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Although considered horror royalty, Stephen King has never been pigeonholed to the genre. From 'Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption' and 'The Body,' to 'The Running Man' (the latter released under the pseudonym Richard Bachman), King has consistently shown a knack for stepping beyond the supernatural to explore the deeply human. In those stories, filmmakers have found some of the richest material to bring to the screen.

Unfortunately, Mike Flanagan's 'The Life of Chuck', based on the novella of the same name, is not another standout entry in the King adaptation canon. A drama with science-fiction and fantasy elements told in reverse chronological order, it details three chapters in the life of a seemingly ordinary man named Charles Krantz, from his youth to his death.

Billed as heart-warming, it's so saccharinely schmaltzy it'll leave you reaching for the antacid. Flanagan's third King adaptation, and easily his worst, the narrative is profoundly unengaging and banal. Although the first chapter shows some promise, it all comes to nothing. The subsequent acts are as underwhelming as a half-inflated balloon. Tonally scattershot, the film is so full of cliches and devoid of life it's genuinely puzzling how it has garnered so much praise.

Just what is the point of 'The Life of Chuck'? What's its purpose? Some reviewers have claimed it speaks volumes about the human condition. It doesn't. Others tout it as a feel-good miracle that might restore faith in humanity. It won't. It's dull, clunky and poorly scripted. Flanagan's dialogue is of the expository variety, when it isn't cliched nonsense.

Additionally, proceedings are saddled with intrusive narration, spelling out the easily inferred themes and emotions, thereby undercutting any chance of subtlety. Further, Flanagan's characterisation is slim to non-existent. Why should we care about Chuck or want to hear about his life? He has all the personality and charm of a snail without a shell.

Throughout his paltry excuse for a narrative, Flanagan seems to be striving for meditations on mortality, memory and the fleeting nature of life. Yet these themes never land, buried beneath heavy-handed exposition, shallow characterisation and sentimental overkill. The film aims to reflect life's truths, but instead feels empty and contrived.

Visually, it is more of an accomplished affair, even if it has that Netflixy sheen, making everything on screen look overly polished and sterile. Director of photography Eben Bolter does manage to evoke some interesting imagery, however, especially in the first chapter. Yet, while his cinematography, the production design and lighting are all competent, they can't compensate for the story's emptiness or lack of emotional engagement.

Unfortunately, the film struggles to find a consistent flow. The first chapter moves at a deliberate, measured pace that works, but the remaining two drag, even though the second is actually quite short. The Newton Brothers' score is unremarkable, failing to enhance any of the emotional beats, while the dance sequences- featured heavily in the second and third chapters- though admittedly well-performed- feel interminably gratuitous.

Tom Hiddleston, first billed and featuring prominently in the marketing, stars as Chuck, though isn't in the film for long. In fact, he's only really in the second chapter. Although he dances well, he fails to create a character of interest in the face of Flanagan's scant characterisation. Anyone could have been as effective in the role with a little bit of dance practice, one fears.

By contrast, Chiwetel Ejiofor does far superior work as a weary teacher, while Karen Gillan brings nuance as his nurse ex-wife, both managing to elevate their thinly written roles. Matthew Lillard and David Dastmalchian also drop in for a scene apiece, damn near stealing the show. Mia Sara and Mark Hamill, meanwhile, shine in the third chapter, as Chuck's grandparents. In addition, Nick Offerman provides the narration, and while his delivery is perfectly serviceable, it ultimately highlights just how unnecessary the device is in the first place.

In short, Mike Flanagan's 'The Life of Chuck' is a misfire of the highest order- dreary, saccharine and devoid of the vitality that makes Stephen King's better non-horror tales endure. Despite flashes of competent craft and a handful of strong supporting turns, it collapses under the weight of its own sentimentality. What might have been a poignant meditation on life instead feels like an overlong eulogy for a man viewers never had a reason to care about. In the end, the only real question left is: who gives a Chuck?

When real-life couples star together, the resulting film can take on a fascinating meta-layer. Although their offscreen bond doesn't necessarily blur into their characters, it inevitably hovers in the background. Mike Nichols' 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?' wasn't simply a searing portrait of marital warfare; it was also Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, cinema's most famous spouses, sparring with a ferocity that audiences couldn't help but connect to their tempestuous private lives.

Likewise, Stanley Kubrick's 'Eyes Wide Shut' wasn't just a puzzle about desire and fidelity. Echoed against the backdrop of Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman's highly publicized marriage, the couple's casting lent an extra layer of voyeuristic intrigue to the film. That extra-textual dimension doesn't alter the story, but it makes the fiction feel charged in ways it otherwise wouldn't.

This is also the case with Michael Shanks' 'Together,' starring the real-life couple Dave Franco and Alison Brie. A body-horror à la Coralie Fargeat's 'The Substance,' the film follows long-time partners Tim and Millie, who have been drifting apart. After relocating to the countryside, they encounter a mysterious force that starts to reshape their lives, forcing them closer than ever. Soon, their romance becomes a macabre affair, as the boundaries between co-dependence and monstrosity irrevocably blur.

Atmospheric, visceral and laced with dark humour, Shanks' film grips from start to finish. Essentially a Cronenbergian romantic comedy, it's bloody good fun, with some thematic weight. Shanks' narrative cleverly uses the language of body-horror to externalize the often-unspoken dynamics undermining relationships. More than an external threat, the disgusting entity that binds Tim and Millie embodies their neediness for, and resentment towards, one another.

Horror has always excelled at making the abstract tangible- whether it be desire as parasite, or intimacy as contagion- and Shanks leans into that tradition with gory relish. In 'Together', the spectacle of skin and sinew isn't there for shock alone, but as a metaphor for how love can devour, how co-dependence can trap partners in a suffocating cycle of intimacy. As proceedings intensify, the couple's bond is forced into a crucible, revealing both the strength and fragility of their connection.

Shanks' strong characterisation emphasises this point, especially when it comes to Tim. He is far from a traditional macho protagonist, being a vulnerable, tentative man marked by trauma. He can't work a compass or start a fire, and relies heavily on Millie in everyday situations. His hesitancy and fragility ground the film, making the couple's descent into grotesquerie more affecting than it otherwise might be.

Millie, too, is drawn with nuance; a smart young teacher who loves Tim and wants the best for him, but whose patience sometimes frays under the weight of his insecurities. Together, they feel less like genre archetypes and more a realistic couple. Their exchanges throughout are natural, laced with a dry wit that feels true to life. At its core, the film is a love story, which works because one believes in Tim and Millie's bond- the tenderness beneath the terror.

Visually, the film is as striking as it is unsettling. Germain McMicking's cinematography cloaks the rural setting in a pall of damp greys and muted greens, evoking both isolation and decay. Further, Nicholas Dare's production design makes the world feel intimate yet suffocating, deeply alive- disquietingly breathing.

In addition, the effects work is impressively tactile, leaning on practical gore and prosthetics rather than CGI, giving things a raw, clammy immediacy. Shanks doesn't flinch from grotesque detail, yet the imagery never tips into gratuity. Just as crucial are the sound design and score: the former wringing dread from creaks, squelches and silences, the latter pulsing uneasily beneath the action without overwhelming it. Further, Sean Lahiff's editing is sharp and economical, ensuring every shock lands with precision.

As Tim and Millie, Dave Franco and Alison Brie's real-life marriage lends their on-screen intimacy a raw authenticity, making Shanks' vision of closeness-turning-hideous even more disturbing. Both deliver powerhouse performances- Franco in particular, showing a vulnerability and range rarely glimpsed in his comedic work. Brie, meanwhile, plays Millie with a sharp mix of exasperation and tenderness, anchoring the film's emotional core. Damon Herriman also does fine work in a supporting role as Millie's work colleague Jamie, whose personable demeanour belies a hidden darkness.

In conclusion, Michael Shanks' 'Together' is bloody great: a grisly reflection of intimacy, co-dependence and the messy realities of love. Dave Franco and Alison Brie work wonderfully together, grounding Shanks' Cronenbergian vision in something startlingly human. With tactile effects, evocative cinematography and a keen ear for dread, the film shows how passion can curdle into possession, with devastating consequences. In short, in the realm of body-horror, 'Together' stands apart.

Parody is a delicate business. Done well, it dances the line between homage and mockery, sharp enough to skewer its target but light enough to make you laugh while it does. Films like Mel Brooks' 'Blazing Saddles', Robert Moore's 'Murder by Death' and Woody Allen's 'Love & Death' are precision-engineered chaos, made by people who deeply understood and admired not just the genres, but the conventions, clichés and cultural fixations they were lampooning.

Some of the very best came from the holy trinity of Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker (or ZAZ), whose work helped defined the modern spoof. Their 'Airplane!' is madcap magic, while the short lived 'Police Squad!' distilled that same manic energy into television, only to be cancelled before its time. Later resurrected with 'The Naked Gun' films, they introduced the world to Detective Lieutenant Frank Drebin- played with deadpan genius by Leslie Nielsen- remaining to this day a joke-a-second riot.

They're brilliantly stupid films, and, as Steve Martin once remarked "stupid comedy is the hardest kind of comedy to do." The kind of spoof ZAZ perfected demands impeccable timing and intelligent gags, offering a delicate balance between silliness and sincerity, as well as a cast who can deliver absurd lines with total conviction- without tipping into unintentional farce. They're incredibly difficult to pull off; but the results can be gold.

However, somewhere along the line, spoof became a byword for cheap, crass comedy. In the wake of earlier greats came odious, unfunny husks like Ezio Greggio's 'The Silence of the Hams,' the increasingly worthless 'Scary Movie' flicks and the irredeemable work of Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer. Louder, cruder and ear-achingly dull, films like these confused volume for wit and reference for punchline, dragging a once-great genre into the gutter.

Can spoof make a comeback with Akiva Schaffer's rebooted 'The Naked Gun,' or is his film just another attempt to cash-in on a beloved IP? Written by Schaffer, Dan Gregor and Doug Mand, the film follows Frank Drebin Jr., who- just like his father before him- is a deadpan disaster magnet, whose loyalty to Police Squad is only matched by his talent for causing chaos. After foiling a bank robbery and meeting the sultry Beth Davenport, Drebin finds himself battling to save not just his beloved precinct from closure, but the human race itself.

Johnny Carson often said "it's more difficult to make somebody laugh than it is to make them think," and Schaffer struggles to do either. His film doesn't take itself seriously, revelling in silliness; though none of the gags reach the heights of the ZAZ originals. There are a few genuine laugh-out-loud moments, but the whole affair lacks the intelligence, precision and breakneck comic momentum that made 'The Naked Gun' a classic. It's funny at times, yes- but never truly smart and never quite sharp enough to stick.

Schaffer's reboot often feels closer in spirit to the lesser spoofs Leslie Nielsen appeared in during his later career- films like '2001: A Space Travesty' or 'Spy Hard'- where humour leaned heavily on low-hanging fruit and gags overstayed their welcome. It shares that same scattergun approach, hurling jokes at the screen with such desperation that when one lands, it almost feels accidental. Too often, a decent comic setup is run into the ground, scenes dragging on well past their punchline, drained of any real impact.

Narratively, it's a serviceable but uninspired affair. The plot- involving a global threat, a ticking clock and a precinct on the brink of shutdown- feels like a generic framework stretched to accommodate a parade of gags, rather than a tightly structured story in its own right. Schaffer, Gregor and Mand clearly understand the formula, but the film lacks the zany unpredictability and momentum that once made Police Squad feel like it was perpetually on the verge of collapse- in the best way possible.

Anecdotally, in the screening this reviewer attended, a man in the audience laughed so hysterically one couldn't help but wonder about his mental state. For him, the film was clearly comedic gold, as it very well may be for many. However, for those familiar with the TV show that spawned the franchise (and the whip-smart lunacy of the original films) this reboot can't help but feel like a broad, loud imitation.

Production-wise, the film is slick, looking and sounding like a bona fide big-budget thriller, with the kind of polish that gives everything a professional sheen. Brandon Trost's cinematography occasionally flirts with noir- dramatic lighting, shadowy compositions- hinting at a visual intelligence the script doesn't always match. Furthermore, to its credit, the action is crisply choreographed, executed with real momentum, while Lorne Balfe's score is stirring. However, Brian Scott Olds' editing results in pacing issues. Some scenes overstay their welcome, milking gags long past their expiry date. In comedy, timing is everything- here, a tighter cut could've made all the difference.

Having said that, Liam Neeson is terrific as the deadpan Drebin Jr., perfectly capturing the straight-faced absurdity essential to the role. His comic timing is excellent, at times managing to evoke the spirit of Leslie Nielsen's iconic performance without resorting to mere imitation. Neeson is no stranger to comedy, excelling in 'Life's Too Short' and 'A Million Ways to Die in the West;' here, he carries the film with a steady mix of dry charm and deadpan wit, keeping it afloat amid the chaos.

Pamela Anderson is similarly great as Beth Davenport, Drebin's love interest. Breathless and sultry, she brings an earnestness to the part that makes her straight-faced delivery genuinely funny. Like Prisicilla Presley before her, Anderson plays it completely straight, adding a charming counterbalance to the film's silliness. She and Neeson share a warm chemistry that feels natural and effortless.

Danny Huston makes for an effective villain, chewing the scenery with gusto. Imbuing the character with a certain gravelly authority- equal parts menace and theatrical flair- he has never sounded more like his late, great father John. Huston knows exactly what kind of film he's in, leaning into the absurd without losing his imposing edge. CCH Pounder and Paul Walter Hauser are also good, though underused, while two beloved stars from the original films make brief, but memorable, cameos.

Akiva Schaffer's 'The Naked Gun' is a knowingly daft affair- loud, chaotic and proudly unserious. Although highly polished, it doesn't match the razor-sharp wit or tight pacing that made the original films so beloved. It reminds one of the vast difference between Mel Brooks' 'Young Frankenstein'- a lovingly crafted genre send-up with real comic bite- and his later 'Dracula: Dead and Loving It', which had all the ingredients but none of the spark. There's fun to be had, and Neeson and Anderson give it their all; but, in the end, 'The Naked Gun' is hit-and-miss- mostly shooting blanks.