Les Trésors du Paris des années folles 

I love The Last Jedi. I don’t think there has been a Star Wars movie in quite some time that brought something new, something fresh to the table.

The shattering of what we strive to maintain as reality. It is certainly truthful to state that most, if not all, of us have experienced moments of genuine mental stress. Regardless of what might be the cause, the sheer unsettledness, the pressure that weighs upon us is a tangible force that CAN seem insurmountable. However, more often than not, this is only a temporary , one we can come through and simply move on from.

Films can alleviate alienation by presenting realities where the viewers feelings are shared by onscreen characters. The film 'Shrek' can be interpreted as a transgender story.

John Fawcett’s "Ginger Snaps" intertwines the lore of the werewolf to the hellish experience of a young girl going through puberty.

This is ambitious horror filmmaking, and in a lot of ways, I fully admire its ambitions. For me, the film’s sloppiness defines its overall quality.

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.