My Cultural Diet

As a longtime fan of Arthurian lore thanks to Howard Pyle’s stories and illustrations, I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Dane Whitman, aka The Black Knight, who has often battled alongside the Avengers with his cursed Ebony Blade. (See also Michael Moorcock’s Elric saga.) 2021’s Curse of the Ebony Blade explores the Black Knight’s dark legacy as well as that of Camelot’s. It’s not bad, but the revelations of the Knight’s legacy, as well as the truth of Camelot — surprise, Arthur’s kingdom wasn’t quite the chivalric utopia that the legends would have us believe — end up feeling rather rote and clichéd.

I’ve always thought that 2010’s Tron: Legacy was an unnecessary sequel, but it’s practically a vital piece of genre filmmaking compared to Tron: Ares, a pretty-looking but ultimately vapid film in which Jared Leto plays a cyber-warrior spawned from the depths of the Grid who begins to question his programming. The original Tron worked as well as it did, and still feels far-reaching and futuristic, because it was ultimately a fantasy film in which the computer is a magical realm. (To be fair, computers probably did seem quite a bit more magical 40 years ago than they do today.) But with its AI-centric plot and tatted up “tech bro” villain, Tron: Ares feels instantly dated, and while I never look to Hollywood for accurate depictions of computer technology and usage — see “2 Idiots 1 Keyboard” — Tron: Ares feels particularly egregious in that regard. Given its $200 million budget, some of the film’s visuals are pretty slick, like the climactic scene of a Recognizer drifting through the real world, but even they have diminishing returns. As for the Nine Inch Nails soundtrack, well, it deserved a better film than it got.

Watching season four a second time, I still feel the same after my first viewing, i.e., the Duffer Brothers wrote themselves into a corner after season three, especially with regards to Hopper’s fate. As such, season four feels like a lot of reshuffling as our beloved characters find themselves spread out from Hawkins to the Nevada desert to the frozen wastes of Russia, with some detours into the past added for good measure. Unfortunately, the season doesn’t always juggle all of its storylines very well, and the transitions between them get awkward. However, the season does benefit from some of Stranger Things’ most iconic and satisfying moments to date — specifically, Max’s Kate Bush-powered escape from Vecna’s clutches and Eddie Munson’s climactic “Master of Puppets” performance — while the Hawkins gang’s brave and resourceful plan to defeat Vecna was fun to watch.

Stranger Things has never been one to hide its influences, be it Steven Spielberg-style adventure, Stephen King-esque horror, or of course, Dungeons & Dragons. But in its first two seasons, it handily rose above those influences, using them to create something that felt fresh and original. Not so with season three. Make no mistake, season three has some delightful aspects, such as the growing dynamic between Steve and Dustin and the inclusion of new characters like Robin and Erica. Story-wise, however, it was incredibly uneven. On the one hand, you had lots of super-icky Cronenberg-esque body and zombie horror, and on the other hand, a secret Russian base located far below Hawkins’ brand new shopping mall, which felt like a ridiculous homage to cheesy ’80s action movies. (The season even had a Terminator-esque bad guy, for good measure.) And don’t get me started on the teen romance hijinks and melodrama. It was all just a bit too forced and over-the-top, and yes, I know I’m saying that about a show in which a girl with psychic powers battles horrors from another dimension.

At least a decade has passed since I last watched Ghost in the Shell in its entirety, and given that it turned 30 this year, now seemed like a good time to reacquaint myself with Mamoru Oshii’s cyberpunk masterpiece. Based on Masamune Shirow’s manga, Oshii’s film ranks up there with the likes of Blade Runner in terms of influence. (Case in point, the Wachowskis’ goal with The Matrix was to basically make a live-action Ghost in the Shell.) In the year 2029, cybernetic enhancement is extremely common, effectively blurring the lines between man and machine. Major Motoko Kusanagi is a heavily cyberized government agent tasked with capturing a dangerous hacker known only as the Puppet Master. But as the Puppet Master’s plan slowly unfolds, it’s increasingly clear that he’s not at all what he seems. While I do think that 1993’s Patlabor 2 is a slightly better film, there’s absolutely no denying Ghost in the Shell’s style and execution, as Oshii balances ultra-bloody violence with long, contemplative passages during which Kusanagi et al. wax existential about the nature of the soul and the definition of life. In a lesser film, that would be pretentious as all get-out, but Oshii’s direction, combined with Kenji Kawai’s haunting score and some incredible design and art direction, ensure that Ghost in the Shell remains compelling from start to finish.

After a near-perfect first season, The Duffer Brothers had their work cut out for them with Stranger Things’ second season. They manage to stick the landing with a climactic finale that finds Eleven fully embracing her powers against the Upside Down and the Mind Flayer. Unfortunately, the season takes awhile to get there, as our our beloved characters run all over the place, leading to some wasted opportunities. Case in point: Eleven’s search for her mother, which ultimately leads her to Chicago where she connects with another one of Dr. Brenner’s psychically powered test subjects, should be a major turning point for the character, but it comes off as more perfunctory than anything. But season two is not without its delights. Sean Astin is wonderful as Bob Newby, Joyce’s dweeby boyfriend who brings a nice touch of normalcy to the Byers household. There are some wonderful character moments, including a powerful scene as Joyce, Jonathan, and Mike try to reconnect with a possessed Will. And most importantly, season two reveals that Steve Harrington isn’t just some fancy hairdo; he’s also the best damn babysitter in all of Hawkins, Indiana.

I do enjoy a good story in which some bizarre otherworldly event irrevocably changes life here on Earth, usually in the form of humanity being overcome by, and learning to fight back against, terrifying phenomena from beyond. On paper, that’s precisely what Black Tide promises, as two strangers awaken from a one-night stand to a bizarre and horrifying new reality. Their situation grows only more dire when they become trapped in a car on a beach, surrounded by alien creatures on one side and the slowly encroaching waves on the other. I discovered Black Tide via one of those Facebook reels of someone listing their favorite horror novels, and based on their description, I went in expecting a harrowing journey. Unfortunately, Black Tide falls less in the “otherworldly horror” genre, and more in the “annoying characters doing stupid things and getting mad at each other for it” genre. I don’t think I experienced a single moment of suspense, never mind horror, on any of the story’s 242 pages. I did, however, become increasingly bored by the characters’ frequent bickering, as well as the author’s attempts to make their neuroses, dysfunctions, and personal traumas more dramatic than they warranted.

Clint Eastwood gets a wee bit Biblical in this ’80s western about a small community of prospectors who are locked in a struggle with a powerful land baron trying to acquire their claims by any means necessary. All hope seems lost for them until a mysterious preacher rides into town one day and quickly starts putting things a-right. Of course, the operative word here is “mysterious” given the preacher’s uncanny ability to fight back against the baron’s goons. Some parts of Pale Rider haven’t aged very well in the last four decades. For example, Eastwood might’ve intended the scene where a teenage girl offers herself to the preacher she’s just met as a chance for the parson to prove his virtue. Or maybe a way to contrast the girl’s innocence and naïveté with the preacher’s obviously violent past. These days, however, it just comes off as little creepy. That said, Pale Rider looks amazing thanks to Bruce Surtees’ cinematography and the beautifully barren Idaho countryside, while Eastwood’s economical direction ensures that there’s no dross to be found in the film’s 116 minutes.

The Black Company is the most elite mercenary group in all the land, but they’ve fallen on hard times as of late. When a new opportunity presents itself, they leap at the opportunity — only to discover that their new employer might just be an ancient evil that’s beginning to reawaken. Glen Cook’s debut novel helped to establish the “grimdark” genre with its tale of mercenaries willing to do whatever it takes to survive and ancient sorcerers who barely seem human. (Tolkien, this most certainly is not.) The Black Company was inspired by Cook’s own experiences as a soldier, and as such, is less focused on traditional world building and more concerned with the mercenaries — colorful characters, every single one of them — and their own struggles to stay alive, no matter what. Some might find Cook’s terse, even perfunctory storytelling appealing and even refreshing compared to high fantasy, but it wasn’t exactly my cup of tea.

Clearly inspired by his work with Sergio Leone in films like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Clint Eastwood set out to make his own spaghetti-style western for his sophomore directorial effort. High Plains Drifter has all of the expected trappings for such a film, including a bleak frontier setting, bloody violence, and amoral characters. (Just how amoral, you might ask? Eastwood’s nameless character rapes a woman in the first 15 minutes, and he’s the protagonist.) But though it does feature some striking visuals, particularly in its final act, High Plains Drifter never quite shakes the feeling that it’s just a lesser copy of Leone’s work. The film clearly aims for a mythical, even supernatural atmosphere concerning Eastwood’s protagonist and his quest for retribution, but that all proves to be less interesting than it probably seemed on paper.

Given that Stranger Things’ fifth and final season starts later this month, now seemed like a good time to rewatch the first season with my kids. Not surprisingly, they loved it. (In fact, we blew through all eight episodes in just two days.) My wife likes to say that Stranger Things’ first season was healing for me, and that’s a pretty good way of putting it. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a slice of television that so perfectly aligned with the nerdy themes and narrative tropes that are near and dear to my heart. As I’ve written elsewhere, “it’s almost like Matt and Ross Duffer tapped directly into my subconscious when they were creating the show.” Rewatching it nearly ten years later, it still holds up well, and “The Vanishing of Will Byers” is one of the best series premieres I’ve ever seen. Sure, the season might be a little too crammed with ideas, as if the Duffers were scared they might not get additional seasons. But I’ll take a wealth of ideas any day of the week, especially when they’re delivered with as much heart and charm — and as little cynicism — as they are here.

I couldn’t explain DC’s new “Absolute” universe to you if my life depended on it. All I know is that it has something to do with Darkseid, and it’s obviously a way for DC to present new versions of their most famous superheroes without worrying about pesky things like canon and continuity. Case in point: Absolute Batman features a version of Bruce Wayne who isn’t a billionaire playboy with a cool cave or unlimited resources. “Absolute” Bruce Wayne is a blue-collar worker who uses his construction and engineering knowhow to battle a vicious gang threatening Gotham City. Written by Scott Snyder, who’s written some of the best Batman stories of the last 15 years, Absolute Batman does offer some interesting twists on the Bat-mythos; Wayne’s construction background gives him some novel (and brutal) ways of fighting crime, for example, while Alfred is now an agent investigating Gotham for a covert organization. It’s also fun at times, with one panel in particular making me laugh out loud at its sheer ridiculousness. That said, it’s still a Batman comic, meaning it’s never quite as novel, earth-shattering, or original as DC’s marketing copy would have you believe.

If you want evidence of the influence that spaghetti westerns had on samurai films — an influence that, for the record, went both ways — look no further than Hideo Gosha’s Samurai Wolf. Indeed, it’s hard to imagine this film even existing without Sergio Leono’s films. Isao Natsuyagi stars as a rough-looking samurai whose braggadocio and scruffy appearance bely a surprisingly noble spirit. But that spirit gets tested when he arrives in a remote village beset with danger and corruption. Samurai Wolf feels pretty by-the-numbers as far as samurai films go, with deadly foes arriving every other minute and a doomed romance or two, plus some routinely over-the-top melodrama. But it does have some interesting twists and Gosha spices up his film with surreal slow-motion, Dutch angles, and some well-placed arterial sprays.

A Samurai’s Sorrow — also known as A Samurai in Torment — certainly lives up to its title, thanks to its overwrought storyline. In 18th century Japan, the life of Shogun Tokugawa Yoshimune has been threatened by rivals trying to poison him. It’s up to Yoshimune’s official food taster, an enigmatic samurai named Kainage Mondo, to unravel the conspiracy. However, doing so will unearth tragic secrets from Mondo’s past that could also doom the Shogun’s rule. Based on a story by Lone Wolf and Cub creator Kazuo Koike, which subsequently spawned multiple film, TV, and stage adaptations, A Samurai’s Sorrow strives to be a stately period piece. But it’s too caught up in the melodrama, what with all of the pregnant pauses, tortured looks, and swelling music (which sounds awfully similar to Joe Hisaishi’s score for Castle in the Sky). Granted, samurai titles aren’t typically known for their subtlety, but A Samurai’s Sorrow ultimately feels like a jidaigeki telenovela.

Sam Fisher is an ex-government agent who just wants to retire in peace. However, he’s pulled back into action when another agent goes missing during her investigation into a wealthy industrialist’s clean energy plans. What seems like a simple rescue mission soon grows more complicated, though, thanks to the other agent’s vendetta and some ghosts from Fisher’s past. Based on the popular video games, and created by Derek Kolstad — who also created the John Wick franchise — Splinter Cell: Deathwatch doesn’t skimp on the action and violence. Unfortunately, the story’s not very compelling — we all know you can’t trust billionaire industrialists who want to save the world — and suffers from clunky and overwrought dialog.

Keira Knightley stars in this Netflix original as an investigative journalist who’s invited to travel on a yacht alongside some of the world’s richest folks in order to cover a fledgling charity. But when she witnesses the woman in the neighboring cabin fall overboard — an accident that all of the evidence seems to disprove — she begins to suspect foul play. But is there really a murderer onboard, or is she just imagining a deadly conspiracy? To its credit, The Woman in Cabin 10 is absolutely gorgeous to look at, from the luxury yacht itself to the Norwegian scenery. (Indeed, Norway’s travel board could probably use stills from this movie in their promotional materials.) But that’s about all this so-called thriller has going for it. The Woman in Cabin 10 is certainly watchable. However, it’s nowhere near as smart or thrilling as it seems to think it is, and whatever tension it might possess can be cut with a dull butter knife.

I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this was my first time watching Ridley Scott’s sci-fi horror classic in its entirety. Up until now, I’d only seen bits and pieces, but a screening at The Ross’s 2025 Fright Fest seemed like the perfect time to address this particular gap in my movie-watching history. Not surprisingly, it did not disappoint. Everything in Alien, from Jerry Goldsmith’s score to the incredible sets and production design to Scott’s camerawork, is designed to ratchet up the tension and sense of claustrophobic dread — and quite successfully so. As for the alien itself, it’s suitably, well, alien. Which is to say, horrific and terrifying. (H. R. Giger drew inspiration from his own nightmares for the creature’s design.) Much like Scott’s Blade Runner, Alien’s visuals still hold up and run circles around many of today’s CGI-laden special effects. The elaborate Nostromo sets feel “lived in” and authentic, a sense enhanced by the cast’s performances, which make it easy to believe that we’re really watching a crew of blue collar space workers just trying to get back home. On a related note, the film’s underlying critique of hyper-capitalism that prioritizes profit over people still hits hard in 2025, and perhaps even more so.

It’s 1956 in Montana, and the Garrett family are traveling to Kootenai National Forest to bid farewell to their husband and father, Nathan, who died battling a wildfire. But shortly after arriving in the forest, Jolene Garrett and her two kids begin experiencing bizarre phenomena that seem to suggest that Nathan might not be dead, after all. That, or some malevolent force is just toying with them. I know this will sound harsh, but I kind of forgot that I’d read Morning Star within a day. It’s not a bad storyline, and I do like Marco Finnegan’s artwork quite a lot, which feels of a piece with the era in which the comic takes place. But Tim Daniel and David Andry’s story, though clearly inspired by classic Spielberg movies, falls flat. The comic’s final moments strive for a sense of a wonder to resolve the storyline, but it feels perfunctory and tacked on considering everything that happens beforehand. It’s frustrating, because this is normally the sort of story I really like, and the bones are certainly there. However, it just didn’t materialize for me.

When you watch a “classic” IFD ninja film from the ’80s, you know to go in with low expectations, but even then, Cobra Against Ninja is particularly underwhelming. Though directed by Joseph Lai, it uses the same cut-and-paste approach to filmmaking as (in)famously employed by his colleague and collaborator, Godfrey Ho, just not as well. This time around, a group of recent graduates from boot camp find themselves mixed up with gangsters and a ninja gambling tournament. When it comes to IFD films, the connections between their original ninja footage (which is sorely lacking here) and whatever source film they’re hacking to pieces are tenuous at best, but that’s doubly so with Cobra Against Ninja. It doesn’t help that the source film — 1978’s Kaa maa jaak meuang na-kon, apparently — is boring as all get out, with bland characters and interminable plotting, even with the dubbing. I did appreciate, though, that one of the gang’s female members was given a broad New York accent à la Fran Fine. Also, in keeping with IFD tradition, the soundtrack features almost certainly unlicensed songs from Glass Tiger, INXS, Joy Division, and Tangerine Dream. I picked Cobra Against Ninja because it stars IFD stalwart Richard Harrison as the champion ninja — lest there be any doubt about that, he wears a bright yellow headband with the word “Ninja” emblazoned on it — but not even Harrison can save what turns out to be the worst IFD film I’ve seen to date.

Sure I chuckled a few times, like when Frank Drebin (Liam Neeson) takes a bite out of bad guy’s pistol, and I was pleasantly surprised by Pamela Anderson’s all-in performance as the damsel in distress who might also be a femme fatale (and writes true crime novels based on fictional stories that she makes up). But part of me wishes I’d seen The Naked Gun in a theater with others — some movies are just better when seen with a like-minded crowd — while another part of me couldn’t stop wondering why we even needed a new Naked Gun movie in the first place.