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"Red Dawn," released in 1984, is often remembered as a piece of Cold War fantasy, but it also serves as an American mirror image of the Afghan mujahideen's resistance against the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. In the film, the Wolverines-a group of high school students turned guerrilla fighters-take up arms against a Soviet, Cuban, and Nicaraguan occupation in rural Colorado, echoing the real-world insurgency of Afghan rebels fighting a technologically superior Soviet force in the mountains of Central Asia. The parallels are explicit: both groups are outgunned, both use their knowledge of the local terrain, and both rely on hit-and-run tactics to harass occupiers.

"Red Dawn" is steeped in the anxieties of its era, imagining a world where America stands isolated after NATO collapses, Mexico falls to revolution, and the Soviets-facing their own internal crises-launch a surprise invasion of the United States. The Wolverines' fight is less about ideology and more about survival and home, much like many real-world insurgencies. The film's power lies in its ability to make American audiences empathize with insurgents, casting familiar teenagers as the kind of guerrilla fighters the U. S. was covertly supporting in Afghanistan at the time.

However, the film's plot is riddled with holes that strain credulity, even within its alternate-history setup. The most glaring is the logistics of the invasion itself. How did the Soviets, Cubans, and Nicaraguans manage to transport enough troops, tanks, and helicopters to occupy large swaths of the U. S. heartland? The film suggests paratroopers disguised as commercial airliners and a southern invasion through a destabilized Mexico, but even in the context of 1984's military technology, the U. S. early warning systems, satellite reconnaissance, and air defenses would have made such a surprise attack nearly impossible. The Soviet Union never possessed the airlift capacity to insert and sustain such a massive force across the Atlantic, and the idea of half a million Cuban and Nicaraguan troops operating in the continental U. S. stretches the imagination.

Another major plot hole is the near-total absence of the U. S. military. Aside from a brief encounter with a downed Air Force pilot and a distant tank battle, the Wolverines seem to be fighting alone, with no sign of organized American resistance or counteroffensive in their region. The film's backstory tries to explain this by suggesting that the U. S. military is tied down elsewhere, with the Midwest and East still under American control and the Rockies under occupation. Still, given the size and capability of the U. S. military, especially during the Cold War, the lack of any visible military response in Colorado feels contrived. In reality, any occupying force would have faced not only local militias but also a relentless, coordinated military campaign to retake lost territory.

Despite these implausibilities, "Red Dawn" endures as a cultural touchstone, not for its realism, but for its emotional resonance and its inversion of the usual Cold War narrative. By recasting Americans as the insurgents, it forces viewers to consider the costs and consequences of occupation and resistance, themes that are as relevant today as they were in 1984. The Wolverines, like the mujahideen, become symbols of national defiance, but the film's real legacy is its ability to make us question whose side we would be on if the roles were reversed.

"Last Light," the 2022 television miniseries, enters the crowded field of eco-thrillers with a premise that feels both urgent and timely. The story imagines a world thrown into chaos when the global oil supply is suddenly compromised, pushing society to the brink. On paper, this setup offers immense potential for suspense, thought-provoking drama, and a fresh take on our dependence on fossil fuels.

Unfortunately, while the premise is promising, the execution leaves much to be desired. The plot unfolds in a way that feels overly familiar, with twists and turns that most viewers will see coming well in advance. Rather than building tension or surprise, the storyline often relies on well-worn tropes, making the viewing experience predictable from start to finish.

The performances, too, are underwhelming. The cast delivers serviceable but largely uninspired work, never quite elevating the material or drawing the audience deeply into the characters' struggles. The emotional stakes, which should be sky-high given the global crisis at hand, rarely feel authentic or compelling.

"Last Light" had the ingredients for a gripping, relevant thriller, but it never quite ignites. For those seeking a genuinely suspenseful or original take on environmental disaster, this miniseries may disappoint. Despite its intriguing concept, the series ultimately fails to deliver.

Spy High: When Laptops Become Snitches and Privacy Takes a Sick Day

Spy High, the docuseries that's like *The Office* meets *Black Mirror*-if Michael Scott accidentally activated a surveillance state in a Philly suburb. Directed by Jody McVeigh-Schultz and backed by Mark Wahlberg's Unrealistic Ideas (a name that's either ironic or prophetic), revisits a 2010 scandal where a school-issued MacBook turned into Big Brother's favorite toy.

Imagine being 15, accused of drug dealing because your school remotely snapped a pic of you in your bedroom. Blake Robbins' saga starts here, blending teenage angst with Orwellian vibes. The series nails the absurdity: administrators playing NSA with webcams, parents oscillating between outrage and "wait, they did what?", and Blake's family becoming accidental media darlings (until their past legal drama stole the spotlight).

The show's genius lies in making you laugh before you gasp. Yes, schools spying on kids is dystopian, but watching Blake pause an interview to ask Siri for a Senator's name? The series dives into the creep factor of tech overreach, asking: "If your laptop's watching, is it also judging your Spotify playlists?" Spoiler: The answer is yes, and it's definitely side-eyeing your My Chemical Romance phase.

Here's where *Spy High* gets real. While Blake's family hogs the drama, the series quietly highlights how Black students faced disproportionate targeting. It's the "oh, and also racism" subplot we wish was fictional. The show doesn't fully unpack this-prioritizing Blake's main character energy-but it's a grim reminder that surveillance tools often mirror society's biases.

Social Cohesion? More Like Social Collision: The fallout is a masterclass in how not to build community trust. Parents vs. Admins, classmates side-eyeing each other, and a town learning the hard way that "protecting kids" can mean "destroying privacy." The Robbins family's 15 minutes of fame-complete with talk-show tours-shows how quickly solidarity crumbles when skeletons (and lawsuits) enter the chat.

Spy High succeeds as a dark comedy with a conscience, even if it occasionally gets lost in its own webcam footage. It's a bingeable cautionary tale which presents the dilemma modern technology poses for us. It's a mix of cringe, chaos, and covert ops that'll make you side-eye your kid's school iPad. Also, maybe unplug your webcam.