My Cultural Diet

The first season of The Night Agent didn’t exactly blow me away, but it was still a solid enough espionage thriller that kept me entertained. Thus, I was honestly looking forward to the series’ second season, but unfortunately, it just didn’t click for me. All of the pieces are there, but there’s a certain lack of chemistry that makes the increasingly convoluted storyline less engaging than it should be. The Night Agent has obviously been a hit with lots of people, which explains why it’s already been renewed for a third season, but I don’t think I’ll be tuning in. Did not finish.

After he’s given a mobile phone for his birthday, Yuta’s dying mom asks him to record her final days, which he then uses to create a movie that shocks all of his classmates. All of them, that is, except for the enigmatic Eri, who insists that Yuta become a filmmaker and create something new. As Goodbye, Eri unfolds, Tatsuki Fujimoto — best known for creating Chainsaw Man — piles on the layers of meta-ness, with Yuta’s new film shifting from semi-autobiographical to something else entirely. Goodbye, Eri does say some interesting things about nostalgia and the unreliable-ness of memory, and it does have some genuinely touching moments. Ultimately, however, Fujimoto is more interested in twists and turns than emotional resonance as Goodbye, Eri increasingly calls into question everything that happens within its pages.

I’ve been pretty lukewarm on DC’s live-action superhero titles, 2017’s Wonder Woman notwithstanding, and Blue Beetle doesn’t reverse the trend. It’s heart is certainly in the right place, especially for the way in which it showcases Latino family and culture. (And, of course, for the way it takes on greedy industrialists.) With its young, likable protagonist, the film seems to be aiming for a Spider-Man vibe — there’s even an Uncle Ben moment — but it’s just too goofy and uneven. Blue Beetle’s neon-drenched synthwave aesthetic does look slick at times, but it also instantly dates the film, and though it’s part of the DC Extended Universe, it feels curiously cut off from the broader DCEU aside from the obligatory Superman and Batman (and Big Belly Burger) references. I enjoyed seeing some tokusatsu inspiration in the film’s superpowered smackdowns, but that also felt like one stylistic flourish too many.

In this stylish William Friedkin noir thriller, an obsessed Secret Service agent (William Petersen) is willing to do anything to track down and arrest the ruthless counterfeiter (Willem Dafoe) who killed his partner. Put simply, To Live and Die in L.A. is an exercise in style as substance. Friedkin’s directing, Robby Müller’s cinematography, even Wang Chung’s soundtrack, all combine to create a fever dream version of Los Angeles that’s as iconic as it is lurid — a version of the city that can only exist in movies. As for the actual storyline, it often feels quite abstract, far more interested in seeing Petersen swagger across the screen on his way to cross any legal or ethical boundary in pursuit of his quarry, or Dafoe meticulously creating his funny money. Dafoe actually learned how to print counterfeit money for his role, and that sort of attention to detail — as well as an absolutely bonkers car chase in the final act — does help to ground the film’s stylish excess.

After a Mexican Special Forces officer saves two young women from being kidnapped, he and his fellow commandos find themselves in the crosshairs of a violent drug cartel while on leave. Which means they’ll have to use all of their training to survive in the Mexican countryside and stay one step ahead of the cartel’s seemingly limitless forces. There’s no fluff to Counterattack; it’s precisely what it says on the tin, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Much like France’s Lost Bullet films, Counterattack is a perfectly serviceable popcorn flick that’s proof Hollywood doesn’t have a corner on the action market. (The fact that it clocks in under 90 minutes is just an added bonus.) The dialog does get hamfistedly earnest whenever the commandos wax rhapsodically about their duty and honor, but that actually adds to the film’s effect, especially when they make their inevitable last stand.

I think I might’ve liked this more had I not recently read The Department of Truth. Both series focus on a group of agents from a shadowy government agency that’s tasked with keeping various conspiracy theories (e.g., the moon landing, the JFK assassination) under wraps from the general populace. But whereas The Department of Truth goes full broke for gonzo into the world of conspiracies and the effect they might have on reality, Deep State plays things a bit more straight. That’s not to say there are no twists and turns in these eight issues, only that they’re the sort of twists and turns you kind of expect from a series about secret government agents and conspiracy theories.

Your fondness for C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia will likely determine how much you enjoy Once a Castle, the second installment in Sarah Arthur’s Carrick Hall series. In Arthur’s novels, a group of youths from our world stumble into the fantastical land of Ternival, where they must help the resident talking animals, dryads, and centaurs battle the machinations of an evil queen. Which, on paper, is a little on the nose. But that doesn’t make Once a Castle any less enjoyable. As with 2024’s Once a Queen, Arthur’s prose is light, fun, and eminently readable — I think I finished the book in a little over two days — and even quite beautiful and moving at times, be it the heroism of the centaur Starwise, the characters’ acts of grace and forgiveness, Arthur’s commentary on the nature of fairy tales, or even an apparent attempt to improve upon Lewis’ Calormenes. As with Once a Queen, Arthur crams an awful lot into Once a Castle and her attempts to weave the different plots and timelines together can feel a bit jumbled, which makes the ending feel just a bit too neat, tidy, and convenient. That said, I truly enjoyed my return trip to Ternival, and I’m looking forward to Arthur’s third Carrick Hall book, Once a Crown. (Thanks to NetGalley for the advance review copy.)

For years, Shûhei Sakata was the most feared assassin in Shingo City. But after completing his final mission, all Sakata wants is to hang up his blade and enjoy life with his wife and daughter. Unfortunately, the shadowy cabal that controls the city has other plans. They kill Sakata’s family before his eyes, frame him for their murder, and leave him in a coma. Twelve years later, Sakata re-emerges and… well, you already know what happens next. Based on Masamichi Kawabe’s manga, Demon City is an utterly rote and by-the-numbers revenge action/thriller piece. There are occasional flashes of a weirder and stranger movie, but nothing that ever comes to pass. Of course, you don’t necessarily watch a movie like Demon City for the plot or characterization — though things like plot and interesting characters should still matter — but rather, for the action. Demon City is filled with action, but after awhile it just becomes a slugfest that’s made increasingly dull by the obviously CGI blood splatter and arterial sprays.

Squid Game’s second season picks up four years after the events of its first season, with the previous season’s winner re-entering the games in order to shut them down once and for all. He’s joined by another motley assembly of desperate, down-on-their-luck individuals, including a failed crypto influencer, a flamboyant rapper, a creepy shaman, a transgender woman, and a mother-son duo. Season two also offers a behind-the-scenes look at how the games are run, and the individuals wearing those iconic pink suits and black masks. It did feel like season two — which only has seven episodes compared to the first season’s nine — juggled a few too many storylines, specifically Detective Hwang’s ongoing search for the island on which the nefarious games take place. Nevertheless, Squid Game’s second season proved just as entertaining and engrossing as its first, and I’m eagerly looking forward to watching the third and final season when it’s released in June.

Several centuries from now, humanity enjoys a utopian existence and has begun venturing beyond the solar system. Even so, Tomoru Shindo remains apathetic about his post-college future. That all changes when a powerful alien weapon called Orgun arrives on Earth. A mysterious connection emerges between Tomoru and Orgun, which proves vital when the Evoluder empire arrives to reclaim Orgun and annihilate humanity. If he wants to save the human race from certain destruction, though, Tomoru must first confront the truth about Orgun, the Evoluders, and himself. There are some interesting ideas in Detonator Orgun, from the origins of Orgun and the Evoluders to commentary on the military-industrial complex, with time dilation and psychic powers thrown in for good measure. The execution, however, which consists of three hour-long episodes, is dull and convoluted. (The English dub with its stilted dialog certainly doesn’t help matters.) I enjoyed seeing some vintage ’90s hand-drawn anime aesthetic and mech designs, but Detonator Orgun is far from the best example of those things.

Both an adaptation and reinterpretation of the original Macross series, Macross: Do You Remember Love? essentially takes everything you love (and hate) about Macross and distills it down into a single two-hour-long movie. All of the expected characters are present, including Hikaru Ichijyo, Lynn Minmay, and Misa Hayase (and their romantic triangle), but significant changes are made to their backstories. Significant changes are made to the journey of the SDF-1 space battleship, as well, as it tries to return to Earth while battling the Zentradi alien warrior race, who are also fighting a civil war of their own. Macross titles are inherently melodramatic, but Do You Remember Love? is even more so, and as a feature-length film, it’s also surprisingly graphic in places. The film culminates in a massive space battle during which Minmay sings an ancient alien pop song to rally the troops. The discrepancy between the orgy of destruction and the swoon-y ballad, which contains such sentimental lyrics as “Do you remember the time when our eyes first met?/Do you remember the time when our hands first touched?/That was the very first time I set out on the journey of love,” is wildly ridiculous — and I kind of love it. Your mileage will, of course, vary. (Nerdy sidenotes: Do You Remember Love? is not part of the official Macross canon. Rather, it’s treated as a fictional movie that’s popular in the Macross universe. 1992’s Macross II is set after the events of Do You Remember Love?, and as such, is non-canonical, too. Do You Remember Love? was also re-edited, dubbed into English, and released here in the States circa 1986 as Clash of the Bionoids, which I definitely remember seeing in toy stores as a kid.)

Quite possibly the most unnecessary movie sequel of the last 20 years, and perhaps of all time. (And yes, I’m including Highlander 2.) Despite clocking in at nearly two-and-a-half hours, I’m hard-pressed to think of a single moment in Gladiator II that comes close to the original Gladiator or adds anything to Ridley Scott’s vision of ancient Rome. Paul Mescal gives it the old Colosseum try, but his slave-turned-gladiator simply doesn’t have the conviction or gravitas of Russell Crowe’s Maximus Decimus Meridius. Needless to say, his rousing speeches all fall flat. Denzel Washington remains one of our greatest actors, but his flamboyant performance as a former slave with a hidden agenda is wildly uneven, to say the least. And finally, Pedro Pascal is wasted in his role as an honorable yet disillusioned general. As Gladiator II grinds to its clunky conclusion, and the audience is increasingly beaten over the head with whether or not Rome is worth saving, it becomes increasingly clear that there’s nothing about Gladiator II that’s worth saving. Given all of its clumsy and desperate references and callbacks to its predecessor, save yourself some time and just watch Gladiator again.

Shiloh and Cary were best friends in high school. They were so close, in fact, that everyone assumed they’d end up together. Which never happened. Jump ahead 14 years, and now Shiloh is a single mom with two kids while Cary is a naval officer. When they reunite at a friend’s wedding, it seems like fate is offering them a second chance even as their disparate lives keep getting in the way. If you peruse my book reviews, you’ll quickly realize that this is not my usual reading fare. But my curiosity was piqued by Slow Dance being partially set in north Omaha during the ’90s. (Fun fact: I actually went to Omaha North High with Rainbow Rowell during that time period, though she was a senior when I was a freshman, and she ended up marrying my friend Jason’s older brother. ‘Tis a small world.) The various Omaha references — Hinky Dinky! Richman Gordman! Miller Park! — imbued Slow Dance with a sense of place and some light nostalgia, both of which anchored the melodrama, of which is there. Is. A. Lot. Indeed, if weren’t for the Omaha setting, I might’ve given up on Slow Dance simply because of said melodrama. To her credit, though, Rowell is clearly fond of her characters, so much so that I can’t help wondering if parts of Slow Dance are semi-autobiographical, and her writing is breezy and eminently readable.

Given that it was created to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the original Macross series, which was the basis for Robotech here in the States, Macross II: Lovers Again was one of the most anticipated anime sequels at the time. Unfortunately, Macross creator Shōji Kawamori was not involved in its production, nor was the original studio, and it shows. To put it mildly, Macross II is filled with shoddy, inconsistent animation and character designs. (I actually rewatched several scenes to see if they really were as bad as they initially appeared. They were, every single one of them.) The mecha designs are actually pretty cool — I did enjoy the brief glimpse of the VF-XX variable fighter — but the animation is routinely sketchy and subpar, and the space battles are an incoherent mess. Macross II’s storyline has the requisite love triangle and messaging about love (and pop music) overcoming war and hate, but the characters are so bland that it’s hard to care about them. As for the series’ protagonist, a brash young journalist named Hibiki Kanzaki, he’s arguably one of the most annoying characters in the entire Macross franchise. All of this is a shame, because the OVA had the potential to expand the Macross universe with the introduction of the Marduk civilization. If any doubt, though, remains concerning Macross II’s quality, consider this: when Kawamori and Studio Nue returned to the Macross franchise, they retconned Macross II into an alternate continuity and released the far superior Macross Plus as the official Macross sequel.

Given its premise, The Gorge could’ve and should’ve been a lot weirder and a lot cooler than it turned out to be. Two snipers, an American (Miles Teller) and a Lithuanian (Anya Taylor-Joy), are sent on a bizarre and secretive mission: monitoring a mysterious gorge in the middle of nowhere to prevent whatever might be lurking in its depths from escaping. Posted on opposite sides of the gorge, they’re forbidden from contacting each other, presumably for purposes of compartmentalization. Of course, they spend the first half of the movie disregarding that particular order — think of it as a meet cute with sniper rifles — only for all hell to break loose in the second half. Well, sort of. While Teller and Taylor-Joy are likable enough protagonists, The Gorge stumbles when the truth of their mission is finally revealed. Of all the directions the film could’ve taken in its final act, it opts for a pretty underwhelming one. I don’t think there was any chance The Gorge was going to land in theaters, but it could’ve become a modern cult classic had it opted for something less predictable and more bizarre.

Here’s another one of those movies that’s fascinated me ever since I saw its VHS cover in the video rental store. It’s title is so enigmatic, however, that the actual storyline was bound to be a letdown. A professional thief (Tommy Lee Jones, who looks both way younger and way older than 40 here) is hired by the government to steal evidence from a company under investigation. He’s forced to hide that evidence in an experimental car, which is subsequently stolen by a beautiful car thief (Linda Hamilton), and he must figure out how to retrieve it before the government’s deadline. Black Moon Rising’s got some sci-fi, some action, and some heisting, and all of it awash in noir lighting, big hair, and vintage ’80s style. Unfortunately, the movie’s never more than the sum of its parts, and ends up feeling like a glorified Knight Rider episode (minus the talking car). Or maybe that’s just my inner 12-year-old’s expectations not being met. As for the titular car, my inner 12-year-old might think it’s rad, but it looks almost as ridiculous as a Cybertruck to 49-year-old me, who is much more taken with Jones’ Dodge Daytona Turbo Z. Fun fact: Black Moon Rising was written by John Carpenter, and I can’t help wondering what might’ve been had he sat in the director’s chair. That, and one of his classic synthesizer scores would’ve been a much better fit than Lalo Schifrin’s easy-listening lite jazz score.

There are moments when Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou’s story is so slight, I had trouble remembering why I was still reading it. And then I’d turn the page and see one of Hitoshi Ashinano’s simply-yet-gorgeously rendered landscapes, or a cute little character moment, or a hint at a bigger, stranger world, and I’d get sucked right back in. Make no mistake, Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou is very slight, its chapters essentially a collection of slice-of-life vignettes centered around an android named Alpha who’s trying to maintain a small rural coffee shop in her owner’s absence. Oh, and the world is slowly dying due to environmental collapse. Which means that technically, you could file Ashinano’s manga under “post-apocalyptic sci-fi,” but it’s far too gentle and unassuming for that, suffused with the soft, rueful melancholy that’s typified by the Japanese concept of mono no aware. I’m not necessarily in a rush to read the series’ other volumes, but I am glad I got to hang out with Alpha and her friends for as long as I did.

Every single conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard is true, or at least has the potential to become true if enough people believe in it. But altering reality and rewriting history like that is dangerous. Thus, it’s up to the Department of Truth, led by Lee Harvey Oswald — yes, that Lee Harvey Oswald — to prevent the worst ones from taking root in the public consciousness while promoting those that ensure America’s greatness. The Department’s methods, however — which range from mundane to mystical — are questionable at best, and there are other forces who seek to use the world’s conspiracy theories to further their own agendas. The question is, who are the good guys? The Department of Truth is as engrossing as it is troubling, as James Tynion IV weaves together the JFK assassination, flat Earthers, school shootings, Aleister Crowley, Jack Parsons, the moon landing, Bigfoot, the Illuminati, Charlemagne, and of course, the Satanic Panic into a nightmarish tangle of alternate histories. Meanwhile, Martin Simmonds’ painterly artwork is the perfect accompaniment to Tynion’s writing, richly capturing each bizarre conspiracy theory as it comes to life. Tynion has written a lot of great comics, including Something Is Killing the Children and The Nice House on the Lake, but The Department of Truth — which perfectly captures the zeitgeist that gives rise to such dangerous nonsense as QAnon and election denialism — might be his crowning achievement.

Make no mistake: I started watching The Earth Dies Screaming for its title alone. The film’s opening minutes, as people suddenly keel over and British streets become strewn with corpses, are effectively eerie and chilling. At first blush, it seems like it’s going to be something along the same lines as a Twilight Zone episode. As it progresses, however, The Earth Dies Screaming moves more and more into “B” movie territory, especially when characters start doing really dumb and predictable things (like failing to close and lock doors behind them when they’re being chased). The Earth Dies Screaming never gets too schlocky or MST3K-worthy, the main villains’ costumes notwithstanding, but I am glad that it clocks in at just over an hour, which prevents it from becoming tedious.

Frank Capra’s best known for classics like It Happened One Night, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and of course, It’s a Wonderful Life. In the midst of those, he directed this fantasy adventure, adapted from James Hilton’s novel, about a British diplomat who arrives in the hidden city of Shangri-La after his plane crashes in the Himalayas. The utopian society appeals to the cynical and world-weary diplomat while others in his group, led by his brother, fear they are being held against their will and seek to escape. Capra went way over budget when filming Lost Horizon, and it’s easy to see why. Originally a six-hour-long epic, it’s a lavish production from start to finish; look no further than the gorgeously elaborate Shangri-La sets, which epitomize the “Streamline Moderne” aesthetic (and earned a “Best Art Direction” Oscar). Given that it’s a vintage Hollywood take on Asian culture, though, Lost Horizon has no lack of Orientalism or whitewashing. What’s more, the film’s depiction of a peaceful society free from hatred and greed, and its criticism of the Western world’s race to the bottom, can get preachy. And yet, there’s some truth there. I can’t deny that Lost Horizon’s idealism awakens some yearning in my own heart for such a peaceful place, especially in light of my own homeland’s ongoing surrender to greed and bigotry.