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Netflix's three-part documentary on Amy Bradley grips with emotion but fails as investigation. Instead of cutting implausible theories, it indulges them. Witness accounts are treated as fact, though any detective knows memory under fatigue, alcohol, and hindsight is unreliable. Hard evidence is what matters, and the series barely touches it.

The "crew conspiracy" theory collapses immediately. Twenty-seven years, no anomalies, no leaks, no history of criminal activity among the staff. A smuggling plot would have required multiple conspirators, sustained silence, and operational risk that simply never happened. The idea she walked off is equally implausible: Amy was young, attractive, and would have been noticed-especially barefoot at dawn, carrying no bag, after a sleepless night. Male crew in particular would have seen her. She did not disembark unseen.

She was also safe on her balcony. Extraction from there was not possible without family or nearby passengers hearing or seeing. What remains, after eliminating noise and fantasy, is the only plausible explanation: Amy, overwhelmed, in acute distress but without a planned suicide, went overboard. No attempt to swim, carried out by currents, never recovered. Painful, but parsimonious.

Netflix could have told that disciplined story-constraints, timelines, elimination of the impossible. Instead, it served speculation. Compelling television, yes, but not forensic truth.

I watched Presence out of curiosity-and it's definitely unique, though not what you'd call traditionally "horror."

What works: The film is haunting in a subtle, atmospheric way. Steven Soderbergh's choice to film from the ghost's point of view adds emotional intimacy and feels more experimental than gimmicky. Chloe isn't scared of the eerie figure-and neither will you be. Instead, it carries you through moments of quiet dread, psychological tension, and the undercurrents of family grief and memory.

What doesn't quite land: If you go in expecting traditional horror, you may come away disappointed. There are no malicious hauntings or big scares-just a confused presence slipping through walls, more curious than threatening. Some interactions feel underdeveloped, and at times the story drifts like a window gazer rather than gripping you by the collar.

Overall: Presence is more an intriguing mood piece than a scare fest. It's quietly affecting-especially if you appreciate minimalism and character-driven tension. Just don't expect jump scares.

I recently attended a screening of Disneys live-action remake of Snow White 2025 and unfortunately found it to be a disappointing experience. Rachel Zegler, known for her role in West Side Story, portrays Snow White. Her performance lacked the depth and charm that made the original character so beloved. Gal Gadot, famous for Wonder Woman, takes on the role of the Evil Queen. While she brings a certain presence to the screen, her portrayal felt more glamorous than menacing, diminishing the characters iconic villainy.

Andrew Burnap plays Jonathan, a new character introduced as Snow Whites love interest. His addition to the story felt unnecessary and did little to enhance the plot. The Seven Dwarfs, voiced by actors such as Jeremy Swift Doc and Andrew Barth Feldman Dopey, lacked the distinct personalities that made them memorable in the original film.

The musical numbers, a crucial element of any Disney film, were underwhelming. Zeglers singing, despite her musical background, failed to capture the magic and emotion of the original songs. The new compositions by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, known for their work on La La Land, felt out of place and did not resonate.

Visually, the film is a mixed bag. While some scenes are beautifully shot, the overuse of CGI, especially in depicting the dwarfs, detracts from the overall experience.

Overall, this adaptation of Snow White fails to capture the enchantment and timelessness of the original, leaving audiences longing for the magic that once was.