The Grown-Ups (S3x12)

Airdate: 1 November 2009

Written by: Brett Johnson & Matthew Weiner Directed by: Barbet Schroeder

Running Time: 48 minutes

No event depicted or referenced in Mad Men was less anticipated by its audience than the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. For many Americans of that era, and particularly for the Baby Boomers who would come to dominate the cultural narrative, 22 November 1963 stands as the grand, irrevocable dividing line between ‘What Used To Be’ and ‘What Is Now’. By the end of its third season, set in that otherwise relatively uneventful year of 1963, it was a foregone conclusion that the series would eventually confront how its protagonists—people whose profession is the shaping of images and perceptions—would react to the momentous events in Dallas. The only remaining question was one of narrative placement: would this national catastrophe be reserved for the season finale, or, in keeping with the emerging practice of high-quality serialised television, would it occur in the penultimate episode, allowing the aftermath to resonate into the season’s close? The Grown-Ups, the twelfth episode of the third season, decisively answered that question, and in doing so delivered one of the series’ most masterful and devastating instalments.

Co-written by Brett Johnson and Matthew Weiner and directed with remarkable restraint by the Swiss-French filmmaker Barbet Schroeder, the episode begins in deceptively banal fashion on Thursday, 21 November. The genius of this opening lies in its focus on the petty, everyday grievances that consume the Sterling Cooper office. Pete Campbell complains bitterly about a heating failure that has left him freezing; his physical discomfort is neatly paralleled by the professional chill of learning that Ken Cosgrove has been promoted over him, despite both men bringing in comparable accounts. Across the office, other trivial dramas unfold: Roger Sterling’s daughter, Margaret, frets about her Saturday wedding and the inevitable presence of Jane, Roger’s young wife, whom she cannot abide. Meanwhile, Peggy Olson discusses her ongoing liaison with the louche Duck Phillips with her roommate Karen Ericson, treating it as a mundane secret rather than a life-altering affair. This meticulous establishment of routine is crucial, for it constructs the placid surface that is about to be shattered.

Friday, 22 November dawns like any other day. The heating has been repaired, but now the office is oppressively hot—a minor irony that underscores the characters’ inability to achieve equilibrium. Peggy accepts a call from Duck, arranging a midday tryst. Don Draper argues with Lane Pryce over replacing the art director after the unjust firing of Sal Romano. Pete, seeking solace, discusses his stagnant future with Harry Crane in his office. As head of the television department, Harry has a set tuned to CBS to monitor advertisements; the soap opera As The World Turns plays in the background, ignored. This detail is a stroke of brilliant dramatic irony. The characters are so engrossed in their myopic personal and professional concerns that they literally ignore the world turning on its axis, as a special news bulletin interrupts the broadcast with the first fragments of news from Dallas.

The episode then meticulously dissects the varied, often self-absorbed, reactions of its ensemble. Duck Phillips, waiting for Peggy in his hotel suite, sees the bulletin but chooses to switch off the television, prioritising a sexual escapade over a national tragedy—a chillingly apt character note for a man defined by opportunism and escape. Back at Sterling Cooper, Don Draper’s world is invaded by the news more subtly; he notices the phones falling silent and the staff gathering anxiously around radios and television sets. It is only when colleagues burst into Harry Crane’s office that both Harry and Pete are ripped from their insular conversation and forced to comprehend the reality of the situation.

The collective shock and grief that permeate the office are portrayed with a realism that avoids melodrama. However, the episode’s sharpest critique is levelled at the characters’ capacity to refract even this seismic event through the prism of their own immediate desires. None is more blatantly affected in this regard than Margaret Sterling, who upon hearing the news declares her wedding to be “ruined.” Her petulance is not presented as mere villainy but as a tragic failure of perspective, emblematic of a privileged generation suddenly confronted with a history that refuses to accommodate their personal timelines. The following day, the invited executives grapple with the etiquette of the situation. Pete and Trudy Campbell, representing a newer, perhaps more morally cautious sensibility, decide not to attend. Don and Betty Draper, ever performing the role of the perfect couple, go. The wedding itself is a profoundly unhappy affair, a forced and brittle pantomime of celebration. Some guests, including Jane, retreat to the kitchen to watch the relentless television coverage, unable to maintain the façade. Don and Betty take to the dance floor in a grim imitation of marital bliss, but Betty’s attention is fractured by the arrival of Henry Francis, who, under the thin pretext of accompanying his daughter and Margaret’s friend Eleanor (Veronica Taylor), has come solely to see her. Here, the episode brilliantly juxtaposes the collapse of a national myth with the unravelling of a domestic one.

The aftermath of the wedding offers further poignant vignettes. Roger, tending to his drunken wife Jane, uses the opportunity to call Joan Holloway (now Harris). Their conversation is one of the episode’s quieter, more profound moments. Joan speaks of her husband, a doctor working in the Emergency Room, trying to process the day’s events, thereby grounding the national tragedy in tangible, human-scale suffering. It is a rare instance of a character attempting to contextualise the horror, rather than being overwhelmed by it.

The episode’s final act moves the focus decisively to the disintegration of the Draper marriage. On Sunday, 24 November, Betty leaves her home for a drive “to clear her head”—a transparent euphemism for a rendezvous with Henry Francis. Their meeting in a parked car is charged with a desperate intimacy. Henry declares his intention to marry her, and they share a kiss that seals the fate of Betty’s current life. Upon returning home, Betty initiates the conversation she has avoided for years, telling Don with devastating simplicity, “I don’t love you anymore.” Parallel to this, in the Campbell household, Trudy attempts to galvanise a despondent Pete, urging him to gather his clients and strike out to form his own agency—a suggestion that plants the seed for the season’s finale. These parallel scenes underscore the episode’s central thesis: just as the nation is forced to confront a terrifying new future, so too are these individuals.

Monday morning presents a haunting tableau of aftermath. Betty and Don share a silent, icy breakfast before Don leaves, ostensibly for work but in reality to confront the desolate truth that his marriage is over. The world outside is in official mourning; bars are closed. The Sterling Cooper office, that temple of capitalist distraction, is one of the few places open. There, Don finds Peggy already at work, diligently altering a television advertisement because its visual composition now bears an unwelcome and traumatic resemblance to the Zapruder film’s imagery. This moment is a perfect, succinct metaphor for the show’s entire project: the advertising industry, tasked with crafting palatable fictions, must now hastily edit reality itself.

The Grown-Ups is arguably one of Mad Men’s finest achievements. Its genius lies in the deft juxtaposition of a national catastrophe with the personal cataclysms of its protagonists. Just as America—and the world—would never be the same after Dallas, neither would Don Draper, who is finally forced to contend with an unimaginable loss that no amount of professional ingenuity or personal reinvention can mitigate. The episode operates on multiple levels, weaving threads of dark humour and profound irony into its fabric. The irony of Margaret’s “ruined” wedding and the bleak comedy of Duck turning off the news for a tryst—all serve to highlight the fragile vanity of the characters’ pre-assassination concerns.

Schroeder’s direction is notably economical and realistic, refusing to sensationalise events that were already seared into the cultural memory of much of the audience. The episode trusts viewers to connect the dots, relying on the power of implication and reaction rather than graphic recreation. This restraint makes the emotional impact all the more potent. Furthermore, the cultural resonance is cemented by the impeccable choice of Skeeter Davis’s ‘The End of the World’ over the closing credits. The song’s plaintive, heartbroken refrain (“Why does the sun go on shining?”) perfectly captures the episode’s essence: the bewildering persistence of daily life in the face of world-shattering events, and the private apocalypses that unfold in quiet living rooms and empty marriages.

The Grown-Ups transcends being merely an ‘assassination episode’. It is a masterful study in contrast, a meticulous deconstruction of American self-absorption on the brink of historical upheaval, and the point at which Mad Men fully matured into the tragic, clear-eyed masterpiece of television history it is recognised as today. It demonstrates that sometimes, growing up is forced upon you by a single, terrible Friday in November.

RATING: 9/10 (++++)

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Aside from me been away from the movies and tv series scene I finally had sometime last night to sit down and watch some content, before noticing that Hokum (2026) drop I was looking for some horror movie and stumble into Bodycam (2025), after watching the trailer and Rotten Tomatoes rating I was like "this shouldnt be that bad", so decided to give it shot since critics gave it an 85% so I was like, probably the audience didnt get it or was too technical / uncommon style, thats totally me. I went in with zero expectations, I also figure out there was already some noise about the whole naming situation before this one even dropped, but none of that bs matters once you actually press play because this thing grabs you from the opening minute and does not let go for a good long while, at least that how I felt for about 20 minutes into the movie. The setup is kinda simple with two cops named Bryce and Jackson roll up to a domestic disturbance call, step into a dark house with the power completely out, and almost immediately find a man standing in a basement corner facing the wall like almost broken like wth is with this guy, no movement, no response, just standing there in the dark being absolutely terrifying in the most low key way possible, at most your brain kicks in "zombie drug". That image alone sets the whole temperature of the movie because you understand right away this is not going to be a standard cop drama, something is deeply wrong in this neighborhood and the officers are the last ones to figure it out. I respect how the movie commits to the idea that the community around these cops already knows about everything there is going on, its like the goverment forgot about them period, and you can tell the cops sense it, they feel it, the people being policed are living inside it while the guys with the badges are clueless tourists walking into something way above their pay grade.

• IMDB: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt37538172/
• Platform: PRIME VIDEO

The opening sequence at that house is straight up nightmare fuel and the camera work sells it verry well because you are stuck in that bodycam perspective with no escape, even trying to look other way but you cant, watching people stand in corners like mannequins and getting zero answers about why any of it is happening. One of the officers named Jackson has a mother named Ally who carries herself like a neighborhood shaman, someone with one foot in the real world and one foot in whatever spiritual current runs through that block, and the moment she tells the officers they cannot stay at her home you immediately understand she knows something the cameras are never going to capture and not giving up right away. There is a sequence where Jackson keeps driving away from the house only to loop right back to the same address no matter which road he takes, and that section of the movie is disturbing and it was kinda cool because it gaves me "From" vibes, a series that Im about to catch up.The movie was cleaver taking something as mundane as driving around a city and turns it into a trap with no exit, adding that creepy touch. The woman from the house who runs outside and tells them they owe the Underman is the kind of line that at first makes you think "owe who?.." but then the creepyness kicks it, it does not feel silly or forced, it feels like a piece of a very dark puzzle you are not supposed to fully understand yet, and the movie is smart enough to not over explain it. The way the basement is used as this central location where everything eventually collapses inward is smart for a budget movie like this, everything keeps pulling back toward that same dark space like gravity, and each time you return to it the feeling is slightly worse than the last.

Now here is where I have to be straight because the middle of this movie gets kinda lazy and starts to drag like its momentarly out of fuel and its hard to not notice, the pacing goes sideways when Bryce starts searching for his pregnant wife Michelle through what feels like an endless nightmare sequence, and Jackson separately gets pulled deeper into the looping house trap, and while both ideas are creepy in concept the execution drags longer than it should for a movie that is only about 75 minutes long but honestly I think this happens most of the time when this kind of loop hole scenes show up, similar happens in Matrix series when Neo gets trap in the train station, I guess its because its very uncommon and boring the figuring out process because nothing else really happens and its by design. You would think a movie that short would keep things moving but somehow it still finds a way to stall out and when you are sitting there waiting for the momentum to come back in a 75 minute movie that is a real problem. The creature design for the Underman is interesting but the CGI quality drops off hard during the final part of the movie and there are moments where the thing looks like a character pulled out of a mid tier video game, which really undercuts the dread the movie spent so much time building before it. The scene where Bryce and Jackson visit Esposito; by the way Angel is so damn hot but on this movie she is like meh Remember her from Puppetman, anyways this time she plays a woman with the ability to delete body camera footage, hilarious although it adds a grounded tech element to what is otherwise a supernatural horror movie, but even that scene cannot fully rescue the momentum the middle section burns through. The infected tweakers surrounding the officers in the basement while everything collapses together is the kind of ending that wants to say something large about addiction and corruption eating a community from the inside out, and part of me thinks they almost got there, which is the frustrating part, because almost is not the same thing.

What separates Bodycam from the usual Shudder dump is that it is not interested in playing the jump scare lottery that most found footage movies rely on to keep people awake, this thing is way closer in spirit to a creepypasta or an SCP entry where the horror comes from the wrongness of the situation rather than something jumping out of a closet. The found footage format actually earns its keep here because the bodycam perspective creates a claustrophobia that a traditional camera setup could never replicate, you are stuck inside the point of view of people making terrible decisions and you cannot look away or get a wider angle on the situation. Sean Rogerson and Jaime M. Callica are doing real work in this thing, the kind of work where you keep buying into the situation even when the script is not giving them a lot to work with, and that matters a lot in a movie this stripped down because there is nowhere to hide when the effects let you down and the writing goes thin. Compared to something like REC or even the more recent The Outwaters, Bodycam does not have the technical polish or the unhinged ambition of those movies but it has a social consciousness that most genre movies in this space do not bother with, the idea that the evil is connected to what these specific officers did, that the Underman is almost an extension of the moral rot they carry with them, is a legitimately interesting angle that I wish they had pushed even harder instead of letting it stay in the background while the creature effects took over.

I am landing on a 6 out of 10 for Bodycam because I dont want to be as generous as the critics on RTT, I always try to stay in between because I end to try to understand why the audience didnt get it, imo this time it was the spiritual theme and the fact that the time loop took too much out of it so people get bored and I mean that as a real recommendation for anyone who is into low budget horror that actually has a point of view, its like an opal stone, you never know if its worth anything on the inside. The two lead performances from Rogerson and Callica are doing more work than the script sometimes deserves and the atmosphere in that first half is unsettling in a way that a lot of bigger budget productions cannot touch. The Underman creature lunge at the end is a badass final image even if the CGI makes you flinge a little, it commits to the bit and has enough force to make you feel alert enought with a small dopamine rush despite everything that went sideways in the middle. If you can ride out some pacing issues and digital effects that clearly hit the wall of their budget, the journey down into that basement is worth your time on a Tuesday movie night like it did for me, very casual improvise movie night with the lights off, headphones on and no interruptions, just go in knowing it is not perfect and you are going to have a damn good time with it.

#bodycam, #shudder, #foundfootage, #horror, #cophorror, #underman, #indiehorror, #supernatural, #creaturefeature, #nightmare, #urbanhorror, #lovecraftian, #bodycamera, #horrorreview, #darkweb, #cult, #possession, #mystery, #suspense, #thriller, #shudderoriginal, #horrorfan, #vhs, #foundfootagehorror, #scarymovies

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The Gypsy and the Hobo (S3x11)

Airdate: 25 October 2009

Written by: Marti Noxon, Cathy Humphrys & Matthew Weiner Directed by: Jennifer Getzinger

Running Time: 48 minutes

Mad Men, throughout its run, maintained a meticulous framing of its episodes around specific, identifiable points in time, using the backdrop of history to underscore the personal revolutions of its characters. The show’s third season, however, ran into a distinct structural problem with the year 1963. The year was, until its cataclysmic end in Dallas, a relatively uneventful—the writers were deprived of the grand historical touchstones that peppered earlier seasons. The solution, as in many dramatic series, was to pivot towards the communal calendar of public holidays. In the case of the eleventh episode, The Gypsy and the Hobo, the chosen holiday is Halloween, a day traditionally dedicated to the wearing of masks. The episode’s central, devastating irony is that it is on this day of sanctioned disguise that the most consequential mask worn by the protagonist, Don Draper, is finally and irrevocably torn off.

The plot is set in motion several days before Halloween. Betty Draper, ostensibly taking the children to Philadelphia to visit her brother’s family, provides Don with the perfect opportunity to pursue his affair with their children’s teacher, Suzanne Farrell. He employs his well-worn excuse of pressing work commitments. The reality, however, is that Betty’s trip is a business necessity: she is attempting to settle her father’s contentious estate. In the office, she dismisses her brother William to confer privately with her attorney, Milton Lowell (Dan Desmond). Here, the expected discussion of probate is swiftly abandoned. Instead, Betty reveals her discovery of Don’s true identity as Dick Whitman, the ultimate foundation of his years of deception. She seeks legal advice, explicitly floating divorce as the most sensible reaction. Lowell, embodying the pragmatic, patriarchal legal establishment of the era, counsels caution. He posits that she has a good life with three children and that divorce is a difficult, messy procedure—unless she can secure proof of infidelity. This moment is crucial; it establishes Betty not as a hysterical wife but as a calculating strategist, already mapping the battlefield of her marriage’s dissolution.

The irony of Lowell’s advice is immediately and brutally underscored. Don, emboldened by his assumed freedom, drives Suzanne to his own home to retrieve an item, only to find Betty and the children have returned early. Suzanne remains unseen, but a far greater reckoning awaits. Confronted by Betty with the damning contents of his locked desk—the physical evidence of his stolen identity—Don’s facade crumbles. After initial, futile denials, he launches into a quiet, tearful confession. Jon Hamm’s performance here is exemplary in its raw vulnerability, a man finally speaking his foundational truth. Yet, the episode’s critical power derives from Betty’s reception of it. January Jones portrays Betty with an icy, unmoved stillness. She absorbs his biography—a narrative already fully known to the audience—without a flicker of surprise or sympathy. The dramatic “wham” moment of revelation is thus deliberately neutered; its impact is not on Betty, but on the dynamic between them. As this domestic drama unfolds, Suzanne waits in the car, a forgotten spectre of the affair, until she finally departs, her patience exhausted. The following day, a terse phone conversation from Don’s Sterling Cooper office makes the inevitable clear: their relationship is terminally punctured by the reality of his exposed life.

Parallel to this central unraveling, Roger Sterling is confronted by a ghost from his own past. Annabelle Mathis (Mary Page Keller), recently widowed owner of the dog food company Candlecott Farms, arrives as a client with a PR crisis (the 1961 film The Misfits has revealed her product contains horse meat). For Annabelle, however, the meeting is profoundly personal. She and Roger were once romantically involved before the war, and she arrives carrying a torch, seeing her widowhood as a chance to correct history. In a moment that subverts Roger’s established character as a self-deluding man in a midlife crisis, he firmly and realistically rejects her advances. His refusal is not born of newfound virtue but of a clear-eyed understanding of his recent marriage to the much younger Jane. The episode cleverly contrasts Annabelle’s romantic fantasy, which she gauchely compares to Casablanca, with Roger’s weary pragmatism. Her subsequent decision to withdraw her company’s business from Sterling Cooper is a petty, personal retaliation that highlights the messy intersection of professional and private lives—a theme central to the entire series.

Spurred perhaps by this encounter with regretted paths, Roger seeks out Joan Holloway (now Harris). Learning of her husband Greg’s professional failures and their resulting financial strain, Roger offers to help her find work. Meanwhile, Joan is desperately trying to orchestrate Greg’s career, here attempting to coach him for psychiatric residency interview. Greg’s abject failure in the interview and his subsequent wallowing in self-pity trigger a shocking, and arguably flawed, moment of violence: Joan loses her composure and strikes him on the head with a vase. The aftermath of this assault is handled with puzzling brevity. Greg suffers no serious physical consequences, and the psychological fallout is glossed over almost immediately as he announces his decision to join the U.S. Army. He frames this as a pragmatic solution: the military’s need for surgeons will guarantee him a residency and secure their finances. Joan, visibly horrified at the prospect of a peripatetic life as an officer’s wife, nonetheless performs acceptance, plastering on a smile and pretending to be happy. This subplot feels the most contrived. The act of violence seems disproportionate and psychologically unmotivated within the episode’s otherwise nuanced framework, and its rapid resolution undermines any serious exploration of the couple’s toxic dynamic. Furthermore, Greg’s enlistment is laden with a heavy-handed, anachronistic irony regarding the Vietnam War—a conflict whose shadow feels somewhat artificially imposed on this 1963 narrative.

The episode’s denouement returns to the Halloween motif. Don and Betty, performing a semblance of normalcy, accompany their children Sally and Bobby trick-or-treating. They stop at the home of their neighbour, Carlton Hanson. Looking at the costumed children, Hanson identifies Sally as a “gypsy” and Bobby as a “hobo.” He then turns his gaze to the parents and asks, rhetorically, “And what are you supposed to be?” The question hangs in the air, a perfectly crafted piece of dramatic irony. It inadvertently alludes to Don’s true, humble “hobo” origins and to Betty’s current performance as the dutiful wife. In this moment, they are both wearing the ultimate masks, pretending for the outside world—and for themselves—that the foundational crack in their marriage has not appeared.

Co-written by Marti Noxon, Cathryn Humphris, and Matthew Weiner, The Gypsy and the Hobo is, for all its momentous revelation, a surprisingly cold and clinical hour of television. This is its greatest strength and, for some viewers, a potential weakness. The writing and acting are impeccable, but the emotional temperature is deliberately low, mirroring Betty’s business-like demeanour as she seeks to put her things in order. Don’s confession, while powerfully acted, reveals nothing new to the audience. Consequently, the scene lacks the shocking “wham” impact it might have possessed had the viewer been discovering the truth alongside Betty. Instead, the power is displaced onto the chilling normalcy that follows. The apparent return to the status quo—the couple continuing to cohabit, to parent, to perform their social roles—is far more unsettling than any explosive argument. The audience, armed with foreknowledge, understands this calm is the eye of the storm. We know nothing will be the same, and the episode’s coldness makes the inevitable collapse feel both more certain and more terrifying.

The episode’s exploration of the chasm between image and reality is deftly mirrored in Roger’s subplot. His rejection of Annabelle Mathis presents a rare moment of clarity and self-possession for a character often depicted as pathetic and self-deceiving. By refusing to indulge a nostalgic fantasy, Roger emerges as more grounded and realistic than the romanticising Annabelle. This subplot serves as a thematic counterpoint: where Don’s entire life is a fabricated image now crumbling, Roger actively chooses reality over a comforting illusion, even at a professional cost.

The Gypsy and the Hobo is a pivotal episode that executes a narrative milestone with remarkable restraint. It forgoes emotional pyrotechnics in favour of a slow, chilling realism. The use of Halloween as a backdrop is brilliantly ironic, highlighting the perpetual masquerade of its characters. While the subplot involving Joan and Greg succumbs to melodramatic violence and somewhat anachronistic historical signalling, the core narrative of the Drapers is handled with devastating precision. The episode leaves us not with a climax, but with a pregnant, dreadful quiet. The mask is off, but the performance, for the sake of the children and the neighbourhood, must go on—and that, the episode suggests, is the greatest horror of all.

RATING: 8/10 (+++)

==

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**

Hola amigos, buenas vibras para todos.

Hello friends, good vibes to all.

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What is Gilead, you might ask? To answer that question, it would be good to start by watching The Handmaid's Tale, which ended last year after six seasons. For me, it's one of the best series I've ever seen and deserves to be seen by everyone. I feel it's a bit underrated and not as well-known as it should be. The Testaments is a sequel to that series, a work by the same author, Margaret Atwood, which tells the story of the younger women's lives within the hell that is Gilead. This story begins a few years after the events of The Handmaid's Tale season finale, so yes, it's essential to watch it.

But I'll also quickly explain what Gilead is. It's what used to be the United States, a nation born after a coup d'état against the Americans by an authoritarian and, above all, theocratic regime. This is triggered by a profound fertility crisis. The irony is that here, women are considered worthless, with no rights whatsoever, yet they are seen as the most precious commodity because of the constant pressure to produce children. Knowing this, The Testaments tells us about the lives of girls and teenagers and their experience of puberty, all within the context of events from previous years.

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What's truly impressive about this story is how raw it is. We're dealing with a full-blown dystopia, although some might say that these things can be seen in the world today, which I agree with. If we look closely, we can find societies where women are considered nothing. It's not a matter of feminism or machismo; it's a matter of basic and existential rights, so don't think this is related to the struggles we see in the news today. It's a much deeper and more delicate issue. The context of this story is very broad, but basically, it's the commanders who rule this country, aided by the "aunties"—women who decided to abandon everything they were for the sake of the system. Something I liked about this sequel, this first season (because the second has already been announced), is that it followed in the footsteps of its predecessor in terms of tension, suspense, and anxiety.

It maintains the fighting spirit of those who oppose Gilead, a movement called "Mayday" led by June (Elisabeth Moss), who also appears here; it maintains the raw and brutal oppression of the system towards, in this case, "the daughters of Gilead"; everything related to the visuals and cinematography is a total spectacle, one of the best aspects of the series, and the essence of it all feels like something is always about to happen. It's a regime that imposes extreme surveillance and control, so it's really difficult to know where the oppression might come from. What has also made this plot so successful, among those of us who follow it, is that at times it's extremely difficult to watch because of how surreal everything can become, always for the worse.

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The actresses are top-notch. Agnes (Chase Infinity), Daisy (Lucy Haliday), and Becca (Mattea Conforti) are stunning. Actually, they're all amazing, but as the leads, they carry more weight in their performances, and honestly, they're a 10/10. Watching how young women can't be young because they're subject to "God's work," which in the end is simply the decisions of these commanders, is, as I said, very dystopian. The series immerses us so well in that society that we feel genuine revulsion for some characters and empathy for others. I highly recommend it; for me, it's an 8/10. This sequel is well on its way, and since it's connected to The Handmaid's Tale, I can tell you it is and will be a sure success. It has 10 episodes and it's on Disney. Here's the trailer.

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***

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

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

Fuente

Fuente

Mangaka Ao Tajima, género drama, estudio de animación Bridge.**

ENGLISH

Source

Source

Mangaka Ao Tajima, drama genre, Bridge animation studio.

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Portada diseñada por mi en el editor de Canva

Sally y Conrad son una pareja de hermanos muy diferentes entre sí, ella es metódica, perfeccionista, casi una adulta en miniatura, odia el desastre, y su hermano es todo lo contrario, es desordenado y siempre está causando problemas, en una ocasión su madre los deja solos en casa pero antes les advierte que espera que se comporten a la altura, no quiere desorden, sin embargo cuando la madre se va, ambos niños reciben la visita de un gato antropomórfico (de apariencia muy inquietante, si me permiten opinar al respecto 😄) este gato literalmente causa el caos en la casa, en especial cuando decide traer criaturas raras desde su mundo, los hermanos, completamente desconcertados, intentan detener el desastre pues temen que su madre llegue y los castigue.

La presencia del gato no es casualidad, les da la oportunidad de ser ellos mismos, sí, pero al mismo tiempo es un catalizador para que aprendan a trabajar en equipo si quieren enmendar errores.

Por otra parte yo no sé si ustedes ya vieron esta película pero yo creo que muchos de los chistes del gato tienen un doble sentido, a ver, son aptos para niños, no es algo para escandalizarse, pero parecen dirigidos más hacia el publico adulto 😄. Sian embargo lo que no me gustó fue el diseño del gato como tal, no lo sé... me dio la misma impresión que me dio cuando vi a los Teletubbies por primera vez, es medio perturbador, no sé como explicarlo, parece como salido de una película de terror analógico o de la deep web 🤣

Creo que es una buena película para pasar el rato, tiene un buen mensaje y es bastante atractiva visualmente para el publico infantil.

Imagen diseñada por mi en el editor de Canva.

My mind just reflected on a Korean series I saw a few months ago, and it's so relatable to what's currently happening in my part of the world...

Sometimes we come across some movies and series, and we will be like "No, this can't happen in our world", even when it looks so real and realistic. I'm not talking about the sci-fi and magical movies we see.

This year, I came across the Korean masterpiece Duty After School, one of the best series that didn't receive the limelight. I laughed at the idea and the storyline, but today, my mind just reflected on it, relating it to what's happening in my own country, and I can say that the series is a big reality. I must applaud the scriptwriter. It's as if the Koreans are seeing things ahead. Lol

Yeah, the situation is such that students, I mean high school students, are made to enrol in the army to help the country fight the danger in the land, not just to help to fight the danger but to protect themselves too. It was just like a play, funny and stressful training was imposed on the students while being caged inside their school and not knowing that the world had crumbled, and it's remaining just a few people left in the world. They got to know what was happening when they went outside the school premises to practice a real gunshot, and when coming back, they got attacked by the deadly creatures that had taken over their world. That was when they knew the importance of the training they were going through.

Now, this is just a series and hasn't happened anywhere, I think. But what is currently happening in my country is almost leading to the story of this series. Although it may not happen, a lot of people have been jokingly suggesting that students in my country should be trained in a military way to help them defend themselves. It sounds funny, right? Yes, it does.

This is it;
There have been numerous kidnappings of students(pupils) in large numbers by bandits, and the matter has gotten out of hand because no one, including the government, seems to have any power over the bandits. The recent kidnaps are 42 students, and for over 2 weeks, they've been in the dens of these bandits. Right now, everyone is scared to send their children to school. Maybe these children should be trained and armed to protect themselves when these bandits attack their schools. It isn't funny at all. This is exactly what happened in this Duty After School series; the matter was above the government, so they had to deploy students to protect themselves.

Thanks for reading.

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Q-Less (S01E07)

Airdate: 6 February 1993

Written by: Robert Hewitt Wolfe Directed by: Paul Lynch

Running Time: 46 minutes

When a franchise expands into a shared fictional universe, there is often a palpable pressure on the creators to signal that expansion to the audience and to dedicated fans, sometimes resulting in episodes that feel more like contractual obligations than organic storytelling. For Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, this pressure manifested remarkably early. The series premiere, Emissary, had already featured the USS Enterprise (NCC-1701-D) and Captain Jean-Luc Picard in a pivotal scene, while also elevating the recurring Next Generation character of Miles O'Brien to a regular role. Apparently, this was not deemed sufficient to cement the connection. Another checkbox had to be ticked, and it had to be ticked early in the first season. The result is Q-Less, the seventh episode, which brings back one of The Next Generation's most iconic recurring characters alongside one of its most controversial figures in a narrative that often feels like a forced exercise in brand synergy rather than a confident step forward for the fledgling station-based series.

The plot begins with Lieutenant Jadzia Dax returning from the Gamma Quadrant via the wormhole in a runabout that has experienced mysterious power failures. Upon docking at Deep Space Nine, Chief Miles O'Brien immediately recognises one of Dax's fellow passengers as Vash (Jennifer Hatrick), the self-styled archaeologist and treasure hunter who once had a romantic affair with Captain Picard. Unbeknownst to them, the omnipotent being Q is hidden as a stowaway aboard the runabout and soon makes his flamboyant appearance on the station. This setup efficiently, if somewhat mechanically, imports characters from the parent show, immediately framing the episode as a crossover event.

Once on the station, the episode splits its focus between two primary threads. The first involves Quark, who swiftly arranges an auction for the valuable artefacts Vash has procured in the Gamma Quadrant. Vash finds herself simultaneously pursued by the station's eager, young Dr. Julian Bashir, while having to fend off the attentions of Q, whom she had left after he originally transported her to the Gamma Quadrant. Q, carrying a torch for her, engages in a series of petulant and mischievous acts. This romantic farce aims for light comedy but often feels derivative, echoing the dynamic of The Next Generation's own Qpid, an episode widely criticised for being silly, uninspired, and burdened with predominantly feeble humour, a verdict that could easily be applied to substantial portions of "Q-Less.

However, a more pressing crisis begins to overshadow these interpersonal antics. The station experiences escalating power failures, which Commander Benjamin Sisko correctly deduces are linked to anomalous graviton emissions. Sisko confronts Q, whom he finds among the promenade crowd, and in a memorable scene, is forced into a boxing match with the entity. This confrontation is pivotal. Sisko, unlike Picard, refuses to engage in Q's philosophical games or verbal sparring matches. He simply punches him. This act of physical defiance, which actually connects, serves to immediately differentiate Sisko from his Next Generation predecessor. Where Picard was the cerebral diplomat, Sisko is the pragmatic man of action, a distinction the episode smartly underscores in a brief but effective moment.

In the final act, the stakes are raised as the power failures threaten to destabilise the station's orbit, risking its destruction by being sucked into the wormhole. Through technical sleuthing, Chief O'Brien and Dax pinpoint the source: the most valuable crystal in Vash's collection, which is emitting the dangerous gravitons. The crystal is jettisoned, whereupon it transforms into a mysterious crystalline organism and escapes into space. With the crisis averted, Vash makes her choice. After telling Q she would like to go to Earth, she instead decides to travel to the planet Tartarus V to hunt for new artefacts, promising to bring future business to Quark. This ending feels perfunctory, a routine "space station in peril" plot resolved by last-minute technobabble, which the episode itself seems to acknowledge meta-textually.

Indeed, one of the episode's more curious moments comes when Q derisively labels the crew's technical explanations as "technobabble." This marks the first in-universe use of the term, a word coined by critics in the early 1980s to describe the fictional, often meaningless jargon prevalent in science fiction. It can be interpreted as a wry meta-commentary on Star Trek's own reliance on such devices, a self-aware wink that slightly elevates the material.

While Q's appearance was undoubtedly intended to cement the link between the two series, the more successful and interesting character transplant is arguably Vash. As portrayed by Jennifer Hetrick, Vash seems far more at home in the grimy, morally ambiguous environment of Deep Space Nine than she ever did on the pristine, morally rigid USS Enterprise. Her entrepreneurial spirit and flexible ethics align perfectly with the frontier ethos of the station. Hetrick appears more relaxed and effective here, and her performance goes some way towards atoning for her participation in the disappointing Qpid."That episode was conceived as "a light-hearted romp whilst offering fan service," but that it "failed to translate effectively to the screen. Q-Less suffers from a similar identity crisis, but Vash's integration feels less forced, offering a glimpse of how Deep Space Nine could repurpose elements from its predecessor to its own advantage.

The episode's comedic aims are a mixed success. The "space station in peril" trope, coupled with the last-minute solution involving graviton-emitting crystals, gives the latter half a routine, workmanlike quality that undermines the attempted whimsy of the Q and Vash subplot. Some fans have complained that Q acts out of character here, reduced from a god-like being probing humanity's philosophical boundaries to a jealous, petty suitor involved in trivial matters of the heart. Actor John de Lancie has subsequently agreed with such criticisms, noting the diminishment of the character's scope. The boxing match, while effective in defining Sisko, is a stark example of this reduction, trading cosmic stakes for a literal punchline.

Q-Less stands as an early, somewhat awkward attempt by Deep Space Nine to assert its place within the Star Trek canon by leveraging established characters. It functions as a sequel to two Next Generation episodes—Captain's Holiday and Qpid—but inherits more of the latter's flaws than the former's adventurous spirit. The episode is not without merit: Sisko's defining confrontation with Q is powerful, Vash finds a more natural habitat, and the meta-humour of the "technobabble" line is clever. However, these elements are woven into a fabric that feels thin and obligatory, a box-ticking exercise in franchise building that prioritises reference over substance. It is a competent but unexceptional piece of television, emblematic of a first season still searching for its own voice amidst the echoes of a beloved predecessor.

RATING: 5/10 (++)

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Another movie that surprised me was The World to Come (2020). I remember I was looking for a romantic and sweet movie, and this one popped up in the search results. I'd never heard of it before, so I gave it a chance. It started off very slowly, but that didn't discourage me. I thought the movie was about two friends, one of whom would fall in love with the other's husband, starting a rivalry between them. But it turned out the plot was completely different.

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I won't give you any spoilers, but I will say that it's a film set in 19th-century rural New York. The story is about two women marginalized by their marriages who find refuge and passion—and yes, guys, a lot of passion.

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A forbidden romance in the middle of the forest. I loved the performances of the two lovestruck girls, played by Katherine Waterston (Abigail) and Vanessa Kirby (Tally). They are very complex characters who evoke a range of emotions: love, tenderness, anger, despair, and resignation. They are excellent actresses. Their performances are complex and profound. I found the ending very sad and even cried. It wasn't the ending I would have wanted, but that's how movies and real life are; sometimes things don't go as planned.

As for the husbands, their performances were very different. While one was understanding, the other was offensive and dangerous. They were two completely different personalities and greatly influenced the plot.

This movie is recommended for anyone who enjoys suffering for love. I give it an 80 because the ending is very sad and tragic. I prefer happy endings.

Thanks for reading.

I used Google Translate

Rating: 80/100

This movie really seemed like they took four episodes of The Mandalorian and stitched them together to make a feature length film. I'm not saying that is a bad thing, but it is important to know before setting your expectations.

Because I went into expecting nothing more than a long Mandalorian episode, I was not disappointed. I really enjoy the show and love the characters and relationship between Mando and Baby Yoda... I mean Grogu. I got exactly what I was expecting: a simple plot, fun interactions between Mando and Grogu, Grogu being insanely cute and some cool battle scenes. I got all that.

This was a unique movie. Although it was clearly made for kids, it also includes lots of bad guys actually dying. There are no pilots ejecting and Storm Troopers and other villains actually get shot and die... a lot. In fact there are many scenes of Mando just walking into a room and killing literally everyone. These scenes weren't choreographed that well but it was good enough to keep my interest.

One of the very cool things about this movie was the writer/director John Favreau insisting on using practical effects. I'm sure by now that everyone is aware that Grogu is not CGI. He is an old school puppet. Even in this movie, they stay true to that details. At one point Grogu scoops out a paste-like medicine without bending his fingers, wrists or any other joints. He is a puppet with puppet hands. While some may be annoyed by this, I found it endearing. An even better example is a battle scene between Mando, Grogu and two giant robots. The robots were actually animated using stop motion animation. While some may have found this hokey, I found it cool and nostalgic.

Not all of the effects were old school. there were plenty of the high quality special effects we have grown to expect from Lucasfilm. There are plenty of action sequences and space battles to allow them to flex their fx muscles.

But when it comes down to it, this movie (or more likely television show arc) was all about getting to the final act. The first two thirds of the movie was very simple and formulaic. Find the McGuffin. Get the McGuffin. Deal with the problems caused by getting the McGuffin. The only thing I will say about this particular McGuffin is that it is a fantastic call back for fans of the Clone Wars cartoon "movie" (A three episode arc that was released in theaters... kind of like this one).

So was this movie worth it? If you like The Mandalorian television show and you prefer watching movies in Dolby on the big screen, it is definitely worth it. If you are just as happy watching on your phone, you can wait for this to come to Disney+.

Although I enjoyed Mando and Grogu playing father and son, and I do find Grogu cute and funny, the movie would not have been worth it for me if it weren't for that final act. Clearly Favreau and Filoni wrote some insane battle scenes and then were like "OK how do we get to this final battle"? Until that final battle, there really were no stakes or excitement. I knew Mando wasn't going to die early in the movie so it was all a formality that in every crowded room he entered, he'd leave behind a pile of dead bodies. But the final battle did actually have me on the edge of my seat a bit.

So was this movie worth it? If you like The Mandalorian television show and you prefer watching movies in Dolby on the big screen, it is definitely worth it. If you are just as happy watching on your phone, you can wiat for this to come to Disney+.

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More Than Just a Great Movie, The Big Short Tells the True Story of a Handful of Investors Who Saw the 2008 Financial Collapse Coming Long Before Anyone Else. Their Story Is Fascinating, and the Film Does an Outstanding Job Bringing It to Life.

Released in 2015, The Big Short is one of those rare films that manages to be both incredibly entertaining and incredibly important. Directed by Adam McKay, the movie tackles the complicated events that led to the 2008 financial crisis, a disaster that devastated millions of people around the world. What makes the film so impressive is that it takes a subject many people find confusing and turns it into a gripping story.

The film is based on the nonfiction book by Michael Lewis and follows several real life investors and financial experts who noticed serious problems in the American housing market years before the crash happened. While most banks, investors, government officials, and financial media personalities believed everything was fine, a small group of outsiders saw a disaster approaching.

Christian Bale delivers one of the best performances in the film as Dr. Michael Burry, a brilliant but socially awkward hedge fund manager who begins examining mortgage data and discovers that the entire housing market is built on a foundation of risky loans. Bale completely disappears into the role and makes Burry one of the most fascinating characters in the movie.

Steve Carell is equally impressive as Mark Baum, a character based on real life investor Steve Eisman. Baum is angry, cynical, and deeply frustrated by the corruption he uncovers. Carell gives the film much of its emotional weight, as his character struggles with the realization that the financial system is far more broken than he ever imagined.

Ryan Gosling plays Jared Vennett, a fast talking banker who recognizes the opportunity created by Burry’s discovery. Gosling serves as a narrator throughout much of the film and brings a lot of energy and humor to what could have been a very dry subject.

Brad Pitt also delivers a strong performance as Ben Rickert, a retired trader who helps two young investors navigate the complicated world of Wall Street. Pitt’s character provides an important reminder that while some people stood to make enormous profits, the coming crash would have devastating consequences for ordinary families.

The plot centers around these different individuals as they independently discover that millions of risky mortgages have been bundled together and sold as safe investments. Realizing that the housing bubble is eventually going to collapse, they make enormous bets against the market. In other words, they are betting that the system will fail.

One of the most fascinating parts of the movie is watching these men become increasingly frustrated as nobody wants to listen to them. Banks dismiss them. Rating agencies ignore obvious problems. Financial experts insist everything is fine. The deeper they dig, the more unbelievable the situation becomes.

Adam McKay deserves tremendous credit for making such a complicated topic understandable. The film uses humor, celebrity cameos, and creative fourth wall breaks to explain complicated financial concepts. Normally these techniques might feel gimmicky, but here they work perfectly.

What makes The Big Short especially powerful is that it is a true story. The events actually happened. The corruption, the greed, the incompetence, and the complete failure of oversight were all real. Watching the film knowing this makes many scenes even more shocking.

The movie never portrays its main characters as traditional heroes. While they correctly predicted the crash, they also profited from it. That creates an interesting moral dilemma throughout the film. The audience wants them to be right, but at the same time knows that being right means millions of people will suffer.

Visually, the film moves at a fast pace and never becomes boring despite dealing with economics and finance. The editing is sharp, the performances are excellent, and the script constantly balances humor with outrage.

What I love most about The Big Short is that it exposes how fragile and reckless the financial system had become before 2008. It shows how a handful of intelligent people were willing to question what everyone else accepted as fact, and how that willingness allowed them to see the truth long before the rest of the world.

The Big Short remains a great film because it succeeds on multiple levels. It is entertaining, informative, funny, frustrating, and at times genuinely shocking. More importantly, it tells a true story that everyone should understand. It is one of the best films ever made about finance and one of the most compelling true stories Hollywood has brought to the screen.

The Riverworld cycle of science fiction novels by Hugo Award-winning author Philip José Farmer has long captivated readers with its audacious premise—the post-mortem resurrection of every human who ever lived along the banks of a seemingly endless river on an alien world. This concept, rich with philosophical potential and boundless narrative possibilities, has not only amassed a devoted following but has persistently tantalised those imagining its translation to the screen. Prior to 2010, there had been but a single, faltering attempt: the 2003 Sci-Fi Channel television film, directed by Kari Skogland, which served as a pilot for a series that never materialised. That production, as noted in contemporary critiques, was a profound disappointment, reducing Farmer’s intellectually curious saga to a generic telefantasy adventure. Seven years later, the same channel embarked on another, more ambitious adaptation: a two-part miniseries directed by Stewart Gillard. On paper, the expanded format promised a more faithful and nuanced exploration of Farmer’s creation. In practice, the 2010 Riverworld stands as a stark testament to how greater length, without concomitant vision, budget, or respect for the source material, can result in an adaptation even more frustrating and ultimately more forgettable than its predecessor.

The miniseries transplants the narrative to a contemporary setting, opening in Kuala Lumpur where photojournalist Matt Ellman (Tahmoh Penikett) is about to propose to his girlfriend, Jessie Machalan (Laura Vandervoort). Their moment is obliterated by a female suicide bomber, killing them both. Ellman awakens, disoriented, in the titular river, and upon reaching shore discovers he is not alone. He encounters others who died in the blast, including an elderly woman now mysteriously rejuvenated. This initial mystery effectively establishes the core conceit: all here are dead, resurrected by inscrutable beings known as the Caretakers, provided with basic sustenance via “grails,” and left to forge a new society. Ellman soon learns that this fresh start has merely replicated old tyrannies. The strong prey upon the weak, epitomised by the infamous Spanish conquistador Francisco Pizarro (Bruce Ramsay), who has established a brutal empire. Aiding him is the English explorer Sir Richard Francis Burton (Peter Wingfield), a figure whose presence will incense any reader of the novels, where Burton is the charismatic, complex protagonist. Here, he is reinvented as a scheming villain in league with a sinister, renegade Caretaker (Alan Cumming). Escaping Pizarro’s clutches, Ellman embarks on a quest to find Jessie, aided by the legendary Japanese female samurai Tomoe Gozen (Jeananne Goossen) and Samuel Clemens, aka Mark Twain (Mark Deklin), who has constructed a riverboat to explore this strange world.

The most immediate advantage the 2010 version holds over the 2003 film is its miniseries format. With roughly twice the runtime, the script by Robert Hewitt Wolfe and Randall M. Badat does manage to incorporate more elements from Farmer’s literary universe. Most notably, it introduces the concept of repeated resurrections—characters who die on Riverworld can be “recycled” back to life—a fundamental mechanic of the novels that adds a layer of existential stakes absent from the earlier adaptation. This suggests an intention to engage more deeply with the source material’s mechanics. Yet, this solitary fidelity only serves to highlight the myriad other ways in which the production fails, and often more catastrophically than the 2003 effort.

The most palpable deficiency is the glaring lack of budget. Where Skogland’s film was shot amidst the striking, unfamiliar landscapes of New Zealand, Gillard’s miniseries is confined to the well-trodden, temperate forests of British Columbia—a location so ubiquitously used for North American television science fiction and fantasy that it instantly shatters any illusion of an alien, awe-inspiring world. The setting feels generic and earthbound, lacking the visual grandeur the premise demands. The marginally improved CGI, which allows for the inclusion of a zeppelin alongside Twain’s riverboat, is a paltry compensation. It cannot mask the overall cheapness of the production design, from the unconvincing armour of Pizarro’s conquistadors to the underwhelming realisation of the climactic Dark Towers.

This budgetary constraint is exacerbated by Stuart Gillard’s pedestrian direction. Where a skilled director might use clever cinematography and editing to disguise financial limitations, Gillard’s handling of action, particularly the battle sequences, only accentuates their scale-less, televisual cheapness. The performances he elicits are similarly lacking. Bruce Ramsay’s Pizarro is a one-note, snarling antagonist, devoid of the chilling, cultured menace that Jonathan Cake brought to Nero in the 2003 version. Far more egregious, however, is the character assassination of Sir Richard Francis Burton. Peter Wingfield plays him as a standard-issue, duplicitous schemer, a decision that fundamentally misunderstands and disrespects Farmer’s work. In the novels, Burton’s brilliant, irascible, and deeply human nature is the engine of the story; his reduction to a secondary villain is an unforgivable betrayal of the source material that alienates its core audience. Tahmoh Penikett strives for gravitas as Ellman but is shackled to an uninspired, everyman protagonist whose journey feels generic. Laura Vandervoort is regrettably sidelined, her role as Jessie amounting to little more than a damsel-in-distress plot device and eye candy, a wasted opportunity for meaningful characterisation.

Gillard’s narrative choices further undermine the miniseries. Lengthy, repetitive flashbacks to Ellman’s past as a war correspondent in Chechnya feel like tedious filler, inserted to pad the runtime rather than to illuminate character or theme. They disrupt the pacing and contribute to a sense of narrative lethargy. Even more curiously regressive is Gillard’s approach to a foundational element of the premise: the nudity of the resurrected. The 2003 film, for all its faults, had the courage to depict the raw, unsettling vulnerability of hundreds of people awakening naked on the riverbank, a powerful visual metaphor for rebirth and existential nakedness. The 2010 version, in a display of inexplicable prudishness, has characters appear already clothed. This sanitisation strips the scenario of its visceral, disquieting impact, making the resurrection feel safe, sterile, and unimaginative. The irony is acute: Gillard began his directorial career with the 1982 film Paradise, a romantic period adventure whose marketing heavily featured the nudity of its young leads. Here, whether due to network pressure or personal choice, he lacks the will or skill that Kari Skogland demonstrated in navigating such content for television, resulting in a tamer, less daring production.

The miniseries lumbers towards a climax at the mysterious Dark Towers, culminating in a spectacular, apocalyptic showdown that the protagonists conveniently survive via yet another resurrection. This provides a neat cliffhanger, clearly designed to tee up potential sequels or an ongoing series. However, by this point, any narrative momentum or viewer investment has long since dissipated. The Sci-Fi Channel, and the audience, had lost interest. The failure feels particularly pronounced when viewed in the broader television landscape. By 2010, series like Lost had conclusively demonstrated how a mysterious, character-driven saga with a sprawling ensemble and deep mythological underpinnings could captivate a global audience. Lost proved that a premise akin to Farmer’s—people stranded in a strange world confronting mysteries of existence—could be executed with ingenuity, originality, and emotional resonance. The 2010 Riverworld, in contrast, feels like a relic, a clumsily executed adventure story that misunderstands its own source material and fails to learn from either the mistakes of its 2003 predecessor or the successes of its contemporaries.

The 2010 Riverworld miniseries is a profoundly disappointing endeavour. It squanders the expanded canvas of its format, offering only superficial gestures towards the novels’ complexity while succumbing to crippling budgetary constraints, uninspired direction, and a deeply misguided approach to character and tone. It is less an adaptation of Philip José Farmer’s visionary work and more a bland, televisual fantasy that uses the Riverworld name as a shallow backdrop. Its failure is twofold: it neither satisfies fans of the books nor succeeds as compelling standalone television. This second attempt at resurrecting Riverworld for the screen only succeeded in proving that some literary worlds, no matter how fascinating, remain stubbornly beyond the reach of inadequate interpretation.

RATING: 2/10 (-)

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