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The Architect surprises with its simplicity and its ability to unsettle without relying on big spectacle. In just four twenty-minute episodes, it imagines a future so close that it feels like our present stretched to the extreme. Unaffordable housing, precarious jobs replaced by machines, and a system that turns daily life into a bureaucratic procedure with no room for humanity.

The series plays like a long Black Mirror episode, but with a colder, more satirical Nordic tone. The protagonist, Julie, portrayed with striking naturalism by Eili Harboe, embodies the frustration of a generation caught between talent and the impossibility of building a decent future. Her refuge in an empty parking lot becomes a metaphor for a system that has lost all sense.

What stands out most is how little fiction exaggerates here: drones walking dogs, banks turned into impersonal machines, outrageous rents, and contracts designed to humiliate. Everything feels plausible, even familiar, which makes it more disturbing than any futuristic twist.

Although at times the tone feels softened-perhaps to avoid being too bleak-the series still leaves its mark. Its brevity works in its favor: you can watch it in one sitting and be left with uncomfortable questions about where we are headed.

In the end, The Architect may be short in length but it's big in message. A satire that makes you laugh uneasily and think with unease, reminding us that the dystopian future it depicts is already knocking at the door.

Wednesday achieves what few series can: it hooks you from the very first episode with a mix of dark humor, mystery, and a strong aesthetic. Tim Burton leaves his unmistakable mark on the direction, evident in the settings, atmosphere, and that macabre fairytale vibe that fits the character perfectly.

The real strength of the series is, without a doubt, Jenna Ortega. Her portrayal of Wednesday Addams is magnetic: cold, sarcastic, and yet endearing. Every gesture and line of dialogue is carefully delivered, making the character feel authentic and connecting both with longtime Addams Family fans and a new generation.

The beginning is the strongest part: fast-paced mystery and a story that balances the supernatural with teenage drama. It's true that at times the script gets a little sidetracked with so many subplots, but overall the show holds interest with well-placed twists and secondary characters who add variety and freshness.

The atmosphere is another highlight. Nevermore Academy is filled with visual details and gothic nods that create a world where the fantastic blends seamlessly with the everyday. Danny Elfman's score also enhances the series with a dark yet playful identity that suits it perfectly.

Not every episode is at the same level, and some narrative dips are noticeable. Still, the show recovers with memorable moments and undeniable charisma. The blend of sharp humor and suspense always makes you want to keep watching one more episode.

In the end, Wednesday, across its two seasons, is a solid piece of entertainment with its own personality, led by a Jenna Ortega at her best. It doesn't aim to reinvent the wheel but delivers a dark, fun, and confident show that more than justifies its popularity.

Unknown Number: The High School Catfish begins as just another case of teenage cyberbullying, but soon makes it clear that the story goes far beyond the anonymous messages filling a phone. Director Skye Borgman, who had already shown her skill in the genre with other Netflix documentaries, manages to keep us glued to the screen through sheer tension and unease.

The narrative moves with pace, alternating testimonies with brief reenactments, and it successfully conveys the sense of suffocation experienced by the victims. The relentless flood of increasingly aggressive messages turns daily life into a nightmare, and the documentary places the audience firmly on their side. It also knows how to pace the information so the twist lands with maximum impact.

Its greatest strength might not only lie in the final surprise, but in how it portrays a supposedly safe environment-a small community, a school, a circle of friends-becoming the stage for devastating harassment. That idea lingers long after the film ends.

It's not flawless: at times, one wishes for a deeper exploration of the psychological aftermath, and occasionally it seems to give too much space to the perpetrator's perspective. Still, as a true-crime experience, it works because it hits hardest where it hurts most: trust and intimacy.

Ultimately, Unknown Number is a documentary that unsettles both for what it shows and for what it implies. It grips you with its mystery and leaves you reflecting on how easily the virtual can invade and destroy the real.