My Cultural Diet

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.

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.

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.

Liquid Sky has been on my “to watch” list ever since I saw it mentioned on the old cultheroes.com (a now-defunct site devoted to the style, glamor, and electronic music of the ’70s and ’80s). Undoubtedly the “cultiest” cult movie I’ve watched in quite some time, Slava Tsukerman’s film feels like a quasi-historical document of Manhattan’s punk and New Wave scene in the early ’80s. The film’s lurid, neon-drenched cinematography and highly stylized portrait of ’80s New York’s seamier side are its main draw. As for the plot, it feels like something Ed Wood might’ve conjured up had he still been alive in 1982: opiate-seeking aliens land their tiny UFO near the apartment of a cocaine-addicted model named Margaret, where they get off on the energy emitted by people she has sex with. Unfortunately, the process kills them all, pushing the already unstable Margaret closer to insanity. Make no mistake, Liquid Sky is bizarre, meaning most viewers will probably find it unwatchable, starting with its minimal synth soundtrack and wooden performances. (As for the film’s sexual content, it’s not as explicit as you might fear, but sexual assault features prominently, so viewer beware.) But its DIY aesthetic and countercultural feel make it easy to understand why Liquid Sky achieved the cult status that it still enjoys to this day.

I can honestly say that the first Sonic the Hedgehog movie, from 2020, was better than I expected. Granted, I went in with pretty low expectations, but it had just the right amount of lunacy, thanks to the overall premise as well as Jim Carrey’s performance as Dr. Robotnik, to be enjoyable. I wasn’t expecting much more from the sequel, which finds Robotnik returning to Earth with the help of the echidna warrior Knuckles to find a magic jewel that will let him rule the universe. Unfortunately, the schtick didn’t work quite as well this time around, even though the film ticked many of the same boxes as the first Sonic film. That said, I did enjoy Idris Elba’s performance as the always serious Knuckles.

This most recent viewing of Highlander highlights the problem with watching cult classics. On the one hand, I see and appreciate all of the reasons why it became a cult classic in the first place, starting with the premise (immortal warriors doing battle throughout the ages). On the other hand, I also see all of the reasons why it failed in the first place. Director Russell Mulcahy certainly piles on the style, from the film’s bravura opening shot set during a wrestling match to copious amounts of noir-ish atmosphere. (I particularly loved the ridiculousness of the hero’s smoky apartment.) And let’s not forget the delightful scene-chewing by Sir Sean Connery as the hero’s mentor, and by Clancy Brown as the villainous Kurgan. Unfortunately, that style never quite transmogrifies into substance, and the constant intercutting between past and present starts to feel heavy-handed over time. In short, I see why Highlander became a cult classic, but it’s just not one of my cult classics. Note: A reboot is currently planned with John Wick’s Chad Stahelski directing and Henry Cavill and Michael Fassbender starring as hero and villain. Which means the stunts and action sequences will be topnotch, though I hope it keeps the fantastical elements, as well.

It pains me to say this, but I was a bit underwhelmed by Vengeance Most Fowl. It is, of course, as pleasant and jovial as any Wallace & Gromit title could be, but I suspect therein lies the problem. Not that I want a “gritty” Aardman title, mind you, but seeing as it’s a sequel of sorts to 1993’s The Wrong Trousers — which boasts one of the greatest chase sequences in cinema history — Vengeance Most Fowl just doesn’t quite have the same pizzazz. Wallace and Gromit’s latest escapade hits all of the expected moments (e.g., wacky inventions going awry, Wallace’s blissful naïveté, Gromit’s expressive disgruntlement), and it features the return of the dastardly Feathers McGraw, but it’s never more than the some of its parts. What’s more, I don’t think it contains a single Wensleydale reference.

Your Friend, Nate Bargatze helped me realize something about Nate Bargatze’s stand-up: it’s consistently amusing, but rarely hilarious. His latest Netflix special, which finds the popular comedian ruminating — in his trademark low-key manner — on such hoary topics as pet ownership and the differences between him and his wife, certainly elicited chuckles throughout its hour-long runtime. (I laughed loudest at Bargatze’s recollections of being a water meter reader after 9/11, which is one of his first bits.) But there were also long stretches during which I had nothing more than a sort of half-smile on my face, and I don’t think I ever once doubled over in laughter. For the record, though, I’m not going to suggest that Bargatze obviously needs to spice up his act with some profanity; I actually respect him for keeping his humor clean through and through.

I read the first Radiant Black volume back in 2022, and have been intending to circle back and complete the series ever since. Having finally read the first book, which contains the first twelve issues, I’m left a little underwhelmed. Nathan Burnett is thirty, in debt up to his ears, living with his parents, and trying (and failing) to get his writing career off the ground. His life seems to take a big turn for the best when he acquires mysterious cosmic powers, but of course, things are never that simple. There’s nothing bad about Radiant Black, per se, and it has some fun touches — e.g., Nathan using his ridesharing gig to track down foes, a heroine’s side gig as a Twitch streamer — and I’m always a sucker for cosmic power stuff. That said, its story about down-on-their-luck heroes trying to manage their powers alongside their everyday lives while facing a bigger threat, felt all-too familiar.

My 14yo and his friend wanted to watch a silly movie. After considering various comedies and “B” movies, we settled on Top Secret!, a war movie parody from the same folks behind Airplane!. With its non-stop barrage of puns, sight gags, double entendres, and slapstick, I thought it’d be a sure hit, but their chief reaction was akin to confusion. I’d like to think that’s because Top Secret! doesn’t quite reach the same comedic heights as Airplane! or even The Naked Gun. But the simple fact is that most of the Cold War-era humor — even the purely visual jokes — flew right over their heads. And never mind the jokes about Mel Tormé, Publishers Clearing House, and Montgomery Ward, or the references to The Blue Lagoon, Casablanca, The Great Escape, and Elvis Presley movies. On the one hand, I get it. On the other hand, it makes me a little sad because my exposure to the ZAZ films was pretty foundational to my sense of humor, and I wonder what, if anything, might be comparable for my kids and their peers.

Commando has everything you could possibly want from a mid-’80s Arnold Schwarzenegger action flick. Cheesy one-liners? Check. Ridiculous displays of strength? Check and check. Over-the-top violence with oodles of explosions and bloody squibs? Check, check, and check. Schwarzenegger’s John Matrix is a former Green Beret who just wants to retire to his mountain cabin and spend time eating ice cream and feeding deer with his daughter (Alyssa Milano). But when she’s kidnapped by mercenaries led by The Road Warrior’s Vernon Wells in all of his scene-chewing glory, Matrix goes on a bullet-filled rampage with the help of Rae Dawn Chong’s hapless stewardess. Commando constantly verges on self-parody, and never more so than when Matrix raids the enemy compound and takes out a small army of the most inept marksmen who ever laced up combat boots. That said, it’s kind of amazing just how good this film still looks in 2024; kudos to director Mark L. Lester and cinematographer Matthew F. Leonetti. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention James Horner’s steel drum-infused soundtrack, which only adds to the movie’s frivolity.

Dune: Prophecy has an awful lot going for it, starting with a stellar cast that includes Emily Watson, Olivia Williams, and Mark Strong. Add some impeccable production and costume design (the Bene Gesserits’ flowing black robes are as impressive as any visual effect) and the series — which is set 10,000 years before the events of the Dune novel and movies — has all the makings for an epic space opera. So why does it feel so underwhelming? Chalk that up to the fact that the season is a mere six episodes long, which is simply not enough time to fully develop its various plots and conspiracies: the Bene Gesserits’ plans to control the Imperium; the power struggles within the enigmatic Sisterhood; and the machinations and rebellions inside the Imperial court. With only a half-dozen episodes, all of them feel underdeveloped and fail to generate the sort of epic-ness one expects from a Dune title. The series has been renewed for a second season, which hopefully means more episodes to flesh things out and/or more efficient storytelling now that the groundwork’s been laid.

Nobody in the small town of Pensmouth would ever accuse Vivian Vance of lacking ambition. Not content with just being the top student at her prestigious school, Vance also dreams of becoming a private detective and making her father proud. But Pensmouth isn’t all it seems, and before too long, Vance discovers that its mythical monsters are all too real, and her ambition might not be enough to save her and her newfound friends. Containing hints of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Stranger Things, The Terrifying Tales of Vivian Vance would be a good read for those middle schoolers who want something a little more on the horror side that still has a sense of fun about it. Older readers, however, might find Josh Ulrich’s graphic novel a bit on the slight side.

Five years after his elite commando team was all but wiped out in a mission gone sideways, Major John T. Booker (Chuck Norris) has moved on from his time in Vietnam. But after meeting a nosy reporter (Anne Archer) who knows more than she should, he learns that his fellow survivors are being assassinated as part of a conspiracy whose roots lie in the highest levels of the American government. Considered by Norris to be his breakthrough film, Good Guys Wear Black taps into the same Vietnam-era cynicism that fueled movies like Three Days of the Condor and The Parallax View. However, Good Guys Wear Black never drums up the gripping intensity that its storyline so badly wants to suggest. The film is undermined by meandering and preachy dialog, a Blaxploitation-lite soundtrack that’s downright goofy at times, and some obvious budgetary limitations. There’s the requisite martial arts action, of course, but director Ted Post fails to capture Norris’ roundhouse kicks in all of their glory. (The stunt where Booker jumps through the windshield of an oncoming car is pretty boss, though.) The resulting film is more cheesy than anything else, which is a shame because the stuff it’s concerned about — e.g., unchecked government power, expedient political compromises — are just as relevant today, if not more so.

Like Reacher, I haven’t read any of the novels on which Amazon’s Cross is based. Thus, I can’t say how accurate the series, or Aldis Hodge’s lead performance, is to James Patterson’s thrillers. (Which have been previously adapted into several films, like 1997’s Kiss the Girls with Morgan Freeman.) Hodge’s Alex Cross is a driven detective and psychologist who explores the darkest recesses of human nature. That makes him the perfect man to match wits with a serial killer whose activities are inflaming Washington, D.C.’s already-fraught racial divide. But Cross’ grief over his own wife’s murder threatens to undo him, and even more so when an unknown individual targets his family. There’s a lot going on in Cross’ first season — family melodrama, murder mystery, questions of race and policing — and I’m not sure how well it juggles everything. I was never not entertained, and the cast is solid across the board. (I really enjoyed Isaiah Mustafa, of Old Spice commercial fame, as Cross’ best friend and fellow detective, and Eloise Mumford delivers a stirring performance as the killer’s latest victim.) What’s more, the show’s nuanced depiction of Black families seems like a needed tonic in today’s pop culture landscape. As the season neared its conclusion, however, the constant piling on of twists and revelations began to feel unwieldy, and what first interested me in the show got buried. I still plan on watching the already-announced second season, though, because there’s so much potential here.

If you weren’t a prepubescent boy in the late ’80s, then I’m not sure I can fully explain the nostalgic appeal that Bloodsport holds, even with its considerable flaws. (Starting with the fact that the “true story” it’s based on is dubious at best.) I was 12 years old at the time, and my friends and I discussed the film’s depiction of an illegal martial arts tournament with a hushed reverence, to say nothing of Jean-Claude Van Damme’s fighting prowess. Watching it now, more than thirty years later, the flaws are more obvious and some of the nostalgic sheen has worn off. Even so, Bloodsport’s still a pretty darn enjoyable “B” movie. As I’ve written before, it’s easy to slag on Van Damme, but his legitimate martial arts skills do enable him to do some pretty impressive-looking stuff on-screen. This time around, though, I was really struck by the film’s moodiness: the soft-focus cinematography, some legitimately stunning shots of Hong Kong at night, and most of all, Paul Hertzog’s synth-heavy soundtrack. Predating synthwave by several decades, his music really sets the movie’s vibe with high-energy tracks during the kumite fight scenes as well as more lowkey pieces like “Kumite,” “Flashback Montage,” and “On My Own” (which has the added bonus of vocals from Stan “The Touch” Bush).

Like its predecessors, Monument Valley 3 — which is now available from Netflix Games — features delightfully tricky puzzles, an eye-pleasing aesthetic, and soothing ambient music, all of which combine for a very pleasant vibe. The game’s story is slight — a young girl named Noor is tasked with maintaining a lighthouse, and you must guide her through various worlds to find the “Sacred Light” necessary for the lighthouse’s operation — and you can play all the way through it in an hour or two. It certainly feels rewarding when you finally master a puzzle’s tricky, Escher-esque geometry, and the storyline veers into some interesting apocalyptic territory. However, given its short playtime and lack of replay value (though new seasonal chapters will be released throughout 2025), Monument Valley 3 ultimately feels like little more than a distraction. An extremely pleasant and intricately crafted distraction, mind you, but a distraction nonetheless.

Charles Burns’ artwork was the main draw for me; his dark inking and woodcut-esque style seems staid and static at first, but it becomes increasingly intriguing and even haunting and surreal at times. Unfortunately, Final Cut’s story left me somewhat underwhelmed with its tale of cinema, unrequited love, family dysfunction, and (maybe) male entitlement. A burgeoning cinephile, Brian makes low-budget sci-fi films with his friend Jimmy, and their planned remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers promises to be their best work yet. But when Brian falls head over heels for their lead actress Laurie, who is going through some relationship drama of her own, his ability to separate fiction from reality grows increasingly fraught. Final Cut is ultimately ambivalent whether Brian’s fixations are tragic or toxic — you could make a convincing case for either one, or both — but it’s stuck with me since finishing the book, and seems particularly relevant in this age of toxic fandoms and “Your body, my choice.”

Originally intended to be a John Woo/Johnnie To co-production starring Chow Yun-fat, Andy Lau, and Tony Leung, Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In fell into development hell for a couple of decades until it was resurrected by director Soi Cheang. And I’ll be honest, knowing something of the film’s backstory, I can’t help but imagine what might’ve been. Cheang’s film clearly seeks to recapture the glory days of Hong Kong cinema, but its tale of rival gangs battling over Kowloon Walled City, and the mysterious young refugee who sets in motion calamitous events, is ungainly and over-stuffed. There’s plenty of action, and some of it’s pretty awesome, but the setting of Kowloon Walled City — at one point, the world’s most densely populated spot — is so fascinating that I was more curious about the stories of the side characters inhabiting its labyrinthine corridors. (On a sidenote, Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In is a masterclass in set and production design.) Indeed, the movie’s final scenes of its inhabitants going about their jobs and daily routines sans any gang violence or wire and CGI-enhanced martial arts proved much more interesting than the action sequences.

Arcane’s first season deserved any and all acclaim that it received (read my review). Its highly stylized and detailed artwork and animation, steampunk aesthetic, and rich world-building made for a rewarding and entertaining watch even if you’d never played a single second of League of Legends. Arcane’s second season boasts even more vivid animation, similar to how Across the Spider-Verse one-upped Into the Spider-Verse. Unfortunately, it contains far too much plot, essentially condensing what should be two seasons’ worth of storytelling into just one. The central storylines — Piltover and Zaun’s conflict, Vi and Jinx’s battle, Hextech’s development and dangers — are interspersed between new power struggles, family dysfunctions, and arcane (npi) revelations. Subsequently, all of the season’s storylines are underdeveloped and underwhelming. Which is a shame because technically speaking, Arcane sets a new standard for animated series. One of the series’ creators has acknowledged fan frustrations with the “rushed” second season, an openness and transparency that bodes well for any future League of Legends adaptations.