What Dreams May Come (4 Stars)

Is this a good film? A bad film? Or merely average? It depends on how you judge it. It's a perfect performance by Robin Williams in a deeply emotional film that made me cry at several points. That would normally guarantee a film a five star rating. But when the emotions died down, after a cup of coffee, I had to ask myself what junk I'd just watched. It presents an afterlife that matches no existing religion and would be ridiculed by any atheist or agnostic.

Robin Williams plays Dr. Chris Nielsen, a man who dies in a horrific car accident. As a ghost he follows his loved ones, from the hospital to his funeral. Then he falls asleep and wakes up in a painting. Yes, a painting. When he walks through the fields of flowers they squelch, because they're all made of paint. That's Nielsen's heaven. He's told by a man called Albert, at first his only companion in the painting, that everyone can choose his own afterlife, but Chris has subconsciously picked a picture painted by his wife. Later he travels to other afterlifes, for instance to a playful kingdom created by his daughter, who died four years previously. Just writing about it makes it sound even more ridiculous.

Finally Chris finds out that his wife is in Hell, so he abandons Heaven to go to find her and bring her back. That's a romantic notion, but would any religion, even one, envisage such a possibility? Added to all of this, the film's philosophy has reincarnation, but it's purely voluntary. Anyone who grows tired of Heaven can return to Earth as a baby.

So what's the bottom line? Is the film good or bad? Heaven is a personalised art project; Hell is a kind of psychological sinkhole; identity persists, except when it doesn't; rules exist, except when love overrides them. The film insists on emotional truth while playing fast and loose with its own cosmology.

At times, this contrast is almost jarring. The same film that treats grief with such grounded sensitivity also asks you to accept a universe governed by what amounts to sentimental logic. Love conquers all, quite literally; but not through any moral or philosophical framework that holds up to scrutiny, rather through sheer narrative insistence. It’s less theology than wish fulfilment dressed in painterly grandeur.

I think my four star rating is fair. Maybe more than the film deserves, but I'll stick with it.

Films can be judged by the people who like them. Leslie Colligan was my girlfriend for a few years while I lived in America. "What Dreams May Come" was one of her favourite films. In retrospect, it's easy to understand why. She had confused religious beliefs. She claimed to adhere to the ancient Celtic religion, but she also believed in Heaven and Hell and reincarnation. She was a confused person, so she was quick to accept the film's pseudo-theological babble.

By the way, this photo shows her sitting in front of my CD collection. This was one of the greatest tragedies in my life. When I became ill I gave her $5000, more than enough to mail the CDs to me, but her new boyfriend, Thomas Kuzilla of Dearborn Heights, Michigan, took the CDs into his own hands and attempted to sell them back to me. I lost all 1800 CDs, with the exception of six CDs that Leslie mailed to me behind his back. For all her faults, she had a good heart; Thomas was pure evil. Would Leslie journey into Hell to bring Thomas back? No; in the afterlife she'll know that he's not worth it.

Success Rate:  - 1.1

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Splash (5 Stars)

At first glance "Splash" looks like a straightforward romantic fantasy; what gives it staying power is how quietly peculiar it is. It drifts between tones, never quite settling, and that sense of imbalance is exactly what has allowed it to gather a cult following over time.

The premise is simple enough. Tom Hanks plays a lonely New Yorker who falls for a woman who happens to be a mermaid, played with detached serenity by Daryl Hannah. Around them, the film builds a world that feels only loosely tethered to reality. Scenes unfold with a kind of dream logic; the mermaid learns English from television, adapts to human life with improbable ease, and the story barely pauses to question any of it.

That refusal to over-explain is central to its cult appeal. Director Ron Howard lets the film slip between romance, farce and something more wistful without drawing firm boundaries. One moment plays like broad comedy, the next carries a surprising emotional weight. Cult films often live in that unstable space; they don't fit neatly into a single genre, and that makes them feel more personal to the audiences who return to them.

There's also the sense of a film caught between identities. Released through Touchstone Pictures, "Splash" sits somewhere between family-friendly fantasy and more adult romantic comedy. That tension gives it an edge; it feels slightly more daring than its premise suggests, yet never loses its softness. For many viewers discovering it on home video, it had the air of something both familiar and faintly subversive.

Its most lasting cultural impact, though, comes from a small, almost throwaway moment. When Hannah's character needs a human name, she chooses "Madison" from a street sign. Hanks' character even remarks on how unusual it sounds as a first name. In 1984 that was true; Madison was primarily a surname, historically meaning "son of Maud".

The film changed that. In the years following its release, "Madison" surged in popularity as a girl's name, particularly in the United States. What began as a joke became a trend; within a decade, the name moved from rarity to mainstream, eventually becoming one of the defining names of its generation. Few films have reshaped everyday culture in such a specific way, and fewer still have done so so casually.

That odd, lingering influence is what defines "Splash" as a cult film. It's not about perfection; the film meanders, and its fantasy is never fully grounded. What it offers instead is a distinct tone, a handful of memorable ideas, and a series of moments that stay with you long after the plot fades. Among them is a single name, lifted from a sign and given a new life, which might be the film's strangest and most enduring legacy.

Success Rate:  + 4.3

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Girl You Know It's True (5 Stars)

This is the second musical biopic I've watched today. The film is called "Girl you know it's true", which was the title of Milli Vanilli's first single, but that's ironic. None of it was true. It was a fake group created by the German music producer Frank Farian. He recorded a song with session musicians who were talented, but not sexy enough to appear on MTV, so he needed two front men to perform. One single became a whole album. They went on tour lip-syncing to their hits. Before you say that lip-syncing is common in the music industry, this was different. Other singers lip-sync to recordings of their own voices, but Milli Vanilli lip-synced to recordings of other musicians.

Maybe Rob Pilatus and Fab Morvan could have continued the illusion if they'd remained more modest. As it was, they indulged in drug abuse (mostly cocaine) and forgot who they were. In an interview they described themselves as bigger than Elvis Presley and the Beatles. Pride comes before a fall. Their lip-syncing became apparent when the tape skipped during a concert, and their fans turned against them. They became outcasts. They went from being millionaires to practically broke. Rob was imprisoned for stealing a car, and shortly afterwards he died of a drug overdose. Fab was working as a waiter, unrecognised by his former fans.

I like the way the film is structured. It continually breaks the fourth wall. Rob and Fab are the narrators, speaking to the audience even after Rob's death. Franks also takes time to speak to the audience. He explains the truth behind the lie.

It's a tragic story. Other musical biopics like "Better Man" show how musicians start poor and soar to the heights, overcoming adversities. "Girl you know it's true" shows how two young men start poor, then rise up and hover before crashing down, lower than they were when they started out. Shed a tear for Milli Vanilli.

Better Man (5 Stars)

For me it's all about the film. My five star rating isn't meant as an endorsement of Robbie Williams' music. I was aware of his career. My daughter was a fan, and she even called our cat Robbie. I didn't like his music, and I liked the music he made with Take That even less. The only album of his that I liked was his album of cover songs, "Swing when you're winning". He did justice to the old classic songs. I remember listening to the CD a few times and thinking Wow. My daughter thought I was becoming a Robbie Williams fan. Not quite.

"Better Man" wins me over emotionally, from Robbie's humble beginnings in Stoke-On-Trent to the death of his grandmother and his reconciliation with his father. It's a beautiful film, whether you like his music or not.

Success Rate:  - 4.9

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Ballerina (5 Stars)

This is a film that's grown on me. I gave it five stars from its first viewing, but I've always added "it's not as good as the John Wick films". Now I'm not so sure. "Ballerina" is different to the John Wick films, but it's just as good, in its own way. John Wick himself was always a master assassin, from the first film onwards, but Eve Macarro is a new recruit to the Ruska Roma, who needs to be trained from the ground up. She's like "Nikita", or more like "Red Sparrow". 

"Ballerina" doesn’t so much expand the John Wick mythology as refract it; a side-step rather than a leap forward, yet one that reveals new textures within a world that had, by "John Wick Chapter 4", begun to feel almost sealed.

Set against the familiar framework established in John Wick and elaborated through "John Wick Chapter 2" and "John Wick Chapter 3", the film’s most immediate contribution is perspective. Where those entries centred on John Wick as both participant and anomaly, Ballerina shifts the focus to an initiate; someone shaped by the system from the outset rather than dragged back into it. This alone alters the tone. The mythology is no longer something glimpsed from the outside or resisted from within; it becomes an environment, almost a culture, that produces its own agents.

The Ruska Roma, previously a striking but secondary presence, moves into the foreground. What had once seemed like a stylistic flourish, ballerinas trained alongside assassins, now reads as a fully realised institution with its own internal logic. The film leans into the idea that artistry and violence are not merely juxtaposed, but intertwined. Discipline, repetition and performance become the connective tissue between dance and killing, suggesting that the mythology’s rituals are not confined to coins and markers, but embedded in the very bodies of its practitioners.

This emphasis on training and transformation adds a layer that the earlier films only hinted at. In the mainline series, assassins simply are; their skills are presented as faits accomplis. Ballerina asks how such figures are made. The answer is not comforting. The mythology expands to include systems of control that feel less like honour codes and more like indoctrination. The world of assassins, once alluring in its elegance, acquires a harder edge; its beauty is revealed as something constructed through coercion.

At the same time, the film subtly recalibrates the role of institutions like the The Continental. In the earlier films, the Continental functioned as a neutral sanctuary, a space where rules imposed order on chaos. Here, its neutrality feels more ambiguous. Seen from the perspective of someone raised within the system, it is less a refuge than a checkpoint; one node in a network that monitors, regulates and ultimately constrains. The mythology becomes less romantic, more systemic.

Crucially, "Ballerina" resists the temptation to over-escalate. After the globe-spanning, rule-bending climax of "John Wick Chapter 4", it would have been easy to introduce an even higher authority or a deeper layer of conspiracy. Instead, the film narrows its focus. The High Table remains distant, almost irrelevant; what matters are the local structures, the immediate relationships and the personal costs of participation. This contraction paradoxically enriches the mythology. By showing how the system operates on the ground, it makes the larger hierarchy feel more credible.

There is, however, a tension at the heart of this approach. By explaining how assassins are trained, by detailing the mechanisms that produce them, the film inevitably demystifies aspects of the world that were once left to the imagination. The danger, as in "John Wick Chapter 3", is that myth hardens into procedure. The more we see, the less we wonder.

Yet "Ballerina" mitigates this by shifting the emotional centre. The mythology is no longer primarily about rules; it is about identity. What does it mean to belong to this world if you never had a choice? Can its codes be internalised without being questioned? In this sense, the film doesn’t just add lore; it interrogates the cost of that lore on those who live inside it.

In the end, "Ballerina" functions as a kind of echo within the larger saga. It doesn’t reshape the mythology in the way the sequels did, nor does it attempt to conclude it. Instead, it deepens it laterally, filling in the spaces between what we already know. The result is a world that feels less like a series of elegant rules and more like a lived-in system; one that creates its own adherents, and perhaps its own victims.

It’s a quieter form of expansion, but a meaningful one. If the John Wick films built a myth, Ballerina shows how that myth is sustained; not by legends like John Wick, but by the countless figures shaped in its image.

Success Rate:  - 0.4

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John Wick 4 (5 Stars)

"John Wick Chapter 4" feels like the moment the series finally confronts the weight of its own mythology; not by expanding it further, but by testing whether it can be broken.

Across "John Wick" and "John Wick Chapter 2", the assassin world evolved from suggestion into structure; by "John Wick Chapter 3", it had hardened into something close to dogma, enforced by the High Table with near-religious authority. "Chapter 4" takes the next logical step; it treats that system not as an unchangeable fact, but as a construct that can be challenged, manipulated and, ultimately, outplayed.

What's striking is how the film reframes the mythology through ritual. The duel that forms the climax is not just a plot device; it's an ancient mechanism embedded within the rules of the High Table itself. After three films of escalation, the idea that everything can be resolved through something so formal, so archaic, almost feels like a loophole in the system. The mythology turns inward, revealing that its rigidity contains the seeds of its own undoing.

This is where John Wick changes most significantly. In earlier films, he was defined by his relationship to the rules; first as a legend outside them, then as a man bound by them, and finally as someone hunted by them. Here, he becomes a strategist within the mythology. He doesn't just fight the system; he learns how to use its language against itself. The coins, the markers, the codes of conduct; these are no longer constraints, but tools.

At the same time, "Chapter 4" subtly demystifies the High Table without ever fully exposing it. Its representatives, particularly the Marquis, suggest that power within this world is not purely ancient or divine, but also political, contingent and, crucially, vulnerable to ego. The mythology shifts from something monolithic to something inhabited by individuals who can make mistakes. That shift matters; it brings the series back from abstraction towards something human, even as it maintains its operatic scale.

Yet the film resists the temptation to over-explain. After the relative over-articulation of "John Wick Chapter 3", this instalment pares back exposition and lets ritual, geography and action carry the meaning. The journey through Osaka, Berlin and Paris suggests a world that is vast but coherent, bound by shared customs rather than explicit rules. The mythology regains some of its mystery, not by shrinking, but by becoming less verbal.

The question of whether John Wick can still be alive sits at the centre of this approach. On a literal level, the film presents his death with a degree of finality; the wounds, the exhaustion, the quiet acceptance. But the staging is deliberately ambiguous. We see a grave, but no body; we hear eulogies, but no confirmation. In a series so concerned with codes and appearances, that absence feels intentional.

More importantly, the mythology itself provides a possible answer. This is a world where identity is fluid, where names carry weight and can be shed or reclaimed. John Wick has already died once, retreating into legend before being drawn back. Within a system that runs on ritual and perception, death does not have to be purely physical; it can be symbolic, a way of exiting the game.

There is also the practical dimension. The High Table operates on recognition and enforcement; if it believes Wick is dead, its pursuit ends. In that sense, death becomes a strategic disappearance, a final exploitation of the rules he has spent four films learning to navigate. The mythology allows for that possibility because it values order over truth; what matters is not whether Wick lives, but whether the system believes he does not.

Still, the film walks a careful line. To insist too strongly on his survival would undercut the thematic resolution; Wick's arc has always been about escape, and death is the only absolute escape the series can offer without contradiction. By leaving the question open, "Chapter 4" preserves both possibilities; the man may be gone, but the legend, as always, endures.

In the end, "John Wick Chapter 4" doesn't just conclude the mythology; it reflects on it. What began as a whisper of a hidden world has become a fully realised system, then a prison, and finally something that can be transcended. Whether John Wick is alive or dead almost becomes secondary. The real question is whether he has finally stepped outside the mythology that defined him; and for the first time, the answer might be Yes.

Success Rate:  + 2.4

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New Shaolin Boxers (4 Stars)

"New Shaolin Boxers" stands out in the crowded kung fu landscape by building its identity around a specific fighting style rather than a revenge plot or nationalist theme. The story follows Zhong Jian, a well-meaning but naïve young man whose habit of helping everyone he meets repeatedly lands him in trouble; it's a simple character hook, but one that allows the film to explore growth through discipline rather than trauma.

What really defines the film is its focus on the fighting style Choy Li Fut. Unlike the tighter, more upright styles often seen in Shaw Brothers productions, Choy Li Fut is broad, circular and aggressive. The movements emphasise wide swinging strikes, long-range attacks and continuous motion; punches arc rather than snap, and the body is constantly turning, generating power through rotation. On screen, that gives the fights a sense of momentum that feels almost unruly, as if the combatants are carried forward by their own energy.

The choreography leans into these qualities. Instead of short, contained exchanges, the fights sprawl outward. Arms whirl, stances shift, and opponents are pressured from unexpected angles. There's less emphasis on elegance and more on overwhelming force. It suits Zhong Jian's personality early on; his instinct is to rush in and act, and Choy Li Fut's expansive techniques mirror that impulsiveness. As he matures, the same style begins to look more controlled, suggesting that discipline shapes not just the man but the way the art is expressed.

That connection between character and technique is where the film finds its voice. Zhong isn't learning a neutral system; he's learning how to channel something inherently chaotic. The film quietly argues that a martial art isn't just about technique, but about temperament. Choy Li Fut becomes a reflection of Zhong himself; powerful, well-intentioned, but potentially reckless without guidance.

The film's tone remains relatively light, especially compared with darker kung fu films of the era. There's humour in Zhong's misjudgements, and the narrative never sinks into cynicism. Still, the action carries weight precisely because of the style on display. Those sweeping strikes look dangerous; when they land, they feel decisive.

If there's a limitation, it's that the supporting cast doesn't leave much of an impression, and the plot sometimes feels like a loose framework for showcasing the fighting style. But in this case, that's almost the point. "New Shaolin Boxers" is less about story than about movement, rhythm, and the personality embedded in a martial tradition.

In the end, it's a film where style is character. By centring Choy Li Fut and tying it to Zhong Jian's growth, it offers something a bit different; not just a series of fights, but a study in how a way of fighting can shape, and be shaped by, the person using it.

The Trilogy of Swordsmanship (4 Stars)

"The Trilogy of Swordsmanship" is one of those rare anthology films where the structure isn't just a framing device; it's the point. Comprising three loosely connected tales of martial virtue, betrayal and mastery, the film uses its triptych format to explore what "swordsmanship" really means beyond technique. Each segment stands alone in plot, yet they echo one another in theme, creating a cumulative portrait of honour under pressure.

The connection between the three parts isn't narrative continuity so much as philosophical progression. The first story is almost classical; a young swordsman seeks mastery and learns that skill without discipline is hollow. The second complicates that idea; here, experience brings moral ambiguity, and the blade becomes a tool not of honour but survival. By the time we reach the third segment, the film turns inward; swordsmanship is no longer about defeating an opponent but about understanding oneself. Watched in sequence, the three parts feel like stages of a life, or even three possible paths diverging from the same code.

What's striking, especially for a 1972 production, is how the film handles its female characters. They aren't ornamental, nor are they simply victims orbiting male warriors. Instead, the film gives them agency in ways that subtly reshape each story. In the first segment, the woman at the centre isn't a prize to be won; she's a moral compass, forcing the protagonist to confront his own immaturity. In the second, female power becomes more direct and dangerous; a woman manipulates the social and emotional terrain with far more precision than any sword strike, exposing how fragile masculine codes of honour can be. By the third story, that power turns almost philosophical; the female presence embodies restraint and insight, contrasting with the restless violence of the male lead.

It's tempting to read this as progressive, though the film never quite escapes the conventions of its genre. The women still operate within a male-dominated world, and their influence is often indirect. Yet that indirectness is precisely where their strength lies; they don't need the sword to control its meaning. In a film obsessed with blades, they're the ones who redefine what power looks like.

Stylistically, the anthology format allows for variation without losing cohesion. Each segment has its own rhythm and visual tone, yet the direction ties them together through recurring imagery; duels framed against open landscapes, moments of stillness before violence, the ritualistic handling of the sword itself. These echoes reinforce the thematic links, making the transitions feel deliberate rather than arbitrary.

If there's a weakness, it's that the episodic nature can dilute emotional investment. Just as you begin to settle into one story, it ends. But that's also part of the design; the film isn't asking you to attach to characters so much as to ideas.

In the end, "The Trilogy of Swordsmanship" isn't about who wins or loses. It's about what remains when the fighting stops; and, crucially, who truly understands the cost. The answer, more often than not, lies with the women who never needed to draw a blade in the first place.

Saccharine (1 Star)

This is the 16th film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

"Saccharine" is a film that has some good ideas, but it's visually so ugly that I have to give it a rock bottom rating.

Hana is a medical student struggling to lose weight. She weighs over 80 Kg, and her dream is to get down to 65 Kg. She visits a fitness studio, but it doesn't help because she still eats too much. Then she discovers that she can lose weight if she eats the ash of a burnt person's body. In her classes she has to dissect a dead person, a fat woman, so she takes some of her bones home and burns them to ashes. It works. However much she eats, she sheds weight, and within a few weeks she's down to 45 Kg. Her personal trainer at the fitness studio tells her that it's unhealthy to lose weight so fast, so she eats as much chocolate and cake as she can, which doesn't stop the weight loss. But there's a bigger problem. Hana is being haunted by the woman that she's eating. If she holds up a spoon, she can see her standing behind her in the reflection.

As I said, the film sounds interesting, but you need to see it yourself to realise how unpleasant it is.

This was the last film that I watched in this year's Nights Festival. Overall, I was disappointed. There were no really outstanding films. Maybe next year.

Imposters (4½ Stars)

This is the 15th film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

Paul was a policeman in New York. After he was shot in the back and barely avoided death, he quit the police force and decided to start a new life. He moved with his wife Marie and baby son Theo to a sleepy little town.

They hold a housewarming party to meet their neighbours. They leave Theo alone for less than two minutes, and he's gone. Despite an extensive police search he can't be found. Two weeks later a simple-minded man called Orson visits them and says that he doesn't know who took Theo, but they can find him in a small cave in the woods. Against Paul's protests, Marie crawls into the cave. An hour later she brings Theo out. Paul wants to know why she was gone for so long. Marie says she's forgotten what happened in the cave, but it's obvious that she's lying. Having Theo back is all that matters, isn't it? But after a few days Paul notices that Theo's birthmark is missing from his foot, and he knows that something is wrong.

This is a supernatural mystery film. I can't say anything else without giving away spoilers. I need to watch it again.

The Vile (2 Stars)

This is the 14th film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

Amina lives with her husband Khaled and teenage daughter Noor in Abu Dhabi. She's happy, even though Khaled works away from home. Her idyll is shattered when Khaled comes home one day with a second wife, Zahra. He's angry that Amina doesn't accept the new wife, because it's allowed by Islam. Allowed, maybe, but he should have told Amina in advance.

Khaled goes away again for a few weeks, leaving Zahra alone with Amina and Noor. Zahra makes an effort to be friendly, but Amina totally rejects her. She does whatever she can to make Zahra feel unwelcome.

Most of the film is a twisted family drama. It only becomes clear in the last ten minutes that there's also a supernatural threat. This isn't what I'd call a twist, it's simply a new thought slapped onto the end of the film. The film is poorly written.

Nightborn (5 Stars)

This is the tenth film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

Jon and Saga have just got married. They move into the house in Finland where Saga grew up. There's a lot of work to be done, because the house has been empty for years.

Nine months later Saga has a child. The child isn't normal. He has a hairy back, but the doctors reassure her that it's nothing to worry about. Other things are more unusual. Within a few months the baby, that they call Kuura, is able to stand and walk. Most disturbing is that Kuura doesn't want to drink milk, he only wants blood. By the time he's six months old, Saga is feeding him raw meat. At first Saga rejects the child, but she grows to love him, and as they bond she slowly becomes feral.

"Nightborn" is the best film of the festival so far.

Veins (2 Stars)

This is the ninth film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

Isabelle goes to visit her parents, who live in an isolated place in the countryside. If I counted correctly, there are only three houses clustered together, although it's mentioned that they belong to a village that we never see. There's no Internet. Who needs it? Isabelle is shocked to find out that her father died three days previously. She's angry that her mother didn't tell her. Isabelle's mother is acting strangely, and she seems to be under the influence of the retired doctor who lives next door. The mystery slowly unravels.

This isn't an attractive film. There are lots of realistic medical shots, which is something I never like. The pacing is painfully slow. At the end of the film loose ends are left open. Very unsatisfying.

Mag Mag (3 Stars)

This is the eighth film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

We all know Japanese ghost stories, don't we? Films like "The Ring", "The Grudge" and "Dark Water". A female ghost is seeking revenge for some sort of wrong in her life. It's all pretty much the same story, but I don't complain if the film is made well. So when I heard that "Mag Mag" is a Japanese ghost story, I expected it to be the best film of the festival.

Mag Mag is a ghost who kills every man – usually high school boys – that she falls in love with. She leaves them dead on the ground with their eyes gouged out. That's the sort of concept that thrills me. Unfortunately, this film is spoilt by the frequent comedic scenes. Comedy doesn't blend well with a Japanese ghost story. And then the film has multiple twists at the end which spoil the story. I was disappointed.

Whistle (4½ Stars)

This is the sixth film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

After the previous boring film, the festival ended the day with an exciting horror film. A skull-shaped whistle is found in a high school. When it's blown, everyone who hears it is killed by a monstrous figure, one by one. The inscription on the whistle is "Summon your death", which is exactly what happens. Every person is destined to die in a different way, whether it's a car accident, lung cancer or simply old age. The whistle causes each person to die now, in the same way that he would have have died in the future. Maybe some elements in the film are infeasible, but it's still a very good film.

Silence (2 Stars)

This is the fifth film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

Anyone who reads my blog on a regular basis knows that I like films about vampires, especially female vampires. So why have I rated this film so low? It's not just because the vampires are so ugly. The problem is that so little happens in the film in the way of action. There's occasional biting, but most of the film is made up of talking, talking, talking. Maybe the conversations cover some philosophical ground, but I was so bored that I could barely pay attention. The best thing about the film is that it only lasts 56 minutes.

Appofeniacs (2 Stars)

This is the fourth film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

"Appofeniacs" is a film with a serious message. It shows the danger of deepfakes created with AI, in particular deepfake videos. Throughout the film people kill one another as a result of seeing deepfakes. The film could have been good if the people shown weren't so stupid. They're either drunk or high or simply lacking in intelligence. Maybe someone can make a better film on the subject.

Feels Like Home (3 Stars)

This is the third film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

A woman is kidnapped while standing in the street. Two men grab her and bundle her into a car. She wakes up tied and gagged in a bare room, with only a chair and a bed. A man tells her she's his sister, and her real name is Szilvi, not Rita. He only allows her to walk around the house when she accepts that she's his sister. She even begins to suspect it might be true, until she's shown photos of Szilvi which obviously aren't her.

It's a fascinating film, maybe too slow in parts, but with a serious message. Despite giving it a low rating, I'd like to see it again.

Obsession (4 Stars)

This is the first film in the Stuttgart Nights Festival.

This year the Nights Festival is being held once more in the Metropol cinema, which I see as a mixed blessing. On the one hand it has a larger screen than the Innenstadt cinemas. On the other hand it's poorly organised. The season ticket holders have to sit in the sixth and eighth rows; why not the seventh? The snacks in cinemas are always expensive, but Metropol's prices are extortionate for the small selection that they offer. Before the film started there was an announcement in the foyer that food and drink bought elsewhere was not allowed in the cinema, because it would make other cinema patrons jealous if they saw us eating our own food. That doesn't make sense. When festivals were held in the Innenstadt cinemas it was expressly stated that food could be brought in because of the long days. When I went in this evening my bag was checked, and I was sent to put my bag in the cloakroom. The next few days I'll have to put my snacks in my coat pockets, where they won't be found.

"Obsession" is an enjoyable, though not perfect opening film. It's a supernatural horror film. It's about a young man called Bear who's had a crush on a woman called Nikki since high school. Now she works in the same store as him, but he still hasn't found the courage to ask her out. She's planning to move to another town, so he's desperate. He tries another method; he buys an item called a One Wish Willow, which allows him to make a single wish for anything he wants. Only $6.99. That's a bargain! He wishes that Nikki will love him until the day he dies. Yes, that works. The same day after work she invites him home. She can't get enough of him. But as the days go by, we see that her love has become an obsession. She kills any other girl who comes close to him.

The film starts slowly, but after the first half hour I was amazed. The jump scares are used effectively, which is something I can rarely say. I would have given the film five stars, if the final 15 minutes hadn't disappointed me.

It's still a reasonable opening film. Let's hope the next films are better.

The Eight Hundred (3 Stars)

"The Eight Hundred" is a spectacle that's easy to admire and harder to fully love. Directed by Guan Hu, it dramatises the defence of the Sihang Warehouse during the early stages of the Second Sino-Japanese War; 452 Chinese soldiers hold out against 20,000 Japanese forces for four days while watched by civilians across the river. It’s a premise loaded with tension and moral weight, and at its best, the film delivers both in bursts of striking intensity.

Visually, it’s often astonishing. Shot for IMAX, the scale is overwhelming; explosions tear through the warehouse, bodies pile up in grimly choreographed waves, and the Suzhou Creek becomes a symbolic divide between courage and complacency. There’s a raw physicality to the combat that recalls "Saving Private Ryan", though without quite matching its emotional precision. The sound design, too, is thunderous and immersive; you don’t just watch the battle, you feel battered by it.

Where the film struggles is in its storytelling. For a narrative centred on sacrifice, the characters remain frustratingly indistinct. A handful of soldiers are given backstories or personality traits, but most blur into a collective mass of heroism. Compare that to the careful individualisation in "Dunkirk", where even minimal dialogue is enough to carve out distinct identities; here, the emotional stakes feel diluted because you're rarely anchored to a single perspective for long.

The film's cross-river structure – soldiers fighting on one side, civilians observing on the other – is a compelling idea that never quite coheres. The civilian scenes often drift into melodrama or symbolism that feels heavy-handed, undercutting the immediacy of the battle. A more disciplined intercutting approach, or a tighter focus on one or two civilian characters, might have created a stronger emotional bridge between the two worlds.

There's also a tonal inconsistency that holds it back. At times, "The Eight Hundred" leans into gritty realism; at others, it embraces near-mythic patriotism, complete with slow-motion hero shots and swelling music. Neither approach is inherently flawed, but the film doesn't reconcile them. A clearer commitment to one tone, or a more careful blending of the two, would have made the narrative feel less conflicted.

If it could be improved, the most obvious change would be a sharper focus on character. Following a smaller core group of soldiers, giving them clearer arcs, and allowing quieter moments between the chaos would heighten the impact of their eventual sacrifices. The battle scenes are already powerful; what's missing is the emotional thread that makes those scenes linger.

Even so, it remains an impressive achievement. Few modern war films attempt this scale, and fewer still sustain it for over two hours. It's a film that commands respect, even as it leaves you wishing it had trusted its human story as much as its spectacle.

Success Rate:  + 3.8

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The Life of Chuck (5 Stars)

Every now and then a film is made that's truly original. Not often, but it happens. The best film of 2025 was doubtlessly "The Life of Chuck". Told backwards, the film shows the key incidents in the life of Charles Krantz, nicknamed Chuck. He lived, he danced, he died. That's something that could be written on my gravestone. It wasn't written on Chuck's gravestone, because when he died the world ended.

Other reviewers tackle the question of whether the world really ends in the film. Is the third part of the film just the imagination of a man lying in a hospital bed dying of a brain tumour? Personally, I don't think the question should be asked. Walt Whitman wrote, "I am large. I contain multitudes". He wrote it about himself, but it applies to everyone, and in the context of the film it applies to Chuck. When Chuck dies at the young age of 39, the universe dies with him.

The film wasn't very successful at the box office, which is sad. It should have been seen by more people. I don't think it was a problem that people didn't understand the film, they just didn't go to the cinema to see it. I've spoken to friends who I'm sure would have liked it, but they didn't go. They didn't know what the film was about. One friend thought it was a film about music. Another assumed it was a horror film, because it's based on a Stephen King story. It's not a horror film. It's a science fiction film and a deeply philosophical film.

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Ambulance (4 Stars)

Michael Bay's "Ambulance" is a loud, breathless exercise in controlled chaos that succeeds on its own terms. It takes a simple premise, a desperate bank robbery gone wrong, and stretches it into a near two-hour chase sequence that rarely lets up.

The standout feature is, unsurprisingly, the driving. The film's lengthy car chases are relentless, jittery and often astonishingly staged, with Bay turning Los Angeles highways into a shifting maze of ambulances, police cruisers and military response units. The camera rarely sits still; drones, dash cams and sweeping aerial shots create a constant sense of motion that borders on overwhelming but feels deliberately so.

Plot and character work are minimal, which is fine here. "Ambulance" is less interested in motivation than momentum, with Jake Gyllenhaal and Yahya Abdul-Mateen II driving much of the tension through escalating panic and strained brotherhood dynamics. It's scrappy rather than deep, but that suits the film's stripped-back survival structure.

It won’t convert anyone who finds Michael Bay's style exhausting, but for viewers willing to go along with the noise and velocity, it delivers exactly what it promises: an extended, high-octane chase film that barely pauses to breathe.

Success Rate:  - 0.7

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Kill Bill (5 Stars)

Oops I did it again. I went to see "Kill Bill" for a second time in two days. When I bought my tickets it seemed necessary, because it was claimed it would never be released on disc. Quentin Tarantino has  changed his mind, fortunately. But it was still good to see the film again.

One recent change to the complete film that wasn't in the 2011 version shown at the Cannes Film Festival is a 12-minute after-credits scene, called "Kill Bill: The Lost Chapter". It's a fully animated sequence featuring Gogo's sister Yuki. It doesn't really belong to the film, especially not at the end. When I own the film on disc I'll probably watch it separately, not tagged on to the end.

One thing that amused me tonight was the man sitting in the seat next to me. I always respect people who go to the cinema alone, like me, not with their partners or friends. It shows that they take films seriously. This man was different. During the fight scene in the House of Blue Leaves he covered his eyes every time a head or an arm was chopped off. Someone should have warned him that it would be so violent.

Kill Bill (5 Stars)

Finally! I've waited 22 years to see this film. "Kill Bill" was originally released as two films in 2003 and 2004. Quentin Tarantino re-edited the two films into a single film in 2011, but it was only released in Japan. In December 2025 it was finally shown in America at a few select cinemas and minor re-editing. Conflicting statements were made, possibly deliberate misinformation to raise expectations among film fans. First Tarantino said the film would only be shown in cinemas and not be made available for home viewing on disc or streaming. That was depressing. Then it was said that it would be released on Blu-Ray, but not streaming. Ideal! For me, at least. Then I was surprised to see that it was dropped onto Amazon Prime today, without prior announcement.

My local cinema was only showing the film twice, today and tomorrow. I bought tickets for both days. Then, last Monday, they announced that it would be lengthened to four days, probably because both days were sold out.

The main changed are

1. Oren Ishii's origin story is lengthened.

2. The fight scene in the House of Blue Leaves is in colour throughout, not partially black and white.

One small change that I noticed immediately was that the Klingon proverb was missing from the opening scene. I've read theories why Tarantino edited it out, but I miss it.

The official name of the film is "Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair". Giving it that name makes it sound like two films that have been stitched together. I prefer to call it "Kill Bill", which emphasises that it's a single film that was chopped in two.

From Dusk Till Dawn (5 Stars)

"From Dusk Till Dawn" is a film that practically splits itself in half; a crime thriller mutates into a vampire siege, and the clash between its two central families sits right at the heart of that transformation.

On one side we have the Gecko brothers, Seth and Richie; criminals defined by chaos, instinct and a complete absence of moral restraint. George Clooney plays Seth as cool and calculating, a man who understands violence as a tool, while Quentin Tarantino makes Richie something far more disturbing; impulsive, erratic, and barely tethered to reality. Their family bond is real, but it's warped; loyalty exists, yet it's rooted in survival rather than care.

In stark contrast stands the Fuller family; a broken but fundamentally decent unit led by Jacob, a former preacher struggling with his faith after personal tragedy. Harvey Keitel gives Jacob a weary gravity, a man trying to hold his children together even as his beliefs crumble. Kate and Scott represent a more recognisable familial dynamic; tension, grief and affection all coexisting in an uneasy balance. Where the Geckos are united by crime, the Fullers are held together by something more fragile; the remnants of love and moral responsibility.

The early part of the film thrives on this contrast. The Geckos dominate through fear, forcing the Fullers into submission, yet there's a quiet sense that the balance could shift at any moment. The Fullers' decency becomes a kind of resistance; they endure rather than retaliate, and that endurance gives them a moral strength that the Geckos lack.

When the film pivots into horror at the Titty Twister, the dynamic evolves rather than disappears. Faced with a supernatural threat, the distinction between the families begins to blur. Survival becomes the common ground; Seth's ruthlessness suddenly has value, while Jacob's moral compass regains purpose. The Geckos' amorality and the Fullers' ethics, once opposed, now function as complementary traits in a fight neither family could survive alone.

What makes "From Dusk Till Dawn" compelling isn't just its genre switch; it's how that shift forces both families to confront what defines them. The Geckos, stripped of control, reveal flickers of reluctant cooperation, while the Fullers, pushed to extremes, discover a capacity for violence they would never have chosen.

By the end, the film suggests that family is less about moral purity and more about what people are willing to do for one another under pressure. The Geckos start as predators and the Fullers as victims, but the night reduces everyone to the same basic instinct; survive, protect, endure. It's in that levelling that the film finds its strange, blood-soaked unity.

Success Rate:  + 1.1

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Two Orphan Vampires (5 Stars)

"Two Orphan Vampires" is Jean Rollin's 18th film, made in 1997. It's one of his last films, but in many ways it's his most typical film. It barely pretends to belong to the horror genre, even as it trades in vampires, blood and nocturnal wandering. The action, if it can even be called action, is downplayed. The film is like an abstract painting, creating emotions in everyone who watches it.

The film follows two blind girls who live in an orphanage. What the nuns don't know is that they're only blind in the daytime. At night they can see everything in a blue tint. They sneak out of the orphanage to drink blood, sometimes human blood, sometimes animals. They're not vampires in the conventional sense. They frequently live and die. How often they remain dead varies, but they always claw their way back to the surface. Dying is a time of rest for them. They've lived for a long time. In the 15th Century they were worshipped as Goddesses by the Aztecs. In a single ceremony 40,000 men were laid out for them to feed, all of them volunteers. Towards the end of the film we find out that they're much older, and there are hints that they've existed since the beginning of time, before Adam and Eve.

Rollin’s pacing is always languid, but here it feels almost defiant. Scenes linger far beyond what mainstream storytelling would allow; conversations drift, actions feel ritualistic, and long stretches pass where nothing much happens in a traditional sense. Yet this isn’t indulgence for its own sake. The slow rhythm creates a kind of trance state, pulling the viewer into the same suspended existence as the protagonists; caught between day and night, blindness and vision, innocence and predation.

The two leads carry the film less through dialogue than presence. Their performances are deliberately stylised, almost affectless at times, which only adds to their otherworldly quality. They don’t behave like typical horror figures, nor like realistic teenagers; they exist somewhere in between, embodying Rollin’s recurring fascination with fragile, doomed femininity. There’s an undercurrent of sadness running through everything they do, as though their vampirism is less a curse than an extension of an already isolated existence.

Visually, the film is steeped in a muted, dreamlike atmosphere. Rollin contrasts the drabness of daytime interiors with the freedom of the night, where cemeteries, empty streets and shadowy corners become spaces of strange beauty. His usual gothic imagery is present but subdued, less about spectacle and more about texture and feeling. The result is a Paris that feels detached from reality; familiar, yet ghostly and removed.

Anyone approaching "Two Orphan Vampires" expecting tension, scares or even a clear narrative arc will likely come away frustrated. This is a film that resists those pleasures almost entirely. But for those willing to meet it on its own terms, it offers something rarer; a melancholy, dreamlike meditation on isolation, identity and the strange freedoms of the night. It’s less a story you follow than a mood you inhabit, and it lingers precisely because it never fully resolves into something concrete.

Isn't it romantic? (5 Stars)

When I first reviewed "Isn't it romantic?" in 2019 I said that it was a Netflix original film and would probably not be released on disc. Fortunately, I was wrong. It took a few years, but now it's available on Blu-Ray in the USA. Click on the image above if you don't believe me. It's region free, as all Blu-Rays should be, so you can play it anywhere.

It's a bright, self-aware romantic comedy that plays like both a parody and a celebration of the genre it mocks. Directed by Todd Strauss-Schulson and starring Rebel Wilson, the film follows a cynical New Yorker who wakes up trapped inside a glossy romcom fantasy world after a head injury.

What makes it work is its willingness to lean into the clichés it's satirising; sweeping musical numbers, impossibly attractive love interests and picture-perfect cityscapes are all pushed to absurd extremes. Wilson carries the film with sharp comic timing, while Liam Hemsworth and Adam DeVine knowingly play into archetypes of the genre.

It doesn't completely escape the conventions it pokes fun at, and its message about self-love is delivered a little too neatly, but that's arguably part of the joke. Light, fast-paced and intermittently clever, it's an enjoyable riff on romantic comedy tropes rather than a full reinvention of them.

Success Rate:  - 0.4

Sagrada Reset Part 2 (4 Stars)

This is a direct sequel to "Sagrada Reset Part 1". It was released only two months later, which gives the impression that the two parts were originally made as a single film, but the four hour running time was deemed too long. In the film's chronology, the second film starts six days after the end of the first film.

In the first film Soma was brought back to life after her suicide was undone by her time travelling friends. That was two years previously. Ever since then she's been hiding at Haruki's house. She doesn't want anyone except for her closest friends to know she's alive, because it's important to her that events unfold the same way as they did when she was dead. Now it's time to reveal herself as the Second Priestess.

I didn't mention in my review of the last film that there's an organisation called the Bureau which watches over the people in the town with abilities. Supposedly the Bureau has been created to prevent misuse of the powers, but the Bureau's leader Urachi actually wants to remove everyone's powers and make the town normal again. I apologise, I couldn't figure out why he wants to do this. The films are too complex for me to understand everything after a single viewing. I can't help feeling that things have been cut from the comics that would have explained everything.

Soma's intention, and the reason she committed suicide, was to prevent the special powers in the town from being removed.

There was a character in the first film, Kagaya, that I considered so insignificant that I didn't mention him. He's Urachi's personal assistant, responsible for opening and shutting doors and carrying Urachi's diary. That doesn't sound like much, does it? Whatever Kagaya closes stays locked, and nothing can open it. In the second film it's explained that this is a time lock; any door he shuts is frozen in time. The second film shows that he can even freeze people in time.

51 years ago there were only three people in the town with powers; a married couple and their piano teacher. The woman could foresee the future, and the man could make the town a place where people would have powers, but only for a brief time. The man had an unspecified illness, and he would die within a year. His wife knew that if the townspeople had powers there would be a healer able to cure him. Shortly after the powers appeared in the town, they had a son: Urachi. When he was eight years old he asked his friend Kagaya to freeze them in time so that the powers in the town wouldn't disappear. I still don't understand why. Ever since then, for more than 40 years, they've been kept as prisoners. But now Urachi wants to free them.

My head hurts. The story is fascinating, but I just don't get it. As far as I can tell, the comics aren't available in English, but the animated mini-series based on the comics keeps close to the stories. Maybe I can buy them. I'll consider it.