I recently watched a movie called Leonie. I love romantic movies, and this one seemed perfect for a weekend watch. I was especially pleased to learn that it's based on a true story.

But let me tell you, it wasn't just watching a movie; it was seeing my own reflection in the mirror because I felt so much like myself in it. The film tells the story of Leonie Gilmour, an American educator who, at the beginning of the 20th century, fell deeply in love with the Japanese poet Yone Noguchi. As a teacher, I share her vocation, and as a woman, I shared her same dream: to give a love I believed would last forever, a bond for life.

Leonie fought, crossed oceans both physically and emotionally, and risked everything for a man who ultimately proved incapable of valuing her. I, too, suffered, tried everything, and battled tirelessly to hold onto a dream. In the film, Leonie faces betrayal and loneliness in a foreign country, becoming a single mother to a son (the future sculptor Isamu Noguchi) and later to a daughter. Her breaking point is mine: the exact moment you realize that love isn't begged for and dignity isn't negotiable.

When Leonie understands that Yone will never give her the place she deserves, she makes the bravest decision: she prioritizes herself and her children. Like her, I had to value myself, release the pain, and let go. I reclaimed my dignity and decided to move forward with my children, striving to offer them a better life and raising them with authenticity.

The film teaches us that what's over is over. Today I understand, just like the protagonist, that it's infinitely better to inhabit the peace of solitude than to wither away in a life of bitterness searching for love where it doesn't exist. Leonie didn't remain in the shadow of a bad love; she used her pain as a chisel to forge a bright future for her family. I, too, chose to bloom.

source

Thanks for reading.

I used Google Translate.

Rating: 100/100

Last night I had the chance to watch Michael (2026) although I was not in the mood for a biopic that for the most part I know is going to be drama and music, I wanted something more dark and with action, for some reason I landed on a clip about A Quiet Place the third movie so decided why not watch all three, one very night. The movie is not complicated at all and for some might be boring due to the lack of dialogue but just think about it how hard this must be for both the director and the cast to really bring this characters to live if they can not talk. The cast got John Krasinski from The Office directed and starred in this thing alongside his real life wife Emily Blunt and the whole concept is that this family is stuck in a world where blind alien creatures hunt entirely by sound, meaning you make any noise and you are immediately dead. Sounds like a cool setup and I love how much detail they put into this first movie, specially how the aliens get to listen so well, those close ups to their ears are sick, but at the same time its a very simple one that might work for maybe a short or a TV episode but a full movie where characters cannot talk for ninety minutes, come on, how do you sustain that without it getting boring or falling apart. I was expecting a decent enough horror movie that would hold my attention and then disappear from my memory two days later and instead you get a movie that might mess you up for the entire night because its really tense, its not about the monsters been terrifying but its the fact that you cant make a sound, not because of jump scares or gross creature effects but because of how much the whole thing makes you feel like you are watching a real family try to survive something completely impossible without losing each other in the process.

• IMDB: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt6644200/
• Platform: PRIME VIDEO

What works in A Quiet Place is not really about the monsters at all, the creatures are terrifying sure and the design on them with that face that opens up like a flower of death is creepy, it almost look like they were taking their skin off, but the real engine running this whole movie is Emily Blunt and John Krasinski and the two kids, Millicent Simmonds as Regan and Noah Jupe as Marcus, because these four people feel like an actual family under pressure in a way that most horror movies never manage to pull off. Blunt in particular is on another level here, the bathtub scene alone where she has to give birth and stay completely silent while a creature is right there in the house with her, that scene had me gripping the arm of my chair even after I have seen the movie more than once, something very few movies accomplish and apparently she shot that entire sequence in one take which tracks because it felt absolutely real and raw and close to unwatchable but in a good way, wasnt gory it was the tension. Simmonds is deaf in real life and you can feel the weight of that in how she carries herself during the whole movie, there is this guilt on Regan about something that happened to her family early on and watching her walk around with all of that on her shoulders while also being the kid who cannot hear the danger coming gives the character this very specific kind of tragedy that a hearing actress just would not have been able to bring to the role. The fact that the family communicates entirely in sign language during the movie means you are constantly watching faces and hands and body language instead of just listening to dialogue and it creates this weird intimacy with these characters that you just dont get on other movies, its hard to build all characters during a single movie and this time they did, aside from the fact that there was one other human aside form the family during the entire movie, you feel like you know these people after ninety minutes even though you barely heard any of them speak out loud.

The silence as a tool is something that almost never gets used this effectively in mainstream horror and the atmosphere of the movie makes every quiet moment feel loaded with something about to go wrong, the camera holds on small details like a nail sticking out of a step or a patch of sand on the ground near a path and each of those visual clues does more work than a hundred horror movie jump scares combined could do, with this it creates this sense of danger, I was constantly watching for what they could step into or knock off that might create a sound, I remember the paint on at he house floor almost like signaling where to step so the wood floor doesnt make much noise. The sound design alone is some of the best in any horror movie this decade, the whole thing is engineered so that every tiny creak or scrape registers as a threat even when nothing is happening yet and the background sounds did such a great job for every tense moment, I also notice that there is almost zero happy moment during this movie because every other is interrupted by the posibility of loud sounds. There is also something about how the movie forces you to watch it with more focus than usual because when a movie is this quiet you end up leaning in instead of sitting back and then when something does finally break that silence it hits way harder than it would in a regular horror movie where every other scene is already at full volume.

The problem with A Quiet Place is that once you pull back from the emotional stuff and start thinking logically about the world they are living in, there are moments that took out too much of credibility and reason. The grain silo sequence where kids are sinking into corn like quicksand bothered me and I was right about it because when I looked it up that is not really how grain behaves unless it is being actively pulled out from the bottom, specially why didnt they sink when they got under the metal door when the monster jumps in?, the movie needed a tense scene and they made the mistake to let the imagination fly instead of staying on facts. There are also some decisions the family makes that feel more like plot convenience than actual survival instinct, like why would you have a baby in a world where any noise gets you killed immediately and take in consideration the kid they loose during the begining was like what? 10 at most?. I get that the movie weaponise the fact they having a new born to get the tension to the roof at some point, it was literally a time bomb, and during the movie they do address this but the answer it gives feels less like a thought out plan and more like the writer needed the birth scene to happen so they made it happen, yeah they got everything plan out like its safe and considering they already got a wooden box and oxygen ready made me feel like this was not their first time. The pacing in the middle section also dips a bit where you are just waiting for the pieces to connect and the tension tame down a big just slightly before picking back up for the finale, it is not a huge thing but you can feel it. Krasinski made this on a seventeen million dollar budget, which is nothing by Hollywood standards and it went on to make three hundred and forty one million dollars worldwide and makes sense because the movie is basically universal, it does not need a language because half of it has no dialogue.

At the end of the day A Quiet Place is the kind of horror movie that reminds you why the genre can actually be great when someone cares enough to use it for something beyond cheap scares and gets creative enough with the most basic things like sound, silence. Krasinski took a concept about grief and communication and what parents will sacrifice for their children and wrapped it inside a creature feature and somehow both things work at the same time without canceling each other out. I read that Michael Bay was one of the producers on this movie behind his Platinum Dunes company, the same one behind remakes of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Friday the 13th that nobody was exactly begging for. This does not feel much like those movies, because Krasinski came in with such a specific vision that his style completely set the bar very high compare to this other movies Michael Bay try to reboot so hard. Compare this to something like the Annabelle movies that were riding the same wave of real world couple chemistry and family under threat and A Quiet Place absolutely destroys them in terms of craft and emotional payoff, and when I say craft Im not refering to effects but its through character build up that makes you care for this family. I bet Emily Blunt should have been consider for a couple of awards that year but back in the day I was not into movies that much, this hobbie came to me during the Pandemic. My only actual complain about the movie are the logic holes that for sure will bother you if you think about them too hard but the emotional punches hit every single time and makes you forget about it just laugh at it like they really did that. I will give A Quiet Place a 7.5 out of 10, it could be a solid 8 but I felt it was just too short but at the same time they had to because this was not a movie that could last too long, specially consider how hard it starts and the huge cliffhanger at the end, a rare case where a high concept horror movie actually lives up to the potential of its idea, I totally recommend it, tonight I'll watch the part II.

#aquietplace , #franchise , #horror , #movie , #review , #emilyblunt , #alien , #listen , #givingbirth , #monster , #woods , #horrormovie , #drama , #countryside , #horrormovie , #scifi , #invasion , #worldwide

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Of all the wars the United States has fought throughout the quarter millennia of its existence, the war in Afghanistan stands as the longest. As such, it was inevitable that, despite being overshadowed by the much more spectacular and politically charged Iraq War, it would become the subject of Hollywood films. Yet their numbers remain relatively small and, somewhat surprisingly, they tend to deal with real-life incidents with a docudrama fidelity. One such example is The Outpost, the 2019 war film directed by Rod Lurie. A film that arrived with little fanfare and was subsequently dealt a cruel hand by history, it remains a stark, compelling, and technically proficient examination of a single, brutal battle that encapsulates the futility of the wider campaign.

The film is based on Jake Tapper’s 2012 non-fiction book The Outpost: An Untold Story of American Valor, which reconstructs the 2009 Battle of Kamdesh. Lurie’s adaptation focuses on Combat Outpost Keating, a remote US Army base established in 2006 in the mountainous Nuristan province. The strategic aim—to foster local cooperation and interdict insurgent supply lines from Pakistan—is presented as almost immediately absurd. The plot begins with the arrival of Staff Sergeant Clint Romesha (Scott Eastwood) and a group of replacements. Their first sight of the outpost, nestled in a valley bowl surrounded by steep, towering mountains, confirms the tactical nightmare: it is, in military parlance, a “sitting duck.” The base is regularly harassed by Taliban snipers, dismissed as “incoming” by the seasoned troops. Yet the warning from an embedded Afghan National Army officer, Mohammad (Sharif Dorani), that a major, coordinated attack is inevitable, hangs ominously in the thin air.

Lurie and screenwriters Paul Tamasy and Eric Johnson devote the film’s first two-thirds to a slow, deliberate build-up, establishing the grinding difficulty of life at the outpost. The garrison suffers not only from enemy contact but from the treacherous environment itself. Commander Captain Benjamin Keating (Orlando Bloom) is killed in a vehicle accident on a precipitous mountain road. His replacement, Captain Robert Yllescas (Milo Gibson), is later killed by an IED. The next commander, Captain Melvin Broward (Kwame Patterson), adopts a cautious, bureaucratic approach that frustrates his men, who are eager for more aggressive action. The dramatic irony is thickly layered: in the spring of 2009, Broward informs the men that COP Keating is to be closed, a tacit admission of its indefensibility. However, the evacuation is postponed due to the Afghan elections. Broward departs before the final pull-out, leaving Lieutenant Andrew Bundermann (Taylor John Smith) in command when, on 3 October 2009, hundreds of insurgents launch the well-planned, multi-pronged assault the audience has been dreading.

In its narrative approach, The Outpost shares a key philosophical kinship with the famed 2010 documentary Restrepo, its unvarnished, apolitical testament and raw, vérité style devoid of narration, score, or contextualising interviews. Similarly, Lurie’s film rigorously avoids imposing a broader political or strategic context upon the events. We see the war solely from the ground-level perspective of the servicemen, for whom grand geopolitical objectives are irrelevant abstractions. Their world is defined by the immediate mission, the bond with their comrades, and the daily struggle for survival. This narrow focus allows the film to sidestep both jingoistic celebration of American military prowess and knee-jerk anti-war lamentation. The soldiers are neither unthinking heroes nor tragic pawns; they are professionals trying to execute a flawed mission to the best of their ability. Efforts at winning “hearts and minds,” exemplified by Keating’s attempts to engage with locals, are shown to be futile—the resources provided fuel corruption, and the Americans are seen as just the latest transient occupiers in Afghanistan’s long, bloody history.

On a technical level, The Outpost is exceptionally well-crafted, especially considering its relatively modest budget. The decision to spend so much time on character and situation before the battle pays significant dividends. We come to know a large ensemble—some of whom will survive, many of whom will not—not as archetypes but as individuals. When the assault finally erupts in the final act, the payoff is visceral and emotionally charged. The battle sequences are directed with a harrowing, cinéma vérité intensity. Cinematographer Lorenzo Senatore employs long, handheld shots that plunge the viewer into the heart of the mayhem, creating a sense of chaotic, claustrophobic immersion. The violence is realistic and brutal, though the level of explicit gore is relatively subdued, focusing more on the frantic chaos of combat than on splatter.

This commitment to realism is a hallmark of the production and can be attributed to several factors. Director Rod Lurie is one of the few Hollywood filmmakers with a direct military background, being a West Point graduate. This informs the film’s authentic feel for military procedure and hierarchy. The Bulgarian mountain locations credibly stand in for the Hindu Kush, providing the necessary imposing topography. Most significantly, the production strove for authenticity by involving actual participants of the battle. Several veterans appear in cameo roles, and perhaps most notably, Specialist Daniel Rodriguez, who was awarded the Silver Star for his actions at Kamdesh, plays himself. This lends the proceedings an undeniable gravity.

The cast, largely composed of relative unknowns, is uniformly solid. Orlando Bloom, the film’s biggest star, is removed from the picture early on, a narrative choice that reinforces the unpredictability of the warzone. The ensemble is notably populated by descendants of Hollywood royalty: Scott Eastwood (son of Clint), Milo Gibson (son of Mel), and Will Attenborough (grandson of Richard). While this is a curious piece of trivia, the actors largely succeed in being judged on their own merits, with Eastwood in particular delivering a stoic, compelling performance as the competent and resilient Romesha.

Historically, The Outpost was dealt a devastatingly poor hand. After a November 2019 premiere at the Thessaloniki Film Festival, its planned theatrical run was utterly wrecked by the COVID-19 pandemic and subsequent global lockdowns. Furthermore, the ignominious end of the war in Afghanistan in 2021, with the chaotic withdrawal from Kabul, created a cultural desire in the West to forget the entire twenty-year campaign. This collective amnesia has rendered The Outpost strangely obscure, a well-made film about a significant battle that has largely slipped through the cracks of public consciousness.

This obscurity is a profound pity. For The Outpost is, despite the lack of an epilogue that would make its events seem bitterly ironic (the outpost was abandoned, and later destroyed by US air strikes after the evacuation), a very good war film. It succeeds precisely because it pares the genre down to its basics: men in an impossible situation, fighting for their lives and for each other. In this, it can be usefully contrasted with other Afghanistan war films like Peter Berg’s Lone Survivor (2013). This film’s finale is a missed opportunity where the facts descend into rather unconvincing (and unhistorical) gun battle concluding it was only marginally better than many other Hollywood films. The Outpost avoids such melodramatic compromise. Its power derives from its sober adherence to the facts, its unflinching gaze at tactical folly, and its profound respect for the soldiers who endured it. It may not offer easy answers or patriotic catharsis, but as a stark, authentic, and superbly executed portrait of modern combat, it deserves to be remembered far more than it currently is.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

==

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I Don't Like It In Here.

Backrooms appears to be one of a few films that have been responsible for breaking the internet recently, and punctuating a new state of affairs in which big production studios no longer seem to be necessary for artistic visions to see the light of day. The film is a psychological vision quest of a thriller that focuses on a disgruntled furniture store manager named Clark.

Kicked out of his own home for a drinking problem that remedies his frustration and resentment for not pursuing a career as a respected architect, Clark looks to battle his demons with the help of a successful psychologist named Mary. Here we are presented with the typical, self-assured shrink who adorns insufferable self-help books and lends her soothing voice to promotional materials that promise the unlocking of fresh new avenues for us sufferers of life.

Yet, Clark's dissatisfaction with the hand that he's been dealt is put on the back burner when he discovers a mysterious crack of light through a wall in the basement of his furniture store. He enters this newfound doorway, not like Lucy discovering Narnia, but rather like the kids of Hogwarts passing through Platform 9 and 3/4.

Alice, Meet Rabbit Hole

Clarks comes to find that this invisible doorway leads to a vast abandoned office space consisting of various rooms, endless hallways, corridors, stairwells, and storerooms. Each new room has the air of a modern art installation, providing always new entry points which present new pathways that both extend and yet also always connect to new and previously visited rooms. In exploring this vast labyrinth, Clark simultaneously, and metaphorically, explores the avenues of his mind, which is precisely what I believe the Backrooms serve to represent. In both exploring and attempting to explain this area, and by extension, his mind, Clark comes to demonstrate the parameters of the so-called impossible profession of psychoanalysis.

All of this is expressed very precisely in a key scene in which Clark kidnaps Mary in an attempt to explain the bizarre area they find themselves in. However, in his words, attempting to explain the Backrooms (one's mind) is like trying to explain what a dog is like to someone who has no experience of one, and then expecting them to explain it to someone else. What this leads to is a key omission from Mary: she cannot help/fix Clark, or anyone for that matter. This realisation speaks to the curious nature of the human mind, our unique lived experience, and the limitations of our language to express it. I wouldn't for one moment be surprised if one of the creators of this film happened to be well-versed in Lacanian psychoanalysis, the backrooms providing the known, and yet suggesting the unknown, thus presenting middle possibilities that hint at the Real.

Even the main actors in this drama serve as Jungian archetypes in a certain way, with each presenting their experiences and interpretations with domain-specific signifiers. Clark is the architect/merchant, capable of establishing an understanding of structures and layouts with his particular lens in a bid to find patterns and thus produce understanding. Mary, as the psychologist, enters at a different point through an analysis of language and behaviour. Whilst the scientist completes the trinity through empirical data, which hopes to synthesise everything. And while this presents a hierarchy, they are all equal in their ignorance and their inability to reconcile their respective set of signifiers to arrive at a common understanding. These, I claim, are the backrooms that are continuously created through our relational networks. Endless networks, indeed.

Get Me Out...

Keeping with the tone and general themes of this offering, Backrooms is a film that needs to be experienced rather than explained. It's a film that takes the more subtle approach to scaring the audience, letting the empty corridors and rooms do the heavy lifting, with ambient music that gradually builds tension and intrigue around every corner, matched only by deafening silences that tease with the possibility of terror. The 90's aesthetic also lends to the overall disturbing look and feel of the film, those unsightly, dull carpets, old-style furniture, and paint jobs amplifying the sense of decay, mystery, and madness. This is indeed a creepy offering that shows that less is more, and yet also that more is less. The audience may be right to feel confused, but through this film, we gain an interesting perspective on ourselves, or rather, the mysterious workings of the backrooms, which are our minds. I need a nap.

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Hello, Hive community. I hope you’re having a great day. First of all, I have to start this post with a huge apology. A long time ago, I promised I’d share my thoughts on this movie, and for one reason or another, I kept putting it off. But a promise is a promise, and I don’t like to let people down, so here I am, finally keeping my word! Today I want to talk about a movie that marked a turning point in pop culture for an entire generation: High School Musical 3: Senior Year. I know that for many, the first installment is the nostalgic one and the second is the summer icon, but I’m going to be completely honest with you: the third is, by far, my favorite of the entire trilogy.

Hola, comunidad de Hive. Espero que estén teniendo un gran día. ​Primero que todo, tengo que empezar este post con una disculpa gigante. Hace muchísimo tiempo les prometí que les traería mi opinión sobre esta película y, por una u otra razón, lo fui posponiendo. Pero como lo prometido es deuda y a mí no me gusta quedar mal, ¡aquí estoy finalmente cumpliendo mi palabra! Hoy quiero hablar de una película que marcó un antes y un después en la cultura pop de toda una generación: High School Musical 3: Senior Year. ​Sé que para muchos la primera entrega es la nostálgica y la segunda es el ícono del verano, pero les voy a ser completamente honesta: la tercera es, por mucho, mi favorita de toda la trilogía.

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The shift from television to the big screen is evident from the very first second. The production, the scale of the musical numbers, the cinematography, and the energy are on another level. But beyond the visual spectacle, what really draws me in about this movie is the character development. In High School Musical 3, it’s obvious from a mile away that the characters have grown up. We’re no longer dealing with the typical teenage hallway dramas or summer vacation jealousy; here, the kids at East High face real dilemmas that anyone can relate to: fear of the future, the pressure of choosing a college major, the inevitable distance from friends, and the transition into adulthood. Troy, Gabriella, Sharpay, Ryan, Chad, and Taylor show tremendous maturity in their decisions. Each one shines in their own right, and you can feel that their personalities have evolved organically since that first impromptu New Year’s audition. The conflicts feel more mature, and the melancholy of “the last time” permeates every scene, giving the songs a much more real and profound emotional weight.

​El cambio de haber pasado de la pantalla de televisión directamente al cine se nota desde el primer segundo. La producción, la escala de los números musicales, la fotografía y la energía son de otro nivel. Pero más allá del despliegue visual, lo que realmente me atrapa de esta película es el arco de los personajes. ​En High School Musical 3, se nota a leguas que los personajes han crecido. Ya no estamos ante los típicos dramas adolescentes de pasillo o los celos de las vacaciones de verano; aquí los chicos de East High se enfrentan a dilemas reales con los que cualquiera se puede identificar: el miedo al futuro, la presión de elegir una carrera universitaria, la inevitable distancia de los amigos y la transición hacia la vida adulta. ​Troy, Gabriella, Sharpay, Ryan, Chad y Taylor muestran una madurez enorme en sus decisiones. Cada uno brilla con luz propia y se siente que sus personalidades han evolucionado de forma orgánica desde aquella primera audición improvisada en año nuevo. Los conflictos se sienten más maduros, y la melancolía de "la última vez" inunda cada escena, haciendo que las canciones tengan un peso emocional mucho más real y profundo.

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If you're one of those who watched the first two and left the third one behind, or if you just want to relive a great era, I highly recommend giving it a chance. It's the perfect finale, full of energy, but also a lot of maturity. Now I want you to tell me in the comments: Which of the three High School Musical movies is your favorite and why? Did you also feel that the third one showed that leap in the characters’ maturity? I’ll sign off for now—thank you so much for reading, and I’ll see you later in another post ❤️

​Si eres de los que vio las dos primeras y dejó la tercera en el olvido, o si simplemente quieres revivir una gran etapa, te recomiendo muchísimo darle una oportunidad. Es el cierre perfecto, lleno de energía, pero también de mucha madurez. Ahora quiero que me cuenten ustedes en los comentarios: ¿Cuál de las tres películas de High School Musical es su favorita y por qué? ¿También sintieron que la tercera tuvo ese salto de madurez en los personajes? Yo por ahora me despido, muchas gracias por leerme y nos vemos luego en otro post ❤️

Translated by DeepL

Traducido por DeepL

**

Hello friends, good vibes to all.

Hola amigos, buenas vibras para todos.

Source!

El terror es algo que últimamente está un poco de moda gracias a las grandes películas que estamos viendo estrenarse. Es por esto que hoy les traigo algo que me conseguí por pura casualidad mientras buscaba lo próximo que quería ver de DBZ. Resulta que estamos ante un cortometraje hecho por el Studio Wrong, un estudio independiente japonés que se especializa en animaciones de anime en 3D, cosa que si me preguntan no es muy común. The Bloody Mary se estrenó hace un par de meses siendo un episodio piloto para lo que se supone será algo mas grande, o por lo menos eso esperan los fanáticos quienes quedaron muy a gusto después de ver esta presentación de la historia. Y es que si, si quisieran y pudieran hacer algo más desarrollado seguramente sería un éxito.

Pero, de que trata? - pues tenemos a Betty, ella es una joven que se dedica a la investigación paranormal y a la caza de fantasmas, está un poco obsesionada con eso pero sabe que con esos trabajos es que puede pagar las cuentas. Con ella está Seeka, un demonio que se quedó atrapada en este plano después de unas de las investigaciones de Betty. Inevitablemente las dos tuvieron que llevarse bien al punto de que viven juntas. Un día la joven investigadora se consigue con un nuevo trabajo: ir a una mansión embrujada para ver que es lo que pasa con la famosa leyenda de Bloody Mary que no es otra cosa que pararse frente a un espejo y repetir estas palabras tres veces hasta que se te aparezca la famosa fantasma.

Source!

Source!

Cuando llegan a la mansión pues en efecto se consiguen con un lugar oscuro y tenebroso y deciden comenzar con la investigación. Ya de acá en adelante no les digo más para que vayan y vean lo que termina pasando. Creo que este material tiene dos grandes cosas o potencias que pueden hacer de este proyecto algo muy grande y cool. Lo primero es la historia. En el poco tiempo que dura este corto se nos muestra una trama que invita al espectador a hacerse preguntas y sobretodo por lo forma en como termina. Es más, durante el camino de la historia pasan cosas interesantes, hay hasta plot twist que le dan más "misterio" e intriga a todo. Decir que hay una gran carga de comedia en el aire, las interacciones y la forma en como animan ciertas cosas hace que ver esto, más allá de que esté el suspenso, sea gracioso.

La parte del suspenso está muy bien representada también y es acá en donde entramos a lo segundo: la animación. Personalmente no soy fanático de las cosas hechas en 3D, a menos que sea algo grande tipo Disney o Pixar, porque generalmente no quedan bien hechas y menos en el anime que es algo tan particular. Pero en este caso la animación es espectacular, hay momentos que son exageradamente realistas en donde de verdad te preguntas si estamos viendo un metraje real o no. El diseño de los personajes, todos los efectos visuales, es algo que está muy bien hecho, se nota que hay cariño y ganas de que sea algo más grande. No miento cuando les digo que no tiene nada que envidiar de cualquier cosa que hayan visto en 3D por ahí que sea de nombre.

Source!

Source!

Desconozco si al final esto va ser un anime o una película, habrá que ver que decide el estudio pero ojalá se materialice en algo que valga la pena porque creo que tiene potencial. Hacer una reseña de algo tan corto (poco más de 16 minutos) para muchos no tendrá sentido pero para mi es super interesante porque es la muestra de que se está haciendo anime en todos lados y de todas las formas posibles y eso siempre será algo bueno. No es la primera vez que traigo algo así y seguramente no será la última. The Bloody Mary es algo cool de ver, tiene una historia simple pero que cumple con el propósito: entretener y dar un abreboca de lo que puede venir. Les dejo por acá el cortometraje para que lo vean porque si, vale la pena.

***

Well folks, that's all for today. I hope you enjoyed it. ¡Hugs to everyone, see you next time!

Bueno mi gente por hoy es todo, espero que les haya gustado. ¡Un abrazo a todos, nos vemos en la próxima!

Goal, you bastard! Goal!

Home (S6x02)

Airdate: 1 May 2016

Written by: Dave Hill Directed by: Jeremy Podeswa

Running Time: 53 minutes

The sheer, sprawling epic scope of Game of Thrones has always been both its greatest boast and its most daunting narrative challenge. By its sixth season, the series had long accustomed its audience to the absence of key characters from entire episodes, a necessary evil of managing a cast of dozens across continents. Yet this practice reached its apotheosis of narrative neglect with Bran Stark. His quest for the Three-Eyed Raven, seemingly concluded with his arrival at the weirwood cave in Season 4, resulted in the character being unceremoniously benched for the entirety of Season 5—an omission that felt less like a scheduling necessity and more like a creative admission that his mystical, slow-burn storyline had become an inconvenient tangent. The second episode of Season 6, aptly titled “Home,” finally addresses this gap, but its function is emblematic of the show’s late-stage metamorphosis. Home is a brutal, sudden rearrangement of Westeros’s complex political web, executed with a sledgehammer rather than a scalpel, prioritising shocking tableaux and plot propulsion over the nuanced character work that once defined the series.

The episode opens in the frostbitten depths beyond the Wall, immediately re-establishing Bran’s narrative. Guided by the Three-Eyed Raven—now recast from Struan Rodger to the legendary Max von Sydow—Bran experiences a vision of Winterfell’s past. It is a poignant, if somewhat saccharine, sequence. Bran witnesses his father, Ned, as a boy sparring with his brother Benjen, and sees the fleeting image of his aunt Lyanna, a figure he knows only as a stone effigy in the crypts. The inclusion of a young Old Nan (Anne Tierney) and, most significantly, a young, articulate Wylis (Sam Coleman)—the stable boy who would become the simple-minded Hodor—offers a tantalising breadcrumb for future tragedy. Von Sydow, with his sonorous gravitas, lends the scene a weighty, mythic quality, yet his warning that dwelling there is dangerous feels less like profound wisdom and more like the show nervously signposting its own forthcoming, and often clumsy, reliance on time-bending narrative mechanics. This vision serves a dual purpose: it re-acclimatises the audience to Bran’s powers and provides a fleeting moment of warmth before the episode descends into its characteristic cold brutality. It is a competent scene, but one that already highlights the show’s new preference for iconic imagery over substantive exploration of Bran’s psychological state after years of isolation.

From this mystical detour, Home lunges headlong into resolving the cliffhangers left simmering since Season 5’s brutal finale. At Castle Black, the mutiny led by Alliser Thorne reaches its predictably swift conclusion. Edd’s escape, his rallying of Tormund Giantsbane and the wildlings—including the giant Wun Wun—and the subsequent surrender of the Night’s Watch conspirators is executed with workmanlike pacing. The mutineers are deposited in the ice cells, and the stage is cleared for the episode’s central, much-hyped event: the resurrection of Jon Snow. Ser Davos Seaworth, a man of pragmatism not piety, turns in desperation to the disgraced Melisandre. The ensuing ritual, conducted in a gloomy storeroom with Jon’s corpse laid out like a sacrificial offering, delivers manufactured suspense. The red priestess chants, washes the body, and cuts his hair—all to no immediate effect. One by one, the hopeful onlookers depart, leaving only Ghost and the corpse. Then, in a final gasp of air, Jon’s eyes snap open. It is the dramatic beat the entire world was waiting for, yet its execution renders it curiously hollow. The resurrection feels less like a miraculous, world-altering event born of divine magic or profound sacrifice, and more like a cynical narrative reset button, dressed up in the trappings of a medical drama’s last-second CPR success. The audience’s widespread prediction of this outcome robbed it of surprise, and the show’s decision to frame it with such clichéd “is it, isn’t it?” melodrama did little to reinvest it with genuine wonder.

Elsewhere in the North, the episode continues its theme of brutal, simplified realpolitik. Sansa Stark, having escaped Winterfell with Theon Greyjoy, is now under the protection of Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne. Theon, crippled by guilt and fear—both of Ramsay’s hounds and, as he admits, of Jon Snow’s likely vengeance for his betrayal of the Starks—chooses to part ways. He requests a horse to make for the Iron Islands, a decision that makes stark dramatic sense. It removes a dramatically spent character from a plotline needing momentum and pragmatically acknowledges that Brienne’s chances of delivering Sansa to Castle Black are higher without a broken, hunted man in tow. It is a clean, unsentimental severance, typical of the episode’s ethos.

That ethos finds its purest, most horrifying expression in Winterfell itself. The political manoeuvring of the Boltons, once a subtle game of legitimisation through marriage and fear, is here resolved with astonishing, brutal swiftness. Roose Bolton is told that Lady Walda Frey has given birth to a trueborn son, irrevocably undermining Ramsay’s tenuous position. Ramsay’s response is a primal act: he embraces his father and stabs him. The shock on Roose’s face is palpable, but more telling is the immediate, silent acquiescence of the surrounding lords. Power, the scene asserts, resides not in bloodlines or legal decrees, but in who holds the knife and has the stomach to use it. Ramsay then completes his consolidation by luring Walda and her newborn to the kennels, where they are fed to his hounds. The act is not shown directly—a rare moment of restraint—but the sound design and Ramsay’s chillingly casual demeanour make it one of the most disturbing moments in the series to that point.

This tendency to simplify and sensationalise is equally evident in the episode’s revival of the dormant Ironborn plotline. At Pyke, Balon Greyjoy stubbornly clings to a failed conquest, refusing his daughter Yara’s pragmatic counsel to make peace. His stubbornness is rendered moot in a scene of pure, gothic melodrama. On a rope bridge during a storm, Balon is confronted by his long-exiled brother, Euron (Polou Asbæk). A brief, exposition-heavy exchange establishes Euron’s madness and ambition before he casually tosses Balon to his death. It is a spectacular, visually striking murder, but it is pure narrative convenience. Euron returns at the exact moment required to inject chaos into the storyline, and his character is defined not through demonstrated action but through grandiose pronouncements. The subsequent introduction of the kingsmoot—a quasi-democratic elective assembly that adds a sliver of unique cultural worldbuilding to the Iron Islands—is a welcome detail, but it feels like a bone thrown to book readers after the blunt force of Balon’s dismissal.

In King’s Landing, the tension between the Crown and the Faith Militant continues to simmer. The High Sparrow’s calculated cruelty in barring Cersei from her daughter Myrcella’s funeral is a potent stroke, provoking a furious Jaime to threaten the sparrow’s life. The High Sparrow’s calm retort—that he and his followers would welcome martyrdom—is a sharp reminder of the unique threat posed by fanaticism. More interesting is Tommen’s scene with Cersei, where the boy-king expresses his shame and impotent rage, wishing he had torn down the Great Sept. It is a rare moment of psychological insight in the episode, hinting at the weakness that will soon be catastrophically exploited.

Across the Narrow Sea, the narrative continues to streamline Daenerys’s absent empire. In Meereen, Tyrion Lannister, now de facto ruler, is confronted with the crumbling of the queen’s legacy, as Yunkai and Astapor revert to slavers. His solution is a characteristically bold, foolhardy gamble: to unchain Dany’s two remaining dragons, Rhaegal and Viserion, in the catacombs. The scene is a highlight, combining genuine tension with Tyrion’s wit and vulnerability. That he survives is perhaps a stretch, but the act serves as a symbolic assertion of control and a promise of future firepower, even as Tyrion himself doubts the risk’s worth.

In Braavos, Arya Stark’s storyline remains in a holding pattern. Still blind and begging, she endures beatings from the Waif until Jaqen H’ghar reappears to continue her training. It is a perfunctory check-in, ensuring the audience remembers her arc exists, but contributes little to the episode’s momentum.

Behind the scenes, Home is notable for significant production shifts that reflect the series’ elevated status and budget. The recasting of the Three-Eyed Raven with Max von Sydow is the most prominent. Replacing the capable but lesser-known Struan Rodger with an icon of von Sydow’s stature, arguably the greatest film star ever to appear in the series, was a clear prestige play. Having just appeared in Star Wars: The Force Awakens, von Sydow’s presence cemented Game of Thrones as the pre-eminent fantasy franchise of its day, a move that undoubtedly aimed to awe critics into overlooking the narrative simplifications becoming ever more apparent. Similarly, the recasting of Leaf, a Child of the Forest, from child actress Octavia Alexandru to adult actress Kae Alexander, accompanied by a far more elaborate, alien-like CGI design, showcases the increased budget. Yet this too feels symptomatic of a shift towards spectacle over substance; the character becomes a more visually impressive mystical prop, but her role in the narrative remains opaque and minimally explored.

This gets to the core critique of Home, and indeed of much of Season 6. Showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss were now operating almost entirely beyond George R.R. Martin’s published source material. Their approach, however, was not to emulate the dense, interwoven complexity of the books, but to simplify drastically. Plotlines were boiled down to their most basic components; characters who offered no immediate dramatic payoff were eliminated (or, like Bran, ignored for a season); and political dilemmas were resolved with sudden, shocking violence. This was partly a commercial necessity—as the show conquered the global mainstream, it had to appeal to the lowest common denominator, favouring clear heroes, obvious villains, and immediate gratification over moral ambiguity and slow-burn intrigue.

Sometimes this simplicity works, as with Ramsay Bolton. His solution is brutally efficient and psychologically consistent for a character who understands only violence and dominance. The murder of Walda Frey, while horrifying, is coldly logical from his perspective. Yet elsewhere, the simplification feels crude. The Greyjoy resurrection is rushed, with Euron’s menace told, not shown. A more egregious example is a brief, grisly vignette in King’s Landing: a commoner (Dylan Edwards) entertains peers with the tale of flashing his large penis at Cersei during her Walk of Atonement. Later, while urinating in the cellars, the Mountain—now a hulking, silent zombie—appears and crushes his skull against a wall. While it efficiently demonstrates the Mountain’s lethality and Cersei’s newfound, vengeful protection, the scene is pure punitive spectacle. It serves no lasting dramatic purpose, targeting a single, random heckler instead of the systemic threat of the Faith Militant. It is shock for shock’s sake, a visceral jolt that substitutes for narrative progression.

Home is a solid, often gripping hour of television that nonetheless lays bare the creative compromises defining late-period Game of Thrones. It moves the pieces across the board with undeniable efficiency and delivers several unforgettable, if brutal, moments. The acting, particularly from Iwan Rheon as Ramsay and Peter Dinklage as Tyrion, remains superb, and the production values are cinematic. Yet, beneath the surface gloss, a hollowing-out is evident. The resurrection of Jon Snow, the narrative centrepiece, feels like a foregone conclusion dressed in cheap melodramatic garb. The complex political tapestry of Westeros is repeatedly cut with the sharp, simple knife of murder rather than unravelled with patience. The episode is a confident stride forward, but one that leaves much of the story’s soul behind in the snows of earlier, more ambitious seasons.

RATING: 5/10 (++)

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source: imdb

The Babysitter: Killer Queen is the sequel to the 2017 horror comedy The Babysitter, I reviewed two weeks ago. The film continues the story of Cole Johnson, a teenager who survived a deadly cult led by his beautiful babysitter, Bee. The sequel tries to outshine the original with its blend of horror, comedy and over the top violence. The original cast returns in this movie joined by new stars, Jenna Ortega (Scream/Wednesday).

source: imdb

The story takes place two years after the first movie. Cole is struggling because nobody believes him about the cult and he is constantly mocked by classmates and even questioned by his own family. He joins his friend Melanie (Cole's friend in part 1) on a weekend trip to a lake party. He finds out that the horror is far from over. Members of the cult somehow return from the dead like Emperor Palpatine. They once again target Cole in their quest to complete their ritual. Cole was once again forced to fight for his survival. He fights both old old enemies and surprising betrayal by his childhood friend Melanie. She turned out to have joined the cult along with her friends and now wants to make Cole their sacrifice.

source: imdb

Like the first movie, the film never slows down. It has a non stop action, gory kills and absurd comedy. The returning cult members are still entertaining. They each bring their own exaggerated personalities and comedic moments. Robbie Amell, Bella Thorne, Andrew Bachelor and Hana Mae Lee have great chemistry that helped keep the movie entertaining.

In my opinion, The Babysitter: Killer Queen is a fun sequel. Nitpickers may find the plot chaotic and leaned too much on absurd comedy. However, fans of the original who know what to expect will likely love this sequel as it kept to its horror comedy roots anchored on absurd over the top violence. It's a wild, entertaining horror comedy filled with creative kills. Fans of the first movie who enjoy horror with plenty of comedy will likely have a good time. Those looking for a more serious or really scary horror film may find it less satisfying. The Babysitter: Killer Queen remains an enjoyable movie that is ridiculous and delivers plenty of entertainment.