling the nation and putting an undue strain on staff and facilities. To solve this growing problem, the government unveils a high-tech solution: a fully computerized and nuclear-powered hospital bed that will automatically care for elderly patients without the need for human doctors and nurses. Unfortunately, when old Takazawa is put into his bed, it quickly runs amok, and it’s up his faithful nurse Haruko and an unruly gang of elderly hackers to save him from the runaway technology as well as the government bureaucracy. As you might guess, Roujin Z is a pointed satire of modern society’s dismissive treatment of its oldest members as well as its over-reliance on technological solutions for human problems (a theme that’s grown only more relevant with time). A bonkers script by Akira’s Katsuhiro Otomo and some uneven animation means that Roujin Z does feel a bit unpolished at times, but it’s nevertheless thought-provoking and consistently entertaining.

I enjoyed Stephen King’s The Institute when I read it circa 2019. So naturally, I was intrigued when its story of psychic children kidnapped by a shadowy organization and forced to undergo bizarre experiments was adapted for TV. And for what it is, The Institute is enjoyable enough. However, it falls into the same trap as other King adaptations, i.e., it fails to really capture the depth of both the novel’s characters and its world. The actors involved, especially Ben Barnes and Joe Freeman, are clearly giving it their all, and their earnest performances are hard to dislike. Even so, the weak script doesn’t give them much to do. It also doesn’t help that The Institute occasionally feels like a mashup of Stranger Things (psychic kids, bizarre experiments) and Severance (the titular building’s liminal spaces and corporate weirdness, Mary-Louise Parker’s scene-chewing). A second season has already been green-lit, and I expect I’ll check it out, if only to see whether or not the series expands beyond the novel’s original storyline to hopefully develop more of its own identity.

When your kid expresses an interest in watching Sergio Leone’s “Dollars” trilogy, then there’s only one thing you can do, and that’s spin up A Fistful of Dollars as quickly as possible. It’s actually been a few decades since I’d last seen this first installment in the trilogy, but watching it now, it’s easy to see its fingerprints in much of modern cinema. Of course, nobody squints like Clint Eastwood when he’s at his most laconic. And now, in addition to finishing the rest of the “Dollars” trilogy, I have a strong urge to watch Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo with my kid.

Originally published as The Killer under his original name (Tom Hinshelwood), Tom Wood’s The Hunter is the first in a series of novels that follows exploits of an enigmatic and deadly assassin known only as Victor. In his debut, Victor completes a seemingly “routine” assassination, only to be double-crossed by his unknown employer, setting up a globe-spanning game of cat and mouse as Victor tries to figure out who betrayed him, why, and how he can be kill them before they kill him. Y’know, pretty basic stuff. Even with its various twists and turns, and an interesting angle on post-Cold War espionage, The Hunter is never more than a pretty straightforward airport novel. Though nothing mind-blowing, it can still be entertaining enough if that’s all you’re looking for.

Nine years after he faked his death to protect his daughter Rebecca (Reina Hardesty), agent David Jung (Daniel Dae Kim) resurfaces in order to save her from the private intelligence agency that he helped to create, where she now works as an elite assassin. Amazon’s Butterfly — based on Arash Amel and Marguerite Bennett’s graphic novel series — is a perfectly serviceable spy thriller series. It’s clearly a passion project for Kim (Hawaii Five-0, Lost), who produced the series through his own company, and the change to a Korean setting adds an interesting twist. Butterfly isn’t going win any points for originality, even with its focus on family drama and dynamics, but if you’re looking for something entertaining to watch over the weekend, or late at night, you could do worse.

First, a confession: I’m still in denial that Ilsa Faust is dead. I know what Christopher McQuarrie said after Dead Reckoning Part One concerning her fate, and no offense to Hayley Atwell, but a part of me kept hoping beyond hope that Rebecca Ferguson would suddenly emerge from the shadows to save Ethan Hunt one last time. That aside, The Final Reckoning, as befitting its name, is a solid sendoff for our generation’s best action blockbuster franchise. (And yes, I really do hope it’s Tom Cruise’s final outing as Hunt.) Sure, at nearly three hours long, it’s unwieldy, bloated, and repetitive. But it also possesses a refreshing earnestness thanks to Hunt’s insistence on trust and loyalty above all else, Cruise’s constant willingness to defy death, and various callbacks to previous Mission: Impossible films — callbacks that actually make decent narrative sense and don’t feel like blatant attempts to curry nostalgia or “tie things together.” As for the film’s stunts, they’re as big as you’d expect, although you know Hunt’s going to survive somehow despite all of the odds because he’s, well, Ethan freakin’ Hunt. Much like the film as a whole, it’s about the journey, not the destination — and it’s been quite a journey for nearly thirty years.

Jack Vance is one of those classic sci-fi authors whom I’ve often seen bandied about as “one of the greatest ever,” and his fans include genre luminaries George R. R. Martin and Michael Moorcock. Thus, I thought it was high time to finally check him out for myself. As its title suggests, this collection of short stories belongs to the “Dying Earth” genre, which takes place on Earth near the end of its days, where the Sun is dimming, countless civilizations have come and gone, and magic and technology are indistinguishable from each other. Vance’s prose is quite fantastical, and a welcome change of pace. Oftentimes, though, he seems less interested in driving the story forward than dazzling the reader with increasingly florid descriptions of bizarre sights and sounds and arcane-sounding terminology. Much like Gene Wolfe’s “Book of the New Sun” tetralogy — another famous “Dying Earth” title — it’s alternately fascinating and frustrating. Nerdy side note: Dungeons & Dragons’ traditional magic system, in which spells are so complex that wizards can only prepare a certain number at any point in time, was inspired by Vance’s writings, as were certain spells like “Prismatic Spray.”

As it turns out, Godfrey Ho wasn’t the only one putting out low-grade ninja movies in the ’80s. Case in point: Kuo-Ren Wu’s Ninja USA, in which two cops take on a vicious drug lord named Tiger who has plans to create an evil ninja empire. There’s just one catch: Tiger is the one who saved them during the Vietnam War. And even worse, Tiger’s henchmen have kidnapped the wife of one of the cops. That makes Ninja USA sound a lot more dramatic than it really is, and it’s nowhere near as cool as its psychedelic poster promises. Still, there’s some legitimate action choreography and stunt work in the midst of the supernatural ninja silliness, undercranking, and reverse footage. Unfortunately, Ninja USA is also plagued by terrible cinematography (half the film looks like vaseline was smeared on the camera lens), incoherent editing, and terrible dubbing. As a former taekwondo champ, lead actor Alexander Lo is no joke, which makes one wonder what might’ve been had he teamed up with a director like Chang Cheh or Ching Siu-tung. (Ninja USA aside, Lo primarily worked with Robert Tai on such cult classics as Ninja: The Final Duel and Shaolin Dolemite.)

“Perfect for readers of Reckless and The Department of Truth,” claimed the promo copy. Since those are two of my favorite comic titles in recent years, how could I not be curious? But you know what they say about things sounding too good to be true… Linnea Kent is a former homicide detective who couldn’t hack it in the big city, so she’s returned to her hometown with her ex-UFC husband Parker to open a detective agency. Nothing serious ever happens in Linnea’s quiet little burg, and that’s the way she likes it. But when a missing persons case reawakens old memories, Linnea and Parker are forced to confront her hometown’s darkest secrets. Pine and Merrimac certainly possesses the elements of a good story (e.g., a haunted protagonist, a sleepy little town, secrets and conspiracies). Unfortunately, the writing and dialog are clunky, the story is just a series of tropes and clichés strung together, and the “shocking” twist ending feels cheap and unearned. In other words, just stick with Reckless and The Department of Truth.

As much as I enjoyed The Expanse’s first season, the sci-fi series really comes into its own during its second season. We’re introduced to some wonderful new characters (e.g., bad-ass Martian soldier Bobbie Draper, devoted father Praxidike Meng) and a whole new set of complications for the intrepid Rocinante crew. Tensions are mounting between Earth and Mars as news of the alien protomolecule begins to spread throughout the solar system. Though I certainly enjoy its space opera action, what I most appreciate about The Expanse is its deep and abiding humanism, best exhibited by James Holden and the rest of the Rocinante crew as they try to maintain their humanity and do what’s right in the midst of war, political conspiracies, and bizarre alien phenomena. Also, the scene where Chrisjen Avasarala dresses down the Martian ambassador with charisma and cussing is *chef’s kiss*.

Although he’s the son of a high-ranking Lord of Hell, Laszlo really just wants to enjoy Earth’s finer things, like milkshakes, cigarettes, and outsmarting con artists. Unfortunately, he’s tasked with managing the centuries-old curse on the Drakeford family, and he’s doing a very poor job of it. In order to save his career — and his existence — he must team up with the latest Drakeford scion to be afflicted by the curse’s hideous effects. But can Maggie Drakeford trust the demon’s promises to help her family? And can Laszlo trust his fellow demons when he learns a secret about the curse that challenges Hell’s balance of power? It’s definitely an intriguing premise for a novel that promises a lot of (theologically dubious) fun. Unfortunately, The Witchstone fell flat for me. There’s nothing bad about it per se, but neither is there anything terribly gripping about it. The whole time I was reading it, I kept waiting for something to kick in that would pick up the pace or make the proceedings more interesting and involving. That said, Neff’s depiction of Hell — or at least, Laszlo’s corner of it — as a paperwork and metrics-obsessed corporate bureaucracy replete with sycophants and consultants is The Witchstone’s strongest feature, and the source of most of its humor. (I imagine The Screwtape Letters’ C.S. Lewis having a good chuckle at this part of the novel. I certainly did.)

Sure, the mid-century modern aesthetic is fun and cool and retro, and it’s better than the previous Fantastic Four movies — which, we can all admit, is not a very high bar. But First Steps made little impression on me. Indeed, almost a week has passed since I saw it, and I’m only now writing my review because I kind of kept forgetting about it. (Or maybe I was just trying to repress my memories of that uncanny valley version of Franklin Richards.) You’d think that a film starring the Silver Surfer (aka, my favorite superhero) and a comics-accurate rendition of the world-devouring Galactus would merit a bigger reaction from yours truly, but meh. And just for the record, I couldn’t care less about the Surfer being gender-swapped from Norrin Radd to Shalla-Bal (who is Radd’s lover in the comics). I’m more upset that the Silver Surfer, as a character, is largely sidelined by the film and we never get to see a true display of the Power Cosmic. That, and it’s the multiverse, so I’m sure Norrin Radd is surfing the spaceways somewhere in the MCU.

Forget about Jean-Claude Van Damme and his glorious mullet. All you need to know about action icon John Woo’s first Hollywood film is that it stars Wilford Brimley as a Cajun moonshiner, bad French accent and all. I kid, of course… Hard Target is filled to the brim with the sort of over-the-top pyrotechnics, gunplay, and squib work that you’d expect from a John Woo film, as well as plenty of camera work that is distinctly Woo. And yes, there are doves. Maybe it’s the New Orleans setting, the terrible one-liners, or Arnold Vosloo and Lance Henriksen’s non-stop scene-chewing, but Hard Target proved less enjoyable than I was expecting from a riff on The Most Dangerous Game. It feels more like someone trying really hard to make a John Woo-style film, than an actual John Woo film. That said, there’s no knocking the movie’s peak ’90s stunt work, be it Woo’s riff on his own classic Hard Boiled, Van Damme’s ridiculous motorcycle assault, or main baddie Henriksen actually getting set on fire.

After her father dies, wild child Helen Cole is sent to live with her grandfather on the vast Wyndhorn estate. Only she has no idea just how vast Wyndhorn really is. But when Helen discovers the secrets of her family home, it propels her to fantastical worlds beyond belief, worlds that are strangely reminiscent of her father’s pulp novels. It’s worth reading Helen of Wyndhorn simply to luxuriate in Bilquis Evely’s (Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, Wonder Woman) artwork. Lush, colorful, and intricately detailed, it has a vintage look as befitting the series’ 1930s setting and pulp influences. As for the story, that’s a bit more frustrating. Tom King (Mister Miracle, The Vision) has no lack of imagination, that’s for sure, as evidenced by Helen’s various otherworldly adventures. But as he tries to juggle several storylines — e.g., Helen’s efforts to connect with her estranged grandfather while still grieving her father, modern day fans reflecting on the influence of her father’s novels — Helen of Wyndhorn gets rather muddled, as if King is trying to combine several very different series. The result is a highly imaginative story with an underwhelming and less-than-satisfying conclusion.

Originally publised as a six-part series in 1999, Galactus the Devourer finds the Silver Surfer (aka, my favorite superhero) returning to Earth and uniting with Alicia Masters, the Fantastic Four, Avengers, et al., to stop his former master who has grown increasingly insane. To my nerdy chagrin, I didn’t initially realize that this was written in 1999 — I thought it was a much newer series — but Louise Simonson’s writing is perfectly in-line with ’90s Marvel over-the-top-ness. That said, I didn’t necessarily care for her take on the Surfer, which makes his angst feel increasingly repetitive. (That’s a delicate balance with a character as inherently overwrought and melodramatic as the Surfer.)

If you have something important that you need to ship across the country, something you want to hide from everyone else, then your best option is to hire the Ghost Fleet: a covert group of truckers who haul all manner of secrets and contraband in their heavily armored rigs. But when one of their drivers breaks the Fleet’s cardinal rule and takes a peek at what they’re actually transporting, the Apocalypse might not be that far behind. The Ghost Fleet has a pretty cool premise, replete with Mad Max-style anti-heroes, secret cults and conspiracies, and over-the-top gore and action. But the story doesn’t quite go the distance. Rather, it begins to peter out right around the time when Donny Cates finally starts to reveal the series’ big secrets (which, in hindsight, aren’t all that big). Plus, it ends on a cheesy coda that trivializes the preceding story’s grimness.

It’s 1946 and the Lee family have just moved from Chinatown to the bustling city of Metropolis. Her dad’s excited about his new job and her charismatic brother is quickly making new friends, but young Roberta can’t stop feeling like an outcast — a feeling that only increases when the racist Klan of the Fiery Kross targets her family. Meanwhile, Metropolis’ defender Superman is experiencing bizarre visions after battling a Nazi super-soldier and learning things that call into question his very identity. Will he still be able to save the Lees, and all of Metropolis, from the Klan’s threat? Taking his inspiration from “Clan of the Fiery Cross,” a Superman radio drama from 1946 that actually helped curtail the Klan’s activity in America, Gene Luen Yang (American Born Chinese) spins a wonderful — though sadly all-too-relevant — Superman story that tackles bigotry and racism with wit, charm, and nuance while also serving as a great Superman origin story in its own right. Meanwhile, Gurihiru’s crisp, anime-inspired artwork keeps the story light and fun without ever trivializing the subject matter. Utterly delightful.