Terrorbit

Flying Lotus' second feature film is a visually bold but narratively uneven project that, while offering moments of genuine atmosphere, falls far short of being a satisfying experience for the demanding viewer. The film presents a classic space horror premise: an astronaut, competently portrayed by Eiza González, wakes up disoriented on a remote planet after the massacre of her crew, with no memory and facing an unknown threat. Ash is visually impressive: neon lights, psychedelic atmospheres and subjective shots reminiscent of video games and the experimental cinema of the seventies. Beneath this hypnotic surface, however, the script quickly loses its momentum. What begins as an intriguing mystery turns into a predictable story, riddled with clichés and excessively fragmented, with the repeated flashbacks and dream-like visions adding unnecessary confusion rather than depth. Aaron Paul is relegated to a flat, functional character who generates no real conflict or tension. Seemly designed to make a visual impact, this feature lacks the narrative solidity and character development to stand out, more like an exercise in style that, while visually appealing, ultimately leaves the impression of lacking a story that truly engages the viewer, in a genre already overflowing with similar offerings.

A mediocre suspense thriller that starts from an appealing premise: a petty criminal gets trapped in the SUV he's trying to steal and is subjected to a sadistic game by the vehicle's owner. It's one of those ideas that can be summed up in a single sentence and promises intense suspense, but unfortunately it never lives up to its own potential. The movie drags on longer than necessary and never achieves the depth or emotional impact it seemed to promise at the beginning. David Yarovesky directs competently and offers some interesting camera work, but the script quickly lapses into repetition and fails to sustain the tension. The psychological torture sequences are repeated over and over again without introducing variations or any real development of the conflict. The attempt to add a social and moral subtext with references to inequality and allusions to Dostoyevsky feel forced and superficial. Ultimately, it's a fast-food thriller, briefly effective but easily forgettable.

Set in 1930s Mississippi, Ryan Coogler's film combines vampire lore, racial drama and musical western to create an ambitious hybrid. The story serves as a metaphor for structural racism and cultural exploitation, with the blues functioning not only as a soundtrack but also as a symbol of collective resistance. Shot on 65mm and visually stunning, the film is characterised by a stylised aesthetic and dense, eerie atmospheres. However, despite a strong cast and some compelling moments, the accumulation of themes - from historical trauma to redemption and black identity - ultimately overwhelms the narrative, which becomes muddled and inconsistent. Violence and horror come too late to really make an impact, and some symbolic ideas, like the "inclusive" white vampires or the presence of the Choctaws, feel underdeveloped. Coogler aims high, but doesn't always hit the mark: the film stands out more for what it hints at than what it has to say. The result is a bold but uneven work that favors discourse rather than suspense and focuses more on thesis than emotional resonance.