“The Thursday Murder Club” Provides a Cozy Mystery
As a frequent “the book was better” extoller, this movie was well worth the watch.

Yasuda (Hitomi Matsuda), the Wakagashira of the Takemiya Union Tōjō-gumi, infiltrates the hideout of the Yamashina-gumi's Sakazaki (Junichi Kawamoto), who had been secretly engaged in organ trafficking. Yasuda tries to extract the truth from Sakazaki, but is killed by Detective Hyūga from the Organized Crime Division (Marubō). The blame is pinned on Yasuda, leading to his arrest. Two years later... In Yasuda's absence, the boss of the Tōjō-gumi, Tōjō (Hiroyuki Watanabe), is assassinated by a hitman from the Myōjin-kai. The situation changes drastically. Nikaidō (Tarō Kawano) pressures Yasuda to reestablish his oath of allegiance, but Yasuda firmly refuses. Frustrated by Yasuda's response, Nikaidō makes a certain proposal to the union's chairman, Shimamura (Shunsuke Kariya).
As a frequent “the book was better” extoller, this movie was well worth the watch.
J Brooke, Incluvie Guest Columnist on 'Life and Beth' and 'Sort of': while living one’s truth is freedom, speaking it as a mandatory assignment can become captivity.
Moonlight is a film that will certainly be remembered for how it won Best Picture, but the movie itself should be known for its excellent representation of one of the most underrepresented groups in film: Black, gay men.
Clearly, in the end, Allison raised a responsible child because she knew that her "friend" was doing something that made her uncomfortable and turned away from her. No worries, Super mom was already one step ahead of her.
A family adventure film that features Hawaiian culture with a representative director and a diverse cast.
Him is visually stunning—all concrete cathedrals and bone-rattling impact shots that look like a nightmare highlight reel. Marlon Wayans is magnetic as this legendary quarterback who's basically selling salvation with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. But the story keeps running in circles: more tests, more cryptic pep talks, more ritualistic drills. The sports-as-religion metaphor beats you over the head when subtlety would've been more effective. The middle drags, and that finale chooses spectacle over substance. It's undeniably stylish, but left me cold. Also worth noting: despite the Monkeypaw connection, this isn't actually a Jordan Peele film—he didn't write or direct.