“Keanu” Paved the Way for “Get Out”
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."

A very ambitious Belizean immigrant flees to the United States after committing a violent crime. Dreams of being rich and ruling the world land him in the forefront of a Belizean/Jamaican drug WAR in the streets of Los Angeles, California. Little does he know that love conquers all.
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."
It took writers D.B Weiss and David Benioff two years to give us a promising final season. Two. Years. It was just going to be six episodes, which was short considering that all the other seasons — except season 7 — were 10 episodes. 10. 6 wasn’t enough, and even HBO wanted to give the writers more episodes. More seasons, even. However, the writers wanted to get out of the show as quickly as possible to work on other projects. This abruptness is clearly shown in this season.
While the camera is objectifying her body to invoke a sexual response in male viewers, Lara Croft still defies the expectations of women in action films.
With The Father, writer-director Florian Zeller- who wrote and developed the play upon which the film is based- pulls no punches as he confidently makes every effort to put the audience in the mind of someone whose grip on reality has all but vanished. It’s a dazzling testament to Zeller’s abilities as a director as he makes his first transition from stage to film appear as if he’s been working behind a camera his entire career. The dialogue he fashions with co-writer Christopher Hampton, along with the work of production designers Peter Francis and Cathy Featherstone, collectively makes the downward spiral of dementia startlingly tangible, doing so in a way that can be comprehended by everyone except the person it directly affects.
Mona Fastvold’s nineteenth century lesbian romance is emotionally charged, restrained, and poetic without feeling forced.