Author: Jeremy Werner

Starring: Scarlett Johannson, Mahersha Ali and Jonathan Bailey
Directed by: Gareth Edwards
Rated: PG-13
Running Time: 133 minutes
Universal Pictures

Our Score: 1 out of 5 Stars

We had a 14-year break between “Jurassic Park III” and “Jurassic World.” Time away from the constantly calamitous dinosaur park made us appreciate it again when the doors swung back open. I’m not saying we need another 14-year dry spell, but after watching “Jurassic World Rebirth,” I’m beginning to think the creative team and writers need one.

17 years after a candy bar wrapper (not making this up) left a trail of devastation and chaos at a secret island lab, Earth’s environment is now too hostile for most of the dinosaurs and prehistoric creatures once resurrected. In a hail mary pharma-fueled effort to save humanity, a shady biotech firm assembles a ragtag crew to return to the long-abandoned, off-limits island of Ile Saint-Hubert. Led by Scarlett Johannson (don’t remember the names, or else you’ll get attached when they become dino snacks) and extract genetic material from the world’s last prehistoric specimens.

I’m not saying the premise is dumb. It’s a dinosaur movie. The narrative and ideas it posits gets in the way of perfectly fine escapism. The opening sequence makes sure to hammer in two asinine facts: No one cares dinosaurs are escaping zoos and dying in downtown Manhattan and dinosaurs aren’t cool anymore. As someone who has worked in news, if any animal escapes from the zoo, even a capybara, it makes national news. And what the hell do you mean dinosaurs aren’t cool? They hammer the latter point more by recruiting a paleontologist, played by Jonathan Bailey, from a natural history museum that’s shuttering. He bemoans several times about how no one cares to see dinosaurs anymore. Have any of these writers visited a zoo lately?

The obnoxiousness doesn’t end there as characters spit out dialogue that sounds like it was written by ChatGPT after a few drinks. “A car bomb killed my dad. It came out of nowhere.” Car bombs don’t come out of nowhere. They’re planted. Also, for a film about dinosaurs wreaking havoc, we expect some fantastic kills, but they’re so quick and off-screen that they make death boring. Not even the T-Rex gets a kill. So, maybe give the people what they want next time, if you catch my drift.

Worst of all, it’s boring. The action sequences are flat and lifeless. Once it’s clear who lives (almost everyone) and who dies (mostly nobodies), the chase scenes lose all tension. At the very least, you gotta kill one secondary character that’s had more than two lines of dialogue. Then, there’s too much downtime with characters you’d rather see eaten, and even the callbacks to prior films feel forced and hollow. There’s no awe, no wonder, no…anything. Just another joyless cash grab from a franchise that forgot why people showed up in the first place.

I didn’t walk in expecting to hate it. Quite the opposite. The trailer gave me hope that it might tap into that silly joy of watching dumb humans try to outwit dumber, bigger, toothier animals. I was wrong. The audience at my screening seemed to enjoy it, but it was the end of June with nothing going. Also, maybe I’m just bitter. But if you’re picking “Jurassic World Rebirth” over fireworks this weekend, prepare to be disappointed.

Starring: Brad Pitt, Damson Idris and Kerry Condon
Directed by: Joseph Kosinski
Rated: PG-13
Running Time: 156 minutes
Warner Bros. Pictures

Our Score: 2.5 out of 5 Stars

One of the key reasons “Top Gun: Maverick” resonated with audiences was its use of practical effects. You could feel every jolt, every turn, every pulse-pounding second in the cockpit. “F1 The Movie” offers a similar thrill, dropping viewers into the high-stakes world of Formula 1 racing with visceral, immersive action sequences. If you’ve ever found racing dull on TV, F1 may be the antidote. Although you may still find watching racing at home dull once you leave the theater, but I digress. On the track, “F1” is a perfect symphony of tension and speed. Everything off the track is where things falter.

The comparisons to Maverick are hard to avoid as “F1” clearly follows the same blueprint: stunning set pieces surrounding a story about aging, redemption, growth, and legacy. Brad Pitt plays Sonny Hayes, a retired F1 driver forced out of the sport after a near-fatal crash. Years later, he’s pulled back into the game by former teammate Ruben Cervantes (Javier Bardem), who needs Sonny to help steer his struggling team, APXGP, through the season alongside rookie driver Joshua Pearce (Damson Idris).

But while Maverick benefited from emotional investment and nostalgia, “F1” has to stand on its own—and it doesn’t quite get there. Pitt is reliably cool and watchable, but his laid-back charm lacks the sharp emotional edge Tom Cruise brought to his return as “Maverick.” And despite strong performances across the board, the film struggles to make any of its characters, aside from three, feel essential. It’s overcrowded, with too many subplots and too few payoffs, drowning out the film’s emotional core.

The racing scenes are breathtaking—seriously some of the best you’ll see all year—but the pacing of the story sputters. At times, it feels like a condensed TV series, or a script that lost track of itself. Fortunately, Kerry Condon adds some much-needed depth as Pitt’s love interest and team engineer. She brings a steely, scientific sensibility that grounds the film, and her chemistry with Pitt works. Bardem also elevates every scene he’s in, but unfortunately, there aren’t enough of them. Too much time is spent on side characters who don’t need speaking roles; just background presence, and the film loses momentum every time it wanders away from its main players.

I walked into “F1” with little interest and found myself wanting it to be great. It has the makings of a classic summer blockbuster: high energy, big stakes, and enough sensory overload to make you forget the real world for a while. And in that sense, it succeeds. But when the engines quiet down and you’re left with the people behind the wheel, there just isn’t enough there to hold on to. “F1” may offer the thrill of the race, but it never fully wins you over.

Starring: Alfie Williams, Jodie Comer and Aaron Taylor-Johnson
Directed by: Danny Boyle
Rated: R
Running Time: 115 minutes
Sony Pictures

Our Score: 3.5 out of 5 Stars

It’s only fitting that “28 Years Later” arrives in the midst of global political chaos and years after a real-world pandemic (thankfully, not one involving zombies). “28 Days Later” was released in the shadow of 9/11. “28 Weeks Later” came during the era of American military overreach in a war-torn country. So naturally, the question for longtime fans becomes: how soul-crushing does it get nearly three decades into this franchise’s apocalyptic future?

Humanity—at least in the UK—still lives in fear of the Rage virus, which first escaped a chimp research facility 28 years ago. The survivors we follow now live in a fortified community on Holy Island, guarding a tidal causeway and venturing to the mainland only for essential resources. Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) is preparing his son, Spike (Alfie Williams), to become a scavenger.

Scavenging means using a bow and arrow, navigating the desolate mainland, and being capable of taking down a pack of infected in seconds. The Rage virus has evolved, and we see its grotesque aftermath throughout the film. But don’t worry—plenty of them can still sprint like Usain Bolt. While Jamie looks to instill a sense of community through violence in Spike, his son is preoccupied. Spike can’t take his mind off his ailing mother, Isla (Jodie Comer), as she writhes and moans in pain back at home.

“28 Years Later” doesn’t unfold as expected. It’s bold—not just for waiting 18 years to return to the franchise, but for rewriting elements of its core DNA. Thematically, it’s overloaded: pandemics, war, military hubris, societal collapse, parental rifts, rebirth, survivalism, even a coming-of-age arc.

This genre stew is dense; sometimes too dense. The film juxtaposes serene countryside vistas with thunderous jump scares and blood-splattered chaos. It’s like machine-gun fire in a conservatory: beautiful, jarring, relentless. And yet, somehow, it finds poetry in the mayhem. There’s an odd elegance to its grotesque vision, like discovering a basket of blood-covered puppies while fleeing through the woods. That said, audiences expecting a standard summer blockbuster (“Lilo & Stitch” or “F1”), might find it alienating. Even for someone like me, who thrives on this kind of film, I occasionally found myself questioning the more stylistic choices, especially a final teaser that feels like it’s mocking everything that came before it.

My rating may seem lower than expected, but that’s only because “28 Weeks Later” feels incomplete. The film’s legacy now hinges on how “28 Years Later: The Bone Temple” closes the franchise. A weak sequel can retroactively cheapen what came before, much like the “Matrix” sequels.

Still, while some fans may have hoped for a more expansive or catastrophic finale, “28 Years Later” goes big in a different way. Instead of going global, as “28 Weeks Later” teased, it scales down to something more intimate. The heart. It looks at devastation, death, and despair, and responds with something more meditative. Almost peaceful. Albeit with nude, flesh-hungry creatures roaming the British countryside like rabid wolves.

Starring: Benicio Del Toro, Mia Threapleton and Michael Cera
Directed by: Wes Anderson
Rated: PG-13
Running Time: 105 minutes
Focus Features

Our Score: 3.5 out of 5 Stars

Since “The Grand Budapest Hotel” in 2014, Wes Anderson fans have been chasing that perfectly symmetrical high—the kind of quirky, charming brilliance that only Anderson seems capable of. But we may have to admit: that was the peak. It’s been a decade, and while he’s delivered solid work since, nothing has quite reached the heights of “Budapest.” That said, “The Phoenician Scheme” is still a strong entry in his catalog. It hits all the Anderson notes, even if it doesn’t sing quite as sweetly.

Imagine if “The Royal Tenenbaums” had a baby with “Beirut,” and you’d get something close to The Phoenician Scheme. It plays like a living political cartoon—satirizing war-driven infrastructure plans, economic collapse, and family dysfunction with pastel flair. Zsa-Zsa Korda (Benicio Del Toro) is an aging industrialist trying to glue together the financing for his overreaching global project, while grooming his daughter, Sister Liesl (Mia Threapleton), to inherit the chaos. Along for the ride are assassination attempts, underworld syndicates, failed rail lines, a basketball game with geopolitical stakes, and Bjørn (Michael Cera), a bewildered, yet suspicious entomologist turned assistant.

For die-hard Anderson fans, this might sound like a dream. But it’s worth tempering expectations. While I enjoyed “The Phoenician Scheme” quite a bit, it never quite rises to the level of Anderson’s best. It flirts with emotional depth but can’t seem to commit. Zsa-Zsa feels more like a mustachioed “Three Stooges” character than the kind of tragic antihero Anderson has pulled off in the past.

As a pure comedy, though, the film is a delight. It’s a whirlwind of dry wit, elaborate sets, and eccentric characters firing on all cylinders. Just don’t expect the emotional gut punch of “Budapest” or “Tenenbaums.” “The Phoenician Scheme” is Anderson comfort food—odd, satisfying, and occasionally unforgettable. Maybe that’s enough.

Starring: Nicolas Cage, Julian McMahon and Nic Cassim
Directed by: Lorcan Finnegan
Rated: R
Running Time: 103 minutes
Roadside Attractions

Our Score: 2.5 out of 5 Stars

It’ll be a sad day when an entire year passes without a new Nicolas Cage movie—whether it’s a trashy B-movie, an unexpected indie gem, or whatever random script manages to land on his doorstep. Even the bad Cage movies manage to warm my heart… sometimes like an impending heart attack. Enter “The Surfer,” where Cage plays a broker returning to his childhood town with two goals: buy a house and surf with his son.

Standing in his way? What can only be described as the town’s bullies on crack—both literally and metaphorically. Julian McMahon, channeling an Australian Andrew Tate, leads a ragtag gang of meatheads steeped in toxic masculinity. That’s trouble enough, but things escalate when it becomes clear the local police are tangled up in the same surfer bro cult, making life even more difficult for Cage as things spiral into violence and psychological warfare.

“The Surfer” loves toying with our perceptions. Is Cage truly living through this bizarre mess, or is it all in his head? The film merges meditative Cage with rage Cage, and while the combination is compelling at first, the movie loses steam by failing to commit to either mode. Some scenes hit with shocking, offbeat delight. Others feel like they’re straining under the weight of their own metaphors.

Without Cage, a film like “The Surfer” would be ridiculed for its ridiculousness. But Cage gives it a strange buoyancy, even as the runtime sags and the central theme starts to bludgeon the audience long after we’ve already “gotten it.” While I mildly enjoyed the experience, I’m not sure I’d ever watch The Surfer again—and that’s saying something. Because even when Cage stars in a five-alarm dumpster fire, I usually find myself coming back just to smile at the absurdity. “The Surfer” is certainly absurd, but it takes itself too seriously to let Cage truly ham it up—or give us a character we want to endlessly root for.

Starring: Kai Lennox, Sarah Lind and Zachary Ray Sherman
Directed by: Joshua Erkman
Rated: NR
Running Time: 102 minutes
Dark Sky Films

Our Score: 2 out of 5 Stars

Alex (Kai Lennox) wanders through an abandoned theater, searching for the perfect shot. We watch as he lingers in every decrepit corner, looking for his visual muse among moldy wallpaper and darkened shadows. He finds it. Moves on. Now he’s driving through an equally desolate neighborhood, scouting for his next muse. That’s how “A Desert” begins—and as time goes on, the narrative seems to elude him just as much as it eludes us.

Alex is trying to revive his stalled career and reignite a lost creative spark by going off the grid—leaving his phone behind, detaching from the modern world. That means he has no GPS, no lifeline if something goes wrong. And something does go wrong when Renny (Zachary Ray Sherman) and Susie Q (Ashley B. Smith), a strange couple in the motel room next to his, decide they want to become more than just noisy neighbors.

The problem I kept running into with “A Desert” is that it often feels like nothing is really happening—and I couldn’t bring myself to care much about Alex’s plight. I kept waiting for that visual cue or “ah-ha” moment to illuminate the story, to reward the slow burn. But as the film inches toward its climax, it stretches patience to the breaking point.

To be fair, first-time director Joshua Erkman throws in just enough curveballs to keep me guessing. His eye for detail is strong—each scene feels meticulously composed, even if we’re never quite sure where we’re going. The actors are so fully immersed in their characters that the chaos feels tangible and lived-in. But like I said from the start, the narrative is the biggest mystery here.

I might have enjoyed or even recommended “A Desert” if it didn’t feel like I was piecing together a puzzle with several missing pieces. Visually and performance-wise, the film has a lot going for it. It hints at a deeper meaning, an overarching point to the madness. But by the time the credits rolled, I felt like both my patience—and that point—had vanished in the dust.

Starring: Crispin Glover, Sunnyi Mells and Fionnula Flanagan
Directed by: Tallulah Hazekamp Schwab
Rated: NR
Running Time: 94 minutes

Our Score: 2.5 out of 5 Stars

Even knowing this review might lean negative, I thought to myself, “I need to write about “Mr. K.”” For a peek behind the curtain, sometimes I skip reviewing bad films. Why? Because not every debut—or in this case, every film—needs to be the defining highlight of a director’s career. Just ask James Cameron. There’s often value in unpacking what didn’t work, even if you never quite reach an answer. Sometimes, trying to make sense of a creative misfire is rewarding in its own way.

“Mr. K” follows its titular character (Crispin Glover), a traveling magician whose best days are clearly behind him. After performing a show where no one in the audience seems remotely interested, he checks into a once-grand hotel that, much like him, has seen better days. The place feels like a retired athlete being honored at a ceremony moments before being wheeled into a nursing home. What “Mr. K” doesn’t realize—until waking up after what seems like a peaceful night’s rest—is that he might never leave.

The hotel is bizarre. A band plays endlessly in the halls. Veins, literally, pulse beneath the wallpaper. The kitchen staff live and work in an increasingly distraught state of pure squalor. Mr. K seems like the only person not on some sort of hallucinogenic, despite offering no insight or solution to the chaos he stumbles through. The film itself morphs constantly, dipping into themes of capitalism, democracy, social class, cosmic philosophy, and—probably—other things I missed.

So what’s the issue? It’s not that “Mr. K” is bad—it’s that I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re the kind of person who enjoys films that you might end up loathing. I know when I enjoy a “bad” movie, and I also know when I don’t enjoy something that’s probably meant for a niche audience. “Mr. K” isn’t remotely mainstream, and its message might not be meant for me. But what keeps me from disliking it outright is that I want to tune into the frequency of people who admire it.

Glover, for his part, is no stranger to weird. For every mainstream hit he’s been in—”Back to the Future,” “Charlie’s Angels”—he’s also taken swings in oddball projects like “Willard” or “Hot Tub Time Machine.” Watching him play a philosophical, socially detached weirdo just feels…right. So I found myself constantly wondering if there was more beneath the surface.

So what’s the verdict? If I had to answer honestly: hung jury. I could just as easily rate this 1.5 out of 5 or 3.5 out of 5. I swing back and forth between the parts I admired and the parts that deeply frustrated me. Writing about it helped me process it, which sometimes happens when you sit with a film. Sometimes I circle back and say, “Throw this all out.” Other times, “Nailed it.” This time, I’m standing by what I’ve written, even if it reads like an incomplete thought about an incomplete film.

“Mr. K” is frustrating. It asks for patience when it has little of its own. It asks for understanding without offering clarity. It lifts itself up only to contradict what it just said. It’s a journey, and in many ways, it constantly challenges you to reflect on your own. Your own viewpoints. Your own framework for what a story—even a strange one—should be. “Mr. K” is shouting something. The question is: do you want to listen?

Starring: Pedro Pascal, Ben Mendelsohn and Jay Ellis
Directed by: Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck
Rated: R
Running Time: 106 minutes
Lionsgate

Our Score: 4 out 5 Stars

It’s hard not to think about “Pulp Fiction” when watching “Freaky Tales,” a genre-hopping film set in Oakland, California, during the summer of 1987. Both films feature several interwoven stories, a jukebox of killer tracks, stellar performances, and a nostalgic-yet-modern vibe. While “Freaky Tales” isn’t trying to rewrite cinematic history like “Pulp Fiction” did, it’s the kind of wild, eclectic ride that will light up packed theaters and spark conversations as audiences try to figure out how an NBA star, a raspy debt collector, a rap duo, and a punk show that turns into a literal interpretation of “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” are all connected.

Without giving too much away, the film presents four tales—each seemingly from different creative head spaces but all part of the same cinematic DNA. The opening story sets the tone: a group of straight-edge punk rockers decide that non-violence isn’t cutting it when it comes to Neo-Nazis. From there, we meet a rap duo trying to balance their day jobs slinging ice cream to racist cops with preparing for the battle rap of their lives, a debt collector who’s finally chosen family over dirty money, and an NBA star at a pivotal crossroads both on and off the court.

The soundtrack is key—it’s like a mixtape curated by someone with multiple personalities, shifting genres as effortlessly as the stories themselves. Does it all work together? I’d say yes, even if a rewatch would help catch some of the connective tissue I probably missed the first time. Do the stories work individually? Mostly. If there’s a weak link, it’s the rap duo segment—not because it’s bad, but because it lacks the bloody sting or gritty edge that gives the other stories their punch. The comedy is there, but the stakes feel lower.

While Pedro Pascal is the obvious standout—because of course he is—Jay Ellis and Ben Mendelsohn stand out from the background that they gnaw scenery from. Special shoutout to Ji-young Yoo and the late Angus Cloud, both of whom make the most of their limited screen time. The cast across the board taps into the film’s tone, embracing their characters’ quirks while pushing the stories forward. Even the cameos pop with a quirky, subversive energy.

“Freaky Tales” isn’t flawless, but it radiates radical confidence. It doesn’t just tell stories—it plays with them, shifting styles and tones in ways that might confuse some viewers but will absolutely thrill the ones who vibe with its energy. It’s messy, bold, and totally committed to the bit—and that’s what makes it worth watching.

Starring: Tim Connolly, William Hinson, and Emma Nossal
Directed by: Tim Connolly
Rated: NR
Running Time: 109 minutes

Our Score: 3 out of 5 Stars

There’s an overused horror marketing line that always makes me roll my eyes: “Nothing can prepare you…” It’s usually attached to something so terrifying it promises you’ll need a change of pants by the end. But with “Black Theta,” I can confidently say that nothing can prepare you for how damn funny it is.

I say that because the trailer and poster had me expecting another paint-by-numbers slasher. Instead, “Black Theta” goes for the jugular—and the funny bone. Andy (played by director/writer Tim Connolly) attends a trauma support group, one of the few people there with some genuinely horrifying baggage. Years earlier, he narrowly survived an attack by a masked intruder who murdered one of his friends. Now, he and his fellow group members are about to find themselves in another nightmare: a murderous cult has them in its crosshairs.

Beyond its obvious homages, “Black Theta” feels like a queer send-up of horror tropes, packed with sharp one-liners that either made me laugh out loud or left a mile-wide grin on my face. Comedy is notoriously difficult to pull off, especially in indie horror, but the cast here nails it—balancing absurdity with legitimate horror critique in a way that’s effortlessly entertaining.

That said, the movie doesn’t just lean on laughs. The finale delivers the blood-soaked goods with a series of creative and satisfying kills. If I have one big critique, it’s the runtime. At nearly 110 minutes, there’s a noticeable lull between the setup—where characters are introduced and positioned like pawns on a chessboard—and the eventual slaughter. Tightening it up to a sub-90-minute runtime would’ve made the pacing sharper and the film even more effective.

Still, Tim Connolly deserves serious props. He acts, writes, directs, and (from the looks of it) probably ran craft services too. “Black Theta” is a riotous homage to slashers that somehow finds a fresh voice in a genre that’s constantly recycling itself. What’s even more impressive is that Connolly clearly has the chops to go darker, bloodier, or more serious in future projects. And who knows—maybe he already has. After all, “Black Theta” is his third film.

Starring: Kue Lawrence, Kai Cech, and Max Malas
Directed by: Daniel DelPurgatorio
Rated: NR
Running Time: 92 minutes

Our Score: 4 out of 5 Stars

As someone pointed out during the Q&A following the world premiere of “Marshmallow” at Panic Fest 2025, director Daniel DelPurgatorio broke a few unspoken rules with his debut feature: making a horror movie that’s set almost entirely at night at a summer camp and a cast filled with actual kids and preteens. That would be a logistical nightmare for most filmmakers, but DelPurgatorio handles it all with a confidence that feels effortless. More importantly, he makes a clear statement: he’s a visionary horror director worth watching—and worth buying advance tickets for.

Morgan (Kue Lawrence) isn’t thrilled about his first summer camp experience. He already struggles to make friends in his neighborhood, and he’s carrying trauma on two fronts. Before the events of the film, Morgan narrowly escaped death, while his grandfather—the one adult in his life who truly understood him—didn’t. Now, sent off to camp without his emotional anchor, Morgan faces bullies, shaky friendships, a maybe-summer-girlfriend, and a potential killer lurking in the dead of night. But it’s just Morgan’s trauma feeding off an old campfire tale told every year, right?

With a pulsating score, expertly timed jump scares, and a mystery that unravels in clever, unexpected ways, “Marshmallow” quickly reveals itself to be more than just another camp slasher. It’s also a sharp, funny coming-of-age story. Morgan is instantly likeable—you root for him the moment he’s introduced—and when the bullies show up, you want to jump into the screen and defend him yourself. His friend Dirk (Max Malas) nearly steals every scene he’s in. In fact, it’s impressive that in a movie featuring Broken Lizard alum Paul Soter as the camp leader, it’s Malas who ends up with the biggest comedic moments. Malas is like an impressive opening band that suddenly has the headliner re-examining themselves.

Even though most of the cast is made up of kids, the film doesn’t shy away from violence—but it never crosses a line into exploitation. The pain feels real, but not manipulative. The balance is impressive: the scares and stakes hit hard, but so do the emotional beats. As the story builds toward its climax, “Marshmallow” doesn’t lose steam. Instead, it smacks the audience with a series of satisfying, genuinely surprising revelations that deepen the story and make us root even harder for these characters. For that, credit goes to screenwriter Andy Greskoviak.

Honestly, credit goes all around. There are so many horror films where child actors sink the production or where the filmmakers don’t quite know what to do with them. But “Marshmallow” threads that needle with textbook precision. In some ways, “Marshmallow” is a lot like last year’s “In a Violent Nature,” both offer up a fresh take on slasher tropes we know and love, while helping modernize a genre that sometimes feels like it has nothing better to do than live in the 80s.

Starring: Betsy Sligh, Amna Vegha and Erin O’Meara
Directed by: Ehrland Hollingsworth
Rated: NR
Running Time: 77 minutes

Our Score: 3 out of 5 Stars

Why does anyone even babysit anymore? Babysitters have been horror film targets for over five decades, and in 2025, they’re still ripe for terror and mischief. “Dooba Dooba” peels back a new, modern layer of that age-old trope with a found-footage babysitter horror twist that creeps its way under your skin.

As far as I can tell, “Dooba Dooba” might be the first babysitter horror told entirely through found footage. The film captures Amna’s (Amna Vegha) horrific night of babysitting Monroe (Betsy Sligh) via a series of strategically placed cameras throughout the house. Why so many cameras? Because Monroe’s brother was murdered in his bed—just feet away from her—by an unknown intruder when she was younger. The trauma runs deep, and now the family uses the phrase “”Dooba Dooba”” as a safe word. Anyone walking around the house has to say it so Monroe knows they’re a friend, not a threat.

But once the parents leave and the babysitting begins, it’s clear that something is off. Monroe’s mood swings veer from endearing to unsettling. She acts strangely when Amna isn’t in the room, and the sheer number of cameras—some of which feel unnecessarily voyeuristic—adds to the growing sense of unease. The film leans into that discomfort, using the surveillance footage not just as a storytelling tool, but as part of the horror itself.

At a brisk 77 minutes, the movie builds tension smartly, blending glimpses into Amna and Monroe’s psyches with eerie VHS-style visuals. You’ll get clunky middle school PowerPoint presentations on serial killers, jittery archival footage of American politicians, and grainy imagery that recalls the last gasps of a dying tape deck. It evokes the same feeling “Paranormal Activity” did when it first hit—the sense that even though you know it’s fiction, it still feels real. Much of that realism is thanks to Betsy Sligh’s unnerving and excellent performance.

By the time the film ends, you’ll likely be left with questions—and maybe a few holes you’ll want to poke in the plot. But ultimately, there’s something admirable here: a film that proves you don’t need a massive budget, complex effects, or elaborate scares to build dread. With a basic setup, basic equipment, and a deceptively simple idea, “Dooba Dooba” manages to deliver a CCTV-fueled nightmare.

Starring: Fred Hechinger, Abby Quinn and D’Pharoah Woon-A-Tai
Directed By: Finn Wolfhard and Billy Byrk
Rated: R
Running Time: 88 minutes
Neon

Our Score: 3 out of 5 Stars

First-time writer/directors Finn Wolfhard and Billy Bryk (who also star in the film) have a tough task on their hands. In the midst of a slasher renaissance, it’s easy to get lost in the shuffle of much better horror-comedies. While “Hell of a Summer” boasts a fun cast, decent laughs, and all-around good vibes, it doesn’t stand out—especially compared to something like February’s “The Monkey” or the longer list of fantastic horror films screening at Panic Fest 2025.

The story centers on a group of teenage counselors at Camp Pinewa. Jason (Fred Hechinger) isn’t a teen, though—he’s a socially awkward 24-year-old who insists on returning as a counselor, despite the obvious weirdness of wanting to hang around teenagers while making minimum wage. When Jason and the other counselors arrive, the actual adult leaders are nowhere to be found. Rather than question it too much, Jason awkwardly steps into the leadership role while the rest of the cast cracks jokes and rolls their eyes—until a masked killer starts picking them off one by one.

Unfortunately, “Hell of a Summer” doesn’t give its characters much depth beyond standard slasher and teenager stereotypes. Jason has a love interest, but he’s too innocent and lacking in self-confidence to notice. The rest of the counselors deliver just enough personality to keep things moving, but not enough to make us care who lives or dies. Ironically, Wolfhard and Bryk may have written themselves as the film’s most interesting characters. Their Gen Z take on the Simon Pegg/Nick Frost or  Seth Rogen/Evan Goldberg dynamics have some potential—it’s just not given enough to do.

Unlike those classic comedic duos, though, Wolfhard and Bryk don’t quite find any time or any way to elevate the material. There’s a missed opportunity here to deliver a compelling coming-of-age story wrapped in a summer camp massacre. The film is light on gore, plays it safe with its kills, and leans more into comedy than horror. Despite all my nitpicking, the frenetic pace at which the film moves kept me from thinking about all of this until the credits rolled. In that regard, I think Wolfhard and Byrk have highlighted a unique craft that combines a love of slasher with ability to create a comedic ensemble. I’d definitely sign up to watch their next venture.

I can see general audiences enjoying this kind of breezy, horror-lite romp. It might not stick with you, but it could be a gateway for someone to dive into the deeper end of the horror pool. And if “Hell of a Summer” can do that—if it convinces just one viewer to give the genre a real shot—then maybe it’s worth more than the sum of its body count.

Directed by: James P. Gannon and Matt Ferrin
Rated: NR
Running Time: 95 minutes

Our Score: 3 out of 5 Stars

I’ve spent nearly a third of my life living in a small town—about 10,000 people. That’s roughly 4,000 fewer than the population of St. Helens, Oregon, the filming location for the 1998 Disney Channel Original Movie “Halloweentown.” While some small towns, like the one I’m from, quietly move on after the credits roll, St. Helens has fully embraced its connection to the Kimberly J. Brown-led cult classic.

“The Spirit of Halloweentown” explores this local obsession by talking with St. Helens residents who count down the days to September, when they can don new costumes, run haunted houses, or dive headfirst into spooky festivities. The film focuses on several town personalities: a new restaurant owner grappling with outsider status in more ways than one, the self-proclaimed Queen of Halloweentown, a cheerleading squad rehearsing a zombie dance, a hometown ghost-hunting crew, and a woman who believes the month-long celebration is basically an open invitation for Satan himself.

There’s plenty to enjoy here, but the film has a scattershot rhythm. These people rarely interact with one another—at least not on screen—and it’s a bit disjointed considering they all live in the same tight-knit town. And for fans of “Halloweentown,” a heads-up: while the movie gets a lot of love at the beginning, it quickly fades into the background. This isn’t a deep dive into the film’s legacy as much as it is a portrait of a town that’s used its connection to the movie as a launchpad for something much bigger.

I mention my own small-town experience because I recognize the elements that made that part of my life feel unique—even if I’m more of a city person these days. There’s a kind of unspoken kinship among the folks in St. Helens, and a shared belief that the celebration, and even the town’s future, are bigger than any one person.cIt’s not Halloween that binds them—it’s the town itself, and the people who make it what it is.