This Is Not How You Start a Trilogy: “Hope” Gets a Nope From Me
Despite it being one of the most visually impressive action movies I’ve ever seen, everything else fell short of my expectations.

The French girl Nanette Lubin came to Rio looking for her aunt and ended up finding the son of a baroness, Ricardo de Toneleiros. Not finding her aunt, Nanette became a manicurist for a baroness and later the lover of the lady's nephew. The film ends with the death of Nanette, who had been located by her aunt, but the aunt, upon learning how her niece was living, returned to the farm where she lived.
Despite it being one of the most visually impressive action movies I’ve ever seen, everything else fell short of my expectations.
Outer Banks (2020-) knows its audience: young adults in a country that can’t stop romanticizing good ole’ treasure hunts. Add a little of Riverdale’s (2017-) sex appeal, and no one can look away. Forty years after The Goonies (1985) America’s consciousness hasn’t strayed from the same tropes: treasure hunts, a vulnerable white male lead, and the whitewashing of a racially segregated setting.
Striving for validation. Let’s be frank….we ALL want to be successful. Whatever we put our efforts into, ideally it is to make it culminate in the best possible results across the board, especially when it comes to what career path we are pursuing. We WANT to excel, to shine, to advance, to be acknowledged. AND…let’s hope that we also wish to better everyone around us to boot. However, what occurs when those whom we initially put our trust in suddenly become a burden instead of a boon? Do we falter under the weight of rejection? Or STAND UP for WHO WE ARE?
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.
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