National Theatre at Home: End (2026)

This is not a film, it’s a drop tower.  A drop tower that you don’t get off of for the vast majority of its 106-minute runtime. 

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.

... La huesera haunts her daily life, leaving people to question her viability as a mother, and Valeria’s lack of satisfaction with her life leave her asking similar questions. These misgivings reach their peak after the baby is born, when Valeria, visibly in a state akin to possession, locks her in the fridge when she won’t stop crying through the night

Jordan Peele's turn to horror with "Get Out" isn't as unexpected as it may seem. He primed his fans for a disturbing and nuanced exploration of racism with his work on "Keanu" and "Key & Peele."

Remember Caroline from Vampire Diaries? Well, now she’s The Suitcase Killer, allegedly. 

People are so much deeper and far more extraordinary than what gender they were assigned at birth.