StanZolo1980

Filmmakers usually depict the afterlife in two ways. One is the modern version, where consciousness can be uploaded to a flesh drive and you can still swipe your credit card for entertainment. The other is the old-fashioned idea of the soul's immortality - the path Eternity (2025) chooses.

Larry, played by Miles Teller, who spent 65 years with his wife Joan, finds himself in a transfer hub, waiting for her so they can choose a themed world for their eternal life together. The twist is that Luke, Joan's first husband, has the same plan. He's a handsome man who died young in the war. So when Joan finally joins them, an uncomfortable situation unfolds: she has to choose one of them, while Larry must prove he wasn't just a consolation prize.

I have to admit, the concept strongly echoes Defending Your Life (1991). So if you've been missing warm, thoughtful romantic comedies, Eternity might be just what the doctor ordered. It offers an original premise, a solid cast, a pleasant soundtrack, and Da'Vine Joy Randolph once again adding warmth and personality in a supporting role, enhancing the otherworldly atmosphere. Interestingly, the filmmakers avoid drowning Miles Teller and Elizabeth Olsen in heavy makeup, opting instead to cast older actors for the later stages of their lives.

As for the weak points, the ending feels a bit blurred, and the film's central idea - strong as it is - isn't fully explored. Still, these flaws don't get in the way of what really matters. Eternity is an easy, kind-hearted watch - funny, gently melancholic, and quietly charming. It doesn't try to shock or reinvent the genre; instead, it invites you to relax, smile, and occasionally feel a lump in your throat. By the time the credits roll, you may not be thinking about big philosophical questions, but you'll probably feel a little lighter. And sometimes, that's exactly the kind of movie you need.

After watching two seasons of Severance, one thought stuck in my mind - there is something familiar about this. Many years ago, I was hooked on a TV show named Lost. Back then, those breaks between episodes left me confused and hungry, and each new-season release was a Christmas. Episodes felt like falling dominoes, piling mystery on mystery.

As I kept watching Severance, I realized it plays a different game than Lost ever did. Lost thrived on chaos - a glorious, intoxicating mess of riddles stacked on riddles. Severance, on the other hand, is almost surgical. Every scene feels measured, every shot carries intention, and every silence is louder than shouting. It's not trying to overwhelm you; it's trying to get inside your head.

What impressed me most is how the show weaponizes mundanity. A corporate hallway, a wellness session, a waffle party - everything looks harmless until it suddenly isn't. The world of Lumon is built on tiny, carefully controlled details, and the more we learn, the more wrong everything feels. It's like being trapped inside an IKEA catalog curated by Kafka.

It may sound ridiculous, but the last thing I want is for Severance to repeat the fate of Lost. That ending broke the hearts of many fans around the world, and the reasons are irrelevant. The world of Severance is a fascinating creation. Yet there's beauty in knowing when to stop, and it is better to leave the audience puzzled rather than frustrated.

The trailer for the third season was genuinely enjoyable for me to watch - a distant echo of a slowed-down Pet Shop Boys cover of "It's a Sin" created a cozy, almost nostalgic atmosphere, while a nice-looking man in a red checkered shirt wandered around, smiling kindly at girls on the skating rink or flirting with them in a diner.

This kind of manipulation by filmmakers makes viewers feel real empathy for any character, no matter who they are - whether it's two brothers who return home to make sure their parents are dead and finish the job, or a former taxidermist whose actions once forced authorities to demolish an entire apartment building.

The main character of this season is Ed Gein, a real man from Wisconsin whose life and crimes left a deep impact on popular culture even during his lifetime. Norman Bates, Leatherface, and Hannibal Lecter were all inspired by him. And by 2025, one could say he has at least temporarily dethroned Charles Manson in terms of cultural obsession.

All the imagery is exceptionally well-done, and the actors deliver great performances. Charlie Hamman's transformation is remarkable, and his voice had already become a meme even before the series premiered. The filmmakers also added a romantic subplot and used the device of unreliable hallucinations, blurring the line between what actually happened and what is fictional. So when someone claims that Suzanna Son's appearance in the story is unwelcome, that argument doesn't really hold up - not to mention the fictional murders, exaggerations, and rumors that the show is filled with.

Overall, the production is top-notch; every episode is engaging and visually stunning. And I certainly don't want to sound moralizing, but it's worth noting what has been happening in recent years. Shows like this turn a real-life murderer into a tool for horror and dramatic storytelling, while the victims often become little more than props. Filmmakers also tend to imply that the root of the violence lies in external factors, effectively turning the viewer into a member of the jury.

People keep watching series like Monster because they offer a safe window into the darkest corners of human nature. It's fear without danger, curiosity without consequence - and that combination is hard to resist. As long as these stories ask the questions we're afraid to face and reveal truths we'd rather look away from, audiences will keep watching.

And honestly, you can't stop it. The fascination is already wired into us.