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War of the Worlds (2025) is not a movie-it's a desperate, soulless social media experiment masquerading as cinema. Rather than telling a story through compelling characters, masterful cinematography, or immersive world-building, this "film" stitches together TikTok clips, livestream reactions, and influencer skits in what can only be described as a dumpster fire of creative laziness.

Instead of modernizing H. G. Wells' classic tale with vision and artistic ambition, the filmmakers opted for the cheapest gimmick: turning alien invasion into an endless scroll of shaky phone videos and cringe-worthy "viral" moments. This isn't innovative; it's a cop-out. It feels like a corporate brainstorm where someone said, "What if we made a movie for Gen Z... but didn't actually make a movie?"

The result is hollow, exhausting, and insulting to the intelligence of anyone who values cinema as an art form. War of the Worlds deserves better than being reduced to a glorified Instagram reel. Calling this "creative" is like calling spam emails "literature."

In short: a symbol of everything wrong with modern filmmaking-algorithm-chasing, authenticity-dead, and completely devoid of genuine storytelling.

Marvel's 2025 reboot of Fantastic Four is less about world-ending threats and more about building-or holding onto-a family when everything seems to be falling apart. That might be its strength... or its biggest weakness, depending on who's watching.

There's a noticeable trend emerging from early reactions: audiences who are parents, or have raised children, seem to connect far more deeply with this film than those who haven't. That's not by accident. Director Matt Shakman leans heavily into emotional storytelling, with themes of guardianship, sacrifice, and the ache of watching someone you love grow into their own person. Reed's emotional detachment, Sue's protective instincts, Johnny's recklessness, and Ben's pain-they all hit harder if you've ever had to raise or look after someone vulnerable.

But if you're coming into this as a traditional Marvel fan expecting dynamic action, bold villainy, or a grand multiversal hook, you may walk away disappointed. The pacing often slows to dwell on quiet moments. The film feels oddly grounded for a team that literally rides cosmic rays.

The performances are fine. Pedro Pascal brings gravitas as Reed, Vanessa Kirby gives Sue some much-needed steeliness, and Joseph Quinn as Johnny offers both humor and pathos. But the script doesn't give them enough propulsion. The Fantastic Four spend so much time reacting to each other emotionally that they forget to be fantastic.

Ultimately, Fantastic Four (2025) is a film about parenting disguised as a superhero reboot. And that's the dividing line: if you've lived those emotions-raising kids, protecting a family, or sacrificing your dreams for someone else's future-you may find unexpected depth. But if you're just here for superhero thrills? You might be left checking your watch.

After Midnight is the kind of show that thinks being online too much counts as a personality. It's an unfunny blend of internet culture references, forced panel banter, and punchlines that sound like rejected tweets from five years ago. Somehow it manages to feel both overproduced and totally directionless - like a BuzzFeed article came to life and won a timeslot.

Instead of clever, spontaneous late-night energy, you get shallow snark and desperate attempts to be "relatable" to the terminally online. And of course, when it dips into politics (which it inevitably does), it leans hard into the same stale left-leaning jabs with zero nuance or originality.

There's no point, no depth, and definitely no reason this show needs to exist other than to fill airtime. At this rate, After Midnight is just marking time before it becomes Afterthought: The Podcast, where former guests try to repackage their bad jokes as ironic commentary.