Bicentennial Man (5 Stars)

Netflix Thursday #47

"Bicentennial Man" is a film that was made ahead of its time. When it was released in 1999 it seemed faintly embarrassing, yet it has aged into something quietly fascinating, commonly being called a cult film. Directed by Chris Columbus and starring Robin Williams, it was initially dismissed as overlong, sentimental and tonally confused; a family film that strained toward philosophical seriousness without quite earning it. But in the age of contemporary AI, its reputation has shifted. What once felt naive now feels oddly prescient.

The film, loosely based on Isaac Asimov's novella "The Bicentennial Man", charts the 200-year life of Andrew, an android who evolves from a household appliance to something approaching a human being. At the time, this arc was framed largely as a Pinocchio-style fable; a machine who wants to become "real". Today, that premise lands differently. The question is no longer abstract. With the rise of machine learning systems and conversational AI, Andrew's journey speaks directly to contemporary anxieties about consciousness, identity and rights.

One reason the film has become a cult object is precisely because of how unfashionable it once was. In 1999, audiences were primed for sleeker, more ironic science fiction; the same year saw "The Matrix" redefine the genre with cyberpunk cool and philosophical edge. By contrast, "Bicentennial Man" is earnest to a fault. It takes its time, embraces melodrama and leans heavily on Williams' gentle, increasingly restrained performance. That earnestness, once a liability, now reads as sincerity. The film is not trying to be clever; it is trying to be humane.

And that is the key to its afterlife. Modern AI discourse is often dominated by fear; job displacement, surveillance, loss of control. "Bicentennial Man" approaches the subject from the opposite direction. It asks not what machines will do to us, but what it would mean for a machine to join us. Andrew's desire is not to surpass humanity but to belong to it; to love, to create, to die. The film's central provocation is quietly radical: humanity is defined not by biology, but by experience, vulnerability and mortality.

There is also something newly poignant in the film's incrementalism. Andrew does not leap into consciousness; he inches toward it over decades, through small acts of creativity and self-modification. In an era when AI progress is rapid and opaque, this slow, legible evolution feels almost comforting. It suggests a continuity between tool and personhood that modern systems, with their black-box complexity, often lack.

The film's flaws have not disappeared, but these very flaws are now considered its strengths. The romance subplot used to divide critics; how could a woman possibly have a romance with a robot? But today there are common news stories of people forming relationships with online chatbots, which contributes to its cult appeal. The film is marked as a sincere attempt to grapple with big ideas within a mainstream framework; something increasingly rare.

Ultimately, "Bicentennial Man" endures because it asks a question that has only become more urgent: if a machine can think, create and feel, what, exactly, is left to distinguish it from us? In 1999, that question felt speculative. In 2026, it feels uncomfortably close.

What was once a misfire now plays like a time capsule from a more optimistic technological imagination; one that believed the endpoint of artificial intelligence might not be domination or disaster, but a quiet, hard-won recognition of shared humanity.

The film has returned to the public eye through being revived by Netflix. For that we can be thankful. The DVD releases from the turn of the century are now difficult to find. On Netflix the film is in HD quality, even though it's never been released on Blu-ray. Discerning fans are clamouring for a Blu-ray or even 4K release.

Success Rate:  - 1

John Wick 3 (5 Stars)

"John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum" pushes the mythology of the series to its most overtly operatic extreme; where "John Wick" hinted at a hidden order and "John Wick: Chapter 2" mapped its structure, the third film tests its limits, asking what happens when a man openly defies it.

The key shift in "Parabellum" is that the mythology is no longer background texture; it becomes the narrative engine itself. The concept of excommunicado, introduced at the end of the previous film, transforms the assassin world into something closer to a totalitarian system. Once John Wick is cast out, every rule, every ritual, every institution we have seen before turns against him. The coins, the markers, the sanctuaries; all are rendered useless. What was once a structured society becomes a mechanism of pursuit.

This escalation brings the governing body, the High Table, into sharper focus. In earlier films it functioned as an abstract authority; here it begins to take on form through emissaries like the Adjudicator. The shift is significant. The mythology moves from suggestion to embodiment, from whispered power to visible enforcement. Yet the High Table remains deliberately opaque; its members are never shown, preserving a sense of distance that keeps it from becoming mundane. It still feels less like a boardroom and more like a pantheon.

One of the film’s most striking developments is its expansion into the past. Wick’s journey to the desert and his encounter with the Elder reframes the mythology in quasi-religious terms. Authority is no longer merely institutional; it is spiritual, almost metaphysical. The idea that allegiance can be sworn through acts of physical sacrifice suggests a belief system rather than a legal framework. This pushes the series further away from crime fiction and closer to myth; the assassin world now resembles a faith with its own rites and absolutions.

At the same time, "Parabellum" complicates the idea of neutrality that was so central to the earlier films. The Continental, once an inviolable sanctuary, becomes a battleground when its manager refuses to bow fully to the High Table’s demands. This is a crucial development. The rules are no longer stable; they can be bent, reinterpreted or outright broken depending on who holds power. The mythology, which once felt rigid and ancient, begins to show cracks.

However, this expansion comes with a certain loss of elegance. In "John Wick: Chapter 2", the pleasure lay in discovering the system; here, the film risks over-articulation. The more the mythology is explained, the less it retains the enigmatic quality that made it compelling. Characters speak more openly about rules, hierarchies and consequences, and the sense of a hidden world gives way to something more explicit, almost bureaucratic in its complexity.

Yet the film compensates by using this very complexity to redefine John Wick himself. If the first film made him a legend and the second bound him to a system, the third positions him as a potential disruptor of that system. His survival is no longer just a matter of skill; it becomes an act of resistance. The mythology, once something that elevated him, now seeks to erase him; and in opposing it, he begins to take on a different kind of mythic status.

The final act underscores this transformation. Alliances shift, loyalties fracture and the supposedly immutable order reveals itself to be contingent. The world of assassins is no longer simply a closed circuit of rules; it is a contested space, where power can be challenged, if not easily overturned.

In the end, "John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum" represents both the peak and the strain of the series’ myth-making. It expands the universe to its widest scope; geographically, philosophically and symbolically. But in doing so, it edges closer to demystification. The balance between suggestion and explanation begins to tilt.

Still, the achievement is undeniable. The trilogy evolves from a minimalist revenge tale into a fully realised mythos, one that blends ritual, violence and hierarchy into a coherent, if increasingly elaborate, world. "Parabellum" may reveal too much, but it also proves that the world of John Wick can sustain that revelation; and perhaps even survive its consequences.

The Continental hotel is an imposing building in the film. In real life the building used for external shots is the Beaver Building, on the corner of Beaver Street and Pearl Street, close to Wall Street. In actual fact there's a restaurant on the ground floor, and the upper floors are used for office space. It's 22 floors high, one of the smallest buildings in the vicinity. The buildings on either side are 37 and 42 floors high, respectively, while the buildings on Wall Street are 60 floors high or more.

Success Rate:  + 2.4

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The Night of the Hunted (5 Stars)

While watching Jean Rollin's films in 4K I'm giving them better ratings. Is it because I appreciate them more in better quality? Or am I simply enjoying them more after multiple viewings. Whatever the reason, I'm giving "Night of the Hunted" a five star rating for the first time. I don't understand why I ever gave it less.

A young man called Robert is driving home at night. He sees a woman yelling for help. He picks her up and offers to drive her home, but she doesn't know her address or even her name. As he soon discovers, it's not just amnesia. Her memories are breaking down. Within 30 minutes she forgets everything that's happened. She doesn't even remember getting into Robert's car. He takes her home with him and they become lovers, but the next morning their romance is forgotten.

The woman has been tracked by two mysterious doctors. They take her to a hospital where dozens of patients are suffering from the same symptoms. At least, they claim it's a hospital. It looks more like a bare apartment building. Anyone who tries to help a patient leave is shot. It's left open until the final scenes whether the doctors are trying to heal the patients or are responsible for their illness.

The narrative unfolds in a deliberately ambiguous way, focusing less on clear explanations and more on atmosphere, emotional disorientation and the terrifying idea of losing one's identity piece by piece. This ambiguity is what makes the film a beautiful masterpiece.

John Wick 2 (5 Stars)

"John Wick: Chapter 2" takes the sleek, stripped-down revenge framework of "John Wick" and expands it into something far more elaborate; not just a sequel, but a deepening of a strange, ritualised underworld that now feels almost mythic in scope.

In the first film, the mythology was tantalising but restrained. We glimpsed a hidden society of assassins governed by codes, currencies and neutral zones; The Continental stood out as a kind of sanctuary, its rules lending the violence a peculiar sense of order. John Wick himself was less a man than a whispered legend; "Baba Yaga" invoked in hushed tones, his past suggested rather than explained.

"Chapter 2" decisively pulls back the curtain. The sequel introduces the idea that this world is not merely a loose network, but a fully institutionalised hierarchy with global reach. The High Table – an unseen governing body – shifts the tone from crime thriller to something closer to dark fantasy; power is abstract, distant and absolute. This is no longer just about gangsters; it is about systems that feel ancient and unbreakable.

The expansion is most effective in its details. The gold coins, already present in the first film, are given greater texture as a kind of all-purpose currency that transcends national borders. Blood oaths, embodied in the "marker", introduce a feudal element; obligation is literal, sealed in blood and enforced with ritual gravity. These touches suggest a society bound less by law than by tradition, as though the assassins operate under a code older than modern civilisation.

Crucially, the film also widens the geographical scope. Rome becomes a stage for this underworld’s operations, with its own Continental branch and its own local customs. This decentralised yet unified structure reinforces the sense that John Wick’s world exists parallel to our own; invisible, but everywhere. The mythology grows not by exposition dumps, but by showing how the same rules manifest in different places.

Yet there is a trade-off. As the mythology expands, John Wick himself becomes slightly less mysterious. In the first film, his legend was defined by absence; here, the film risks over-defining him by embedding him more concretely within the system. His past is no longer just rumour; it becomes contractual, bureaucratic. The danger is that myth turns into lore, and lore into something almost procedural.

That said, the sequel cleverly uses this very expansion to trap its protagonist. By formalising the rules of the assassin world, Chapter 2 turns them into a mechanism of inevitability. Wick is no longer simply avenging a personal loss; he is ensnared in obligations he cannot escape. The climax, set within the mirrored halls of a modern art museum, feels like a visual metaphor for this shift; infinite reflections of a man who can no longer step outside the system that defines him.

In the end, "John Wick: Chapter 2" succeeds not just by raising the stakes, but by redefining them. The violence is still balletic and precise, but it now unfolds within a world that feels governed by mythic rules rather than mere narrative convenience. Where the first film hinted at a hidden order, the sequel reveals it; vast, intricate and ultimately inescapable.

It's a bold move. By expanding its mythology so aggressively, the film risks diluting the elegance of the original’s simplicity. Yet it also lays the foundation for a saga that can sustain itself beyond a single act of revenge. John Wick is no longer just a story; it is a world, and in "Chapter 2", that world finally takes shape.

Success Rate:  + 2.3

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Fascination (5 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's tenth film, made in 1979. It's yet another vampire masterpiece. The film takes place close to Paris in 1905. A jewel thief called Marc has betrayed the other members of his gang and is on the run across the countryside. He takes a refuge in a mansion occupied by two women, Eva and Elisabeth. They claim to be servants looking after the mansion while the owners are away, but Marc doesn't believe them. Unknown to Marc, the two women are waiting for the arrival of five other women to perform a yearly ritual.

While dancing with Elisabeth, she tells Marc, "At midnight you'll see what seven women can do to one man". There are only five women in this photo, but I'm sure they can handle a man as well. As a matter of fact, even one woman is too much for a man to handle. We see this when Eva kills the four gang members hunting Marc by herself.

Eva is played by the French actress Brigitte Lahaie. Jean Rollin met her when she took part in "Vibrations Sexuelles", a hardcore sex film that he made in 1977 when he was desperate to make money. He recognised her as a talented actress and promised he would give her a part in one of serious films. He hired her a year later for "Grapes of Death" (not yet available in 4K). She went on to appear in another three of Rollin's films, including "Fascination".

Lips of Blood (5 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's eighth film, made in 1975. It's a beautiful, emotionally moving film. Many of Rollin's fans consider it to be his best film, and I can understand why.

When Frederic was 12 years old he got lost late at night. He found an old castle whose sole inhabitant was a mysterious pale woman. He immediately fell in love with her, as 12-year-olds do. She let him stay the night in his castle, and the next morning she sent him back to his mother. He promised to come back the next day, but he didn't.

Time went by. Frederic forgot the woman. 20 years later he's at a party with his girlfriend, when he sees a photo of the castle being used in a perfume advertisement. Memories come flooding back. He's determined to find the castle again. But there's some sort of conspiracy. He contacts the photographer who took the photo, but she's murdered by a vampire before she can tell him.

When he eventually finds the castle, the woman is still waiting for him. She hasn't changed. She says that she's loved him all these years.

That's an oversimplification of the plot. There are a few shocks on the way. But the atmosphere is still haunting and beautiful.

Jean Rollin has a cameo as a funeral caretaker.

He's killed by four beautiful vampires when he's on the night shift. To be honest, this scene is totally gratuitous. But I can understand Rollin wanting a scene where four scantily clad vampires are on top of him. If it were me I'd insist on at least twenty takes before moving on.

Demoniacs (5 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's seventh film, made in 1974. He claims it was the first film for which he had a large budget available. This is obvious in the choice of locations, which are larger and more extravagant than in his previous films.

I was recently told, in a different context, that I overthink things. I denied this at first, but I can understand what my friend meant. Applying it to "Demoniacs", overthinking makes it difficult to enjoy the film. It's Rollin's most incomprehensible film so far. So much of it doesn't make sense. Maybe it would make sense if it were explained, but Rollin doesn't explain what happens. It just happens.

It starts with a real world background. A group of wreckers operate on the French coast. They're modern landbound pirates. They use lights and false signals to make ships run aground, where they steal the cargo and kill the survivors. The ship that they wreck in this film doesn't bring them great riches. The only chest that washed ashore contains clothes and a single necklace. But there are two survivors: the women shown above. Rather than killing them immediately, they rape the women first.

This is where the supernatural story begins. The two women haunt the wreckers as ghosts. Or are they really ghosts? In later scenes they're wounded in battle, but they heal from their wounds quickly.

The two women are found by a clown who takes them to a ruined castle to meet a bishop. He tells them that they can only get revenge by freeing a powerful being who's been held in the dungeons for centuries. A vampire? Don't overthink it. After releasing him, he gives them his power for 24 hours, so they can fight and defeat the wreckers.

The wreckers are men, with the exception of their leader Tina. She's cruel and sadistic, demanding that the men who follow her show no mercy on their captives. Do you recognise her? The actress is Joelle Coeur, who played one of the schoolgirls in "Schoolgirl Hitchhikers" a year earlier. This is her usual appearance, when she's not made up to look ten years younger.

Does the plot make sense? Not really. I didn't overthink it. You shouldn't either.