There are some episodes that you can't just watch and finish. Even after watching, they keep going back and forth in your head for a long time. Episode 10 of Star Trek: Discovery, Season 1, felt exactly like that to me. Even after finishing the episode, I sat quietly for a while. Because there was such an uncomfortable mystery in the whole story that slowly entered my head.

Everything seemed different from the beginning. The atmosphere inside Discovery, everyone's behaviour, their conversations — there was a suppressed tension in everything. No one was directly afraid, but everyone seemed to understand that something was up ahead that was not normal.

I found Michael Burnham very real in this episode. Although he was very strong and confident many times before, here there was a tiredness in his eyes. It seemed that he himself didn't know who to trust and which way to go. In one scene, he is seen observing his surroundings very carefully, and at that moment, I felt like he was trying to understand not only the situation but also his own mind.

Captain Lorca's case seemed even more suspicious in this episode. To be honest, I still don't fully understand the man. Sometimes it seems like he is working for the good of everyone, and at other moments it seems like he has some other motive hidden inside him. The way he speaks is such that it is difficult to understand when he is telling the truth and when he is hiding something.

Saru looked quite restless here. One thing I like about his character is that he always senses danger first. And in this episode, that feeling was even more intense. Many times, it seemed like he was understanding something that others could not yet grasp. His facial expressions felt very natural.

Tilly, as always, brought a slightly different feeling. Even amidst all this pressure, his presence created a light feeling at times. But this time, he didn't seem as cheerful as before. He himself was nervous inside. These small changes made the episode more lively.

What I liked most about this episode was the atmosphere. Even though there wasn't much action, there was a sense of suspense throughout. It felt like something was going to happen. And that anticipation created the real excitement. There are many series that try to force surprises, but here the mystery was built gradually. I personally enjoy this type of story a lot more.

Another thing I noticed was that the lighting and sound were used very beautifully in this episode. Some scenes were so silent that the silence itself was uncomfortable. At other times, the background music was entered in such a way that the scenes seemed even heavier.

The ending made me think the most. Because it felt like Discovery had reached a point where everything could change. And that feeling made me anxious to watch the next episode.

Honestly, this episode wasn't just a sci-fi story for me. It was an experience where you had to slowly enter a fear of the unknown. And that's why Episode 10 seems to me to be one of the most interesting episodes of the series so far.

I'm ending it here today. I'll try to share my feelings about a new episode again. Everyone, be well.

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Hollywood, that self-styled “dream factory”, has always presented itself as the ultimate manifestation of the American Dream: a place where anyone, through a combination of hard work, talent, and luck, can achieve their ambitions. It is a deeply ironic paradox, then, that one of the most authentic realisations of this myth arrived through catastrophic, bewildering failure. Tommy Wiseau, an enigmatic figure of obscure origin and bottomless wealth, ultimately achieved the Hollywood dream, albeit via The Room (2003), a film now universally considered one of the worst ever made. Yet, in a twist that eludes most studio executives, Wiseau’s creation has attained a cult immortality and enduring fascination that most critically acclaimed films can only dream about. James Franco’s 2017 film, The Disaster Artist, sets out to chronicle this bizarre triumph, walking a fine line between celebration and condescension.

The subject of this meta-narrative is, of course, The Room. This 2003 drama—which Wiseau wrote, directed, produced, and starred in—was savaged by critics upon release but gradually became endearing to a new class of cinephiles who embraced its “so bad it’s good” ethos. The phenomenon was documented in a 2010 article by journalist Tom Bissell, who later collaborated with Greg Sestero, Wiseau’s co-star and friend, on the memoir The Disaster Artist: My Life Inside The Room, the Greatest Bad Movie Ever Made. This book detailed the film’s chaotic production and Sestero’s complex relationship with the eccentric auteur, providing the direct source material for Franco’s adaptation.

The film rights were acquired by Seth Rogen’s Point Grey Pictures, with Franco taking on the dual role of director and star, portraying Wiseau himself. His brother, Dave Franco, was cast as the earnest, often bewildered Greg Sestero. This fraternal dynamic proves to be one of the film’s strongest assets. The Disaster Artist opens with a scene of ironic meta-commentary, featuring celebrities like Kristen Bell and Adam Scott playing themselves, praising The Room in mock-serious testimonials. The conventional plot then begins in 1998 San Francisco, where aspiring actor and model Sestero encounters Wiseau in an acting class. Captivated by Wiseau’s bizarre, utterly committed performance of a Stanley Kowalski-esque monologue, Sestero befriends him. Together, they decamp to Los Angeles to pursue acting careers, where Sestero is stunned to discover that Wiseau inexplicably owns a spacious apartment. As auditions dry up and frustration mounts, Wiseau—seemingly unfazed by rejection and armed with a mysterious, endless source of wealth—decides to simply make his own film.

What follows is a painstaking, often hilarious reconstruction of the disastrous production. Franco’s direction is assured, and his performance as Wiseau is a remarkable piece of mimicry. He captures the peculiar cadence, the inscrutable accent, and the childlike, often tyrannical ego of the man. The interplay between the two Francos is excellent; Dave’s portrayal of Sestero as a loyal but increasingly strained friend provides the film’s emotional core, grounding Wiseau’s surreal antics in recognisable human concern. The film genuinely benefits from its positive, almost affectionate attitude towards the creative process. It appreciates the sheer effort and sacrifice involved in making a film, even when the final product is an objective disaster. In this sense, The Disaster Artist is a far more competent and engaging piece of cinema than The Room—though, as the film itself tacitly admits, that is a notably low bar to clear.

However, this very competence highlights the film’s central limitation: its derivative nature. The Disaster Artist is, fundamentally, a professionally made film about an amateurish one. This creates an inherent tension. The production is bolstered by an impressive, star-studded cast including Jackie Weaver, Josh Hutcherson, Alison Brie, and Seth Rogen himself. While these actors are uniformly good, their recognisable faces often wreck the immersion in the reconstructed 2003 production scenes. We are constantly aware that we are watching skilled performers pretending to be bad performers. Franco underscores this meta-textual layering in the end credits, which run side-by-side comparisons of iconic, awkward scenes from The Room with their meticulously recreated 2017 counterparts. The effect is amusing but reinforces the film’s status as a polished derivative work.

This authenticity is a double-edged sword. For viewers unfamiliar with Wiseau’s opus, The Disaster Artist would likely seem bewildering and inconsequential. Its humour and pathos are largely predicated on prior knowledge of the source material’s legendary failings. For those in the know, the film is an entertaining, often touching tribute, but it cannot escape the feeling of being a superior, yet unoriginal, copy. It follows a well-worn biopic template, reminiscent of Tim Burton’s Ed Wood (1994), which treated another “worst director” with similar directorial devotion and sentimental warmth. Burton’s film took a selective, affectionate approach to its subject’s life, focusing on creative passion over failure—a blueprint Franco adopts faithfully.

Franco’s committed performance was recognised with a Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy, a triumph that now feels like a last hurrah. Shortly afterwards, Franco’s career became overshadowed by allegations of sexual misconduct amid the #MeToo movement, a sobering postscript that adds an unintended layer of melancholy to the film’s celebration of single-minded artistic pursuit.

The Disaster Artist is an accomplished, affectionate, and frequently funny film that succeeds in humanising a modern cultural oddity. Yet, it remains constrained by its own premise. It is a slick, Hollywood product about the antithesis of slick, Hollywood product-making, and in its very professionalism, it cannot fully capture the chaotic, transcendent magic of the authentic disaster it seeks to honour.

RATING: 6/10 (++)

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Released in 2005 and directed by David Dobkin, Wedding Crashers arrived at the perfect time for mid-2000s comedy. It had the right mix of outrageous humor, strong chemistry, and just enough heart underneath the insanity to make it more than just another raunchy comedy. It may not sit in the same untouchable category as something like Caddyshack or Animal House, but it absolutely earned its place as one of the funniest mainstream comedies of its era.

Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn lead the film as John Beckwith and Jeremy Grey, two divorce mediators who spend their free time sneaking into weddings for free food, free drinks, and the chance to meet women. It is a ridiculous premise, but the movie fully commits to it and that confidence is a huge part of why it works.

Vince Vaughn is probably the engine of the entire movie. His fast talking, nonstop energy and complete confidence make Jeremy one of those characters who can keep a scene moving just by talking. Vaughn was in his prime in this era, and this role fits him perfectly.

Owen Wilson balances that energy well by playing John with a little more sincerity and charm. He is the one who starts questioning the lifestyle when he falls for Claire, played by Rachel McAdams. Wilson gives the movie enough emotional grounding so it does not just become two hours of jokes without direction.

Rachel McAdams works well as Claire because she does not feel like just a generic romantic lead. She has warmth and intelligence, and her chemistry with Wilson makes the romantic side of the story believable enough to matter.

Christopher Walken as Secretary Cleary adds exactly the kind of strange authority you expect from Christopher Walken. He barely has to do much because his presence alone makes scenes better. Jane Seymour, Isla Fisher, and Bradley Cooper also help create the wonderfully dysfunctional Cleary family dynamic.

Isla Fisher, especially, is hilarious as Gloria. Her completely unhinged obsession with Jeremy gives the film some of its biggest laughs. She steals scenes because she commits so fully to the chaos of the character without holding back.

Director David Dobkin keeps the pacing fast and understands that this kind of comedy works best when it never slows down too much. Even when the plot shifts more toward romance in the second half, the film still keeps enough absurdity alive to stay entertaining.

The humor is broad and sometimes ridiculous, but that is part of the appeal. This is not a subtle comedy trying to win awards for sophistication. It is built around awkward situations, bad decisions, and characters lying their way into disaster.

What makes Wedding Crashers better than weaker comedies of the same era is the chemistry between the cast. Vaughn and Wilson feel like real friends, and that friendship keeps the movie grounded even when the situations get ridiculous.

It also understands timing. Some comedies throw jokes nonstop and hope something lands. Wedding Crashers actually builds scenes and lets awkwardness work for the humor. That is why moments like the dinner scenes with the Cleary family are still so memorable.

The movie also became one of the last big examples of the R-rated studio comedy before Hollywood shifted away from that kind of film. Looking back, it feels like part of a specific era where these movies were allowed to be messy, loud, and unapologetically adult.

No, it is not the most classic comedy ever made, and it probably is not trying to be. It does not have the timeless perfection of something like Airplane! or Ghostbusters. But sometimes that is the wrong standard anyway.

Sometimes a movie just needs to be funny, rewatchable, and genuinely entertaining. Wedding Crashers succeeds there completely. It gives real laughs, memorable performances, and the kind of comedy comfort movie people still throw on years later.

In the end, Wedding Crashers is a really good film because it never overthinks itself. It knows exactly what it is—funny, chaotic, and built for a good time. That honesty is why it still works.

It may not be a perfect comedy classic, but it is pure laughs and fun through and through, and sometimes that is more than enough.

This is a cross post of @gwajnberg/daredevil-born-again-season-2 by @gwajnberg.

My review about Daredevil born again season 2

Breaker of Chains (S4x03)

Airdate: 20 April 2014

Written by: David Benioff & D.B. Weiss Directed by: Alex Graves

Running Time: 56 minutes

Among enthusiasts and scholars of Game of Thrones, few debates inspire such fervent disagreement as the question of precisely when the series "jumped the shark." One of the earliest candidates, and perhaps the most chillingly prophetic, is Breaker of Chains, the third instalment of the fourth series. The reasons for this dubious distinction rest not upon a single scene—a moment of such staggering miscalculation that its reverberations continue to echo through discussions of the series' legacy, foreshadowing the controversial creative decisions that would eventually define its conclusion.

Breaker of Chains arrived in the immediate aftermath of The Lion and the Rose, an instalment that remains among the most universally praised in the series' canon. The Purple Wedding, as it became colloquially known, delivered a therapeutically satisfying dose of karmic retribution as the odious King Joffrey choked and expired before his horrified court. The narrative satisfaction derived from watching pure malevolence receive its just desserts created an atmosphere of near-euphoric goodwill amongst viewers. Consequently, Breaker of Chains bore the unenviable burden of following a masterpiece whilst establishing the dynastic, political, and personal consequences of regicide.

The episode wisely recognises that Joffrey's death, however welcome, precipitates a murder mystery of Byzantine complexity. No true-hearted mourners gather round the late monarch's bier; the boy-king was universally despised, and his obvious death by deliberate poisoning rather than accidental choking transforms virtually the entire court of King's Landing—and indeed significant figures beyond—into credible suspects. The shadowy conspiracy encompasses a deliciously broad spectrum of potential culprits, each bearing plausible motive. Lady Olenna Tyrell sought to protect her granddaughter from a monster; various Lannister rivals harboured long-standing grievances; even covert actors might have orchestrated the assassination for inscrutable purposes of their own. The sole individual beyond suspicion is Cersei Lannister, whose genuine, if smothering, maternal love renders her incapable of wishing harm upon her firstborn. This distinction becomes crucial, for Cersei's grief-fuelled determination to identify and punish the conspirators drives much of the episode's tension.

Amidst this atmosphere of suspicion, even family ties offer no guarantee of innocence. Consider Tywin Lannister, who, whilst his grandson's corpse lies in state, conducts brilliant political education of Joffrey's younger brother and heir, Tommen. Portrayed with understated competence by Dean-Charles Chapman, Tommen receives instruction on the nature of rulership that scarcely conceals Tywin's evident belief that he has inherited an infinitely more suitable candidate—humble, responsible, and responsive where his predecessor was arrogant, impulsive and cruel. Tywin's pragmatism extends to diplomatic overtures delivered with characteristic audacity. Interruption of Prince Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand amid an orgy at King's Landing's brothel demonstrates both his disdain for social niceties and his understanding of power. Despite full awareness that Oberyn possesses both motive (the murder of his sister Elia and her children) and expertise (his legendary knowledge of poisons) for involvement in Joffrey's death, Tywin reframes the encounter as opportunity rather than confrontation. The promise of a meeting with Gregor "The Mountain" Clegane offers the vengeful prince a pathway to justice—cleverly positioning their potential alliance against mutual enemies whilst subtly acknowledging the blood-soaked history between their houses.

The contrast with Tywin's actual son could scarcely be more stark. Tyrion languishes in the Black Cells, his position rendered desperate by the mechanics of Westerosi justice. When Podrick Payne visits bearing news, the gravity of his predicament becomes clear: a three-judge panel comprising his own father Tywin, the obsequious Mace Tyrell, and the very Prince Oberyn, will determine his fate. The composition suggests predetermined outcomes, for Cersei's influence ensures that should she possess decisive authority, both Tyrion and Sansa would already hang for crimes they likely did not commit. Cersei's conviction that Sansa participated in conspiracy alongside her husband reflects maternal grief curdled into paranoid fixation—a tragic irony given Sansa's genuine innocence.

That innocence frames one of the episode's more sinister revelations. Following her miraculous escape from the capital, Sansa boards a ship and encounters her unlikely saviour: Lord Petyr Baelish, whose involvement transforms from coincidence to calculation. Littlefinger's manipulation extends years into the past; Ser Dontos Hollard, the pathetic alcoholic knight who "rescued" Sansa during the chaos, proves merely another pawn in his elaborate machinations. Dontos's brutal execution—shot through the face with crossbow bolts—serves dual purposes: eliminating witnesses whilst demonstrating to Sansa and audience alike that Baelish's involvement with the Purple Wedding conspiracy extends far beyond mere opportunism.

The episode's structure maintains the series' characteristic geographical sprawl, adopting an episodic approach to developments beyond the capital. In the Riverlands, Arya Stark witnesses renewed evidence of the Hound's moral degradation as he betrays the hospitality of a struggling farmer, robbing the man who offered shelter during their desperate journey. At Dragonstone, Stannis Baratheon simmers with frustration that Joffrey's death arrived at the precise moment his campaign lacks resources to exploit it—a logistical crisis that inspires Ser Davos Seaworth toward unorthodox financial solutions. The Northern storyline intensifies as Tormund's wildling war-party attacks an innocent settlement, calculated brutality designed to draw Castle Black's garrison into exposed positions. Meanwhile, Samwell Tarly makes a decision of dubious wisdom, dispatching Gilly and her infant son to Mole's Town's dubious protection as a brothel servant, reasoning that her presence amongst the Night's Watch's celibate brothers invites greater danger. Jon Snow argues urgently for preemptive action against the mutineers holding Craster's Keep, understanding that their capture by wildlings would reveal the Watch's numerical weakness—intelligence that could prove fatal in the coming conflict.

The episode's title, however, belongs to Daenerys Targaryen's narrative, which climaxes with her arrival at the slave city of Meereen. The wealthy slavers dispatch their champion, Oznak zo Pahl, portrayed by Daniel Naprous, whose elaborate taunting outside the city walls proves spectacularly ill-advised. Daario Naharis dispatches the braggart with casual efficiency, clearing the stage for Daenerys's theatrical propaganda coup. Addressing Meereen's enslaved population, her catapults fire not destruction but broken chains—symbolic projectiles raining liberty upon the city's battlements. The sequence demonstrates the Mother of Dragons' growing sophistication in combining military might with political theatre.

Written by showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss and directed by Alex Graves, Breaker of Chains demonstrates considerable technical competence. Multiple storylines receive economical yet effective treatment; Graves permits even brief sequences, such as the wildling massacre, to resonate through disciplined visual storytelling. The episode even accommodates playful intertextuality—Oznak zo Pahl's Low Valyrian insults translate directly from the French knight's absurd taunts in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, a knowing wink at genre-savvy audiences.

Yet these accomplishments crumble against the episode's catastrophic centrepiece. When Jaime Lannister enters the Great Sept to find Cersei mourning their son, the scene that follows transforms from complex emotional excavation into something genuinely disturbing. Requesting privacy from the septons and septas, Jaime confronts his twin amidst the sacred space, and what unfolds defies euphemism. The interaction, depicted as non-consensual—despite deriving from a consensual encounter in George R.R. Martin's source material—constitutes sexual assault.

The fan response was immediate and devastating. Viewers who had invested in Jaime's painstaking redemption arc—the gradual transformation from child-murdering villain into honourable, if wounded, protagonist—felt betrayed by this apparently arbitrary regression. Critics decried the depiction as "shock for shock's sake," a cynical attempt to outdo the Purple Wedding's emotional impact through gratuitous brutality. The controversy metastasised through contradictory statements from Martin, Benioff, Weiss, and Graves, whose varying interpretations—ranging from "it becomes consensual" to "it's complicated"—only amplified the perception that the scene had been carelessly conceived.

This single misstep stained the episode indelibly, offering the first genuine taste of Game of Thrones making serious narrative errors—the progenitor of controversial decisions that would eventually culminate in the widely derided series finale. Breaker of Chains, for all its competent plotting and occasional brilliance, thus occupies a peculiar place in television history: a technically proficient instalment remembered primarily for the moment when creative judgment failed catastrophically.

RATING: 6/10 (++)

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History of an Injustice

The Lion and the Rose (S4x02)

Airdate: 13 April 2014

Written by: George R. R. Martin Directed by: Alex Graves

Running Time: 52 minutes

By the conclusion of its third season, Game of Thrones had cemented a grim reputation. For the majority of its audience—at least those unacquainted with George R.R. Martin’s source novels—the horrific climax of The Rains of Castamere delivered a brutal, paradigm-shifting realisation. The fictional world they had invested in was not one where valour and honour were rewarded, but a stark, unforgiving landscape where the machinations of the wicked often triumphed, and where noble intentions led directly to bloodshed, destruction, and tragedy. The Red Wedding was not merely a plot point; it was a statement of intent, leaving viewers in a state of shock and narrative despair. Aware, perhaps, that even this bleak universe requires some semblance of balance, the series offered a minor, almost teasing taste of karmic justice in the final scene of the Season 4 premiere, Two Swords, with Arya reclaiming her sword and dispatching a tormentor. Yet, few could have anticipated that the pendulum of fortune would swing back with such spectacular, cathartic force in the very next episode. “The Lion and the Rose,” written by Martin himself and directed by Alex Graves, delivers not just a pivotal moment, but one of the series’ most audacious and satisfying narrative corrections.

True to the established Game of Thrones formula, the episode weaves between its far-flung settings, though its architecture is notably lopsised. The narrative centre of gravity lies firmly, and purposefully, in King’s Landing. The other threads feel largely illustrative, serving as tonal counterpoints or necessary plot maintenance rather than driving the story forward with great momentum. Beyond the Wall, Bran Stark’s quest continues, with Jojen Reed’s warning about the dangers of warging—that Bran might “lose himself”—adding a layer of mystical foreboding to their northward trek.

The scenes in the Dreadfort and at Dragonstone are exercises in reinforcing established character traits and themes. At the Dreadfort, Ramsay Snow’s depravity is once again showcased through the grotesque “hunt” of a peasant girl Tansy (Jazzy de Lisser), a sport he shares with the equally cruel Myranda. The sequence is visceral and unsettling, yet its primary function seems to be reminding the audience of Ramsay’s nature before he is forced into a rare moment of justification. His explanation to his father, Roose Bolton, for having tortured and castrated Theon Greyjoy—thereby destroying a valuable bargaining chip against the Ironborn—is a cold lesson in realpolitik meeting sadistic overreach. It underscores the Bolton pragmatism, but feels like a footnote compared to the main event. Similarly, at Dragonstone, Melisandre’s relentless campaign against the Faith of the Seven proceeds with the burning of Axell Florent (James McHale), a moment that further establishes Stannis’s court as a place of fanatical, unforgiving zeal. The drama here is theological and grim, yet it lacks the transformative power of the episode’s centrepiece.

That centrepiece is, of course, the long-awaited wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon to Margaery Tyrell. Before the infamous feast, however, the episode takes time to lay poignant emotional groundwork in the capital. Tyrion Lannister’s heartbreaking decision to send Shae away, a manoeuvre designed to save her from Tywin’s and Cersei’s murderous wrath, is a great example in tragic irony. Peter Dinklage portrays Tyrion’s anguish with devastating subtlety, a man wounding himself to protect another, only to set in motion a chain of events that will doom them both. His parallel arrangement for Bronn to secretly train Jaime in one-handed combat is a smaller, brotherly act of loyalty that highlights the few genuine connections in the viper’s nest of King’s Landing.

All this is but a prelude to the wedding spectacle itself. The ceremony and subsequent feast are a riot of colour, music, and ostentatious pageantry, a deliberate contrast to the dark, claustrophobic atmosphere of the Twins in the previous season’s massacre. The celebration, however, is laced with Joffrey’s unique brand of cruelty. The crude dwarf performance re-enacting the War of the Five Kings is followed by public humiliation of Tyrion, and Joffrey seizes the opportunity to torment his uncle with vicious glee. Jack Gleeson’s performance remains a marvel of loathsome precision; every smirk and sneer reinforces Joffrey’s status as perhaps the most universally despised character in contemporary popular culture. Which makes what follows so profoundly cathartic. His sudden choking, the frantic gasps, the desperate clawing at his throat—it is a shocking, visceral end. He dies in his mother’s arms, but not before a final, accusatory finger is pointed at the horrified Tyrion. In the ensuing chaos, Cersei’s grief instantly curdles into vengeful fury, and her order to seize her brother sets the stage for the season’s central trial. Sansa Stark, aided by the seemingly foolish Ser Dontos Hollard, seizes the moment to slip away, her escape a minor victory amidst the tumult.

Joffrey’s death was an event most fans anticipated and overwhelmingly desired, yet its timing was a shock. Few expected the narrative to remove its primary human antagonist so early in the season, reserving such a “wham” moment for what is typically a setup episode. This development completely upends the dynastic and geopolitical order of Westeros. The ruling Lannister-Tyrell alliance is instantly poisoned with suspicion, plunging the royal family into a fratricidal chaos that will define the season. Moreover, it creates a compelling murder mystery—the “who” and “how” of the Purple Wedding—that would not be fully resolved for years, both within the show and in the books.

The event also represents a curious form of karmic retribution for the Red Wedding. The Rains of Castamere was a seismic television event that permanently removed characters perceived as the series’ bedrock” leaving an audience in a state of narrative trauma. In The Lion and the Rose, the show offers a perverse balance. Unlike the betrayal in a dark, austere setting, here, the retribution arrives in a sun-drenched garden, during a genuinely joyous celebration. The parallels are striking—a wedding, a sudden massacre—but the differences are everything. One was a brutal, calculated extermination of the ostensibly heroic faction; the other is the almost divine-comeuppance of the archetypal villain. Lady Olenna Tyrell’s earlier consolation to Sansa, expressing outrage over “killing a man at a wedding,” becomes a piece of brilliant, grim foreshadowing, highlighting the show’s cyclical nature.

The episode’s impact extends beyond the fiction. For actor Jack Gleeson, whose performance was so chillingly convincing that it blurred the line between character and actor for many viewers, Joffrey’s demise offered a form of release. Gleeson would step away from screen acting for six years, a hiatus perhaps influenced by the intense, unwanted scrutiny his role attracted. His departure passed the mantle of the series’ most despised villain to Iwan Rheon’s Ramsay, a transition this episode subtly facilitates by giving Ramsay a showcase scene.

Directed with assured confidence by Alex Graves, The Lion and the Rose is a masterful piece of television. It understands the need for light amidst the unrelenting shade, delivering a moment of visceral satisfaction without betraying the series’ core ethos of consequence. It is not a return to simplistic heroism, but a recalibration, a reminder that in this world, while doing the right thing may lead to tragedy, unbridled wickedness can also, occasionally, meet a spectacularly abrupt end. The episode stands as the necessary, glorious counterpoint to the darkness of The Rains of Castamere.

RATING: 8/10 (+++)

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After re-watching Alien and Aliens in the past week as well as a 5 hour documentary about Aliens, we could successfully say that I have had a rather full week of Alien oriented stuff. The logical step is for me to move on to Alien 3, which is a movie that has received very harsh criticism over the years and a lot of it isn't really deserved. In fact, a great deal of the criticism that is mostly negative isn't even true. People just didn't like it as much as the much-beloved Aliens and just went wild with speculation.

[src](https://lumiere-a.akamaihd.net/v1/images/aiien3_584x800_ka_0c7ddb99.jpeg?region=0%2C0%2C584%2C800)

The first thing we need to take note of here is that no matter what they did, they were not going to be able to one-up Aliens. The success of that film was just unreal and like Eminem said in one of his songs "I'm not gonna be able to top where my name is." Alien 3 was in the same situation.

Most people didn't like the fact that the story took place like it did. We went and killed off "Newt" off-screen and then thrust Ridley down to a planet and many people thought this was just absurd. If you know anything about space you know that the chances of you being near anything in space is extremely small, let along a planet that has people and atmosphere. The chances of your spaceship having a fire and emergency space capsule release right at that precise moment that the craft just happens to be there is ridiculously low, even for a fictional sci-fi movie.

But whatever right? They needed to get Ripley on the ground and around a colony that just happens to have a mostly unarmed group of people in order to have a story. They didn't want another "space marine" film and it is easy to understand why. They had already done that as well as it could possibly be done.

The story isn't terrible here but a lot of people pick on it anyway. I think the story, once we get past the very convenient off-screen elimination of Newt and the fact that we ended up on this planet in a one-in-a-hundred-trillion chance encounter with a habitated planet, that the story is actually pretty good.

But then we start to get into the Alien, which they HAD to do in a somewhat innovative way, and the criticism of the execution in the end, just runs off the rails with people accusing them of using bad CGI.

The thing is, almost none of this was actually CGI as it turns out. It was actually a team of puppeteers working with a miniature model and that is probably a good thing. I will agree that it kind of looks hokey in a lot of places but this could very well be lighting decisions rather than the puppetry. For me, I think they made a mistake by keeping the shot on the Xenomorph for so long rather than just having "jump shots" of it every now and then. They were pushing the envelope because that is what films do, you have to do something new and a lot of this technology was invented specifically for this one film.

[src](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/51b3dc8ee4b051b96ceb10de/3391cc0d-0bee-4c5d-9f97-2aa7ef714bc8/vfx-artists-react-to-alien-3-et-hellboy-ms-marvel-and-breaking-bad.jpg) _{this was not good.... everyone will admit that... it was pretty special at the time though}

A bit later Jurassic Park would be released and people will universally contest that JP was done much much better than Alien 3 was.

There are actually very few scenes in this entire film that utilized full CGI. One of which was the infant Xenomorph emerging from an Ox and this was only done because the practical effects of this sequence were never completed and just like you would expect, films run on time-frames and a lot of pressure from studio execs. There is also a full CGI scene that is widely criticized but that scene is only about 1-second long.

Shadows were CGI and some debris was CGI, but almost every scene that you see of the Xenomorph running around is a very elaborate puppet that is being manned by a team of puppeteers who honestly when you look at it this way, did an outstanding job.

In later films we would see the CGI improved but fans were not happy then either. By the time the modern films were released I would say that they truly mastered it, but at that point the world was mostly kind of tired of the Alien franchise. Their most recent movie and the TV series, were kind of pushed to the side because certain modern social issues were injected into the story and well, most people really don't like that.

I feel as though Alien 3 got thrashed by critics back then because, the previous film had established something that couldn't possibly be one-upped. They tried anyway though and made a bunch of money which is honestly, what film-making is all about anyway. All of the following films also made money, I think.

Other than the honestly, truly awful TV series, I think that the Alien franchise is one of the best in history and "3" was always going to get ripped apart, no matter what they did. You can't create a crew of characters as beloved as they managed in Aliens and have anything other than that happen.

But if you ever see someone say that "the CGI in Alien 3 was awful", just know that there was almost zero of it despite the fact that they had the capabilities at the time.

Hello, anime fans. Today I’m bringing you another little-known anime that aired late last year and managed to entertain me just a little bit. It’s a somewhat quirky mix of comedy with supernatural elements and a touch of teen romance. A gem for those looking for something laid-back, simple, and fun. Based on the manga series of the same name written and illustrated by Kyōsuke Nishiki, Li'l Miss Vampire Can't Suck Right is an animated adaptation produced by the studio Feel. Check out the anime about the young vampire who doesn't know how to bite.

Hola, fanáticos del anime. El día de hoy les traigo otro anime poco conocido que se emitió a finales del año pasado y que me llegó a entretener tan solo un poco. Es una mezcla un tanto peculiar de comedia con elementos sobrenaturales y algo de romance adolescente. Una joya para los que buscan ver algo tranquilo, sencillo y divertido. Basada en la serie de manga homónima escrita e ilustrada por Kyōsuke Nishiki, Li'l Miss Vampire Can't Suck Right es una adaptación animada producida por el estudio Feel. Conoce el anime de la joven vampira que no sabe morder.

Source: FilmAffinity.

Plot

The anime begins by introducing us to a modern world where humanity lives in harmony with supernatural beings, such as vampires. At a high school attended by students of all races, there is a young girl who has become very popular because she is a vampire with a cold and mysterious personality. Her name is Luna Ishikawa, and one of her classmates, the quietest and most antisocial boy in the class, Tatsuta Ōtori, introduces her to us in his monologue. However, one day, Ōtori discovers that Ishikawa doesn’t know how to bite or suck blood like other vampires do.

Trama

El anime inicia mostrándonos un mundo moderno donde la humanidad convive en armonía con seres sobrenaturales como lo son los vampiros, por ejemplo. En una escuela secundaria donde asisten todo tipo de razas existe una joven estudiante que se ha vuelto muy popular debido a que es una vampira con una personalidad fría y misteriosa. Ella se llama Luna Ishikawa y uno de sus compañeros, el chico más callado y asocial del salón, Tatsuta Ōtori, nos la presenta en su monólogo. Sin embargo, un día, Ōtori descubre que Ishikawa no sabe morder ni chupar sangre como lo hacen los demás vampiros.

Trailer & Review

Here's the trailer for the anime:

By: Crunchyroll

All the best.

By: Nattosheru.

Posted Using INLEO