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James Gunn's highly anticipated Superman (2025) marks the beginning of a new era for DC's cinematic universe, and by most accounts, it's a breath of fresh air. Moving away from the desaturated, often grim tone of previous iterations, this film embraces the colorful, optimistic heart of the Man of Steel. While it may not be a perfect flight, it's a confident and hopeful start that successfully reintroduces one of pop culture's most iconic heroes to a new generation.

The film wisely sidesteps a full-blown origin story, instead dropping us into the action three years into Superman's career. David Corenswet embodies a Superman who is already a known public figure, grappling with the complexities of his dual identity-a Kryptonian alien with an unshakable human upbringing. Corenswet's performance has been widely praised, capturing the physical presence of the hero while also selling the wholesome, earnest nature of Clark Kent. He is a Superman who truly wants to help, guided by the values instilled in him by his adoptive parents, Ma and Pa Kent. The scenes with them are particularly touching and underscore the film's focus on humanity.

Rachel Brosnahan shines as Lois Lane, delivering a performance that is sharp, witty, and deeply engaging. Her chemistry with Corenswet is a highlight, and their dynamic feels more like a modern, fighting-but-loving couple than previous portrayals. This version of Lois is a formidable journalist in her own right, and she plays a crucial role in exposing the nefarious plot of the film's antagonist.

That antagonist is none other than Lex Luthor, portrayed by Nicholas Hoult. Hoult leans into a more modern, tech-bro version of the classic villain, channeling a certain Silicon Valley arrogance that feels fresh and relevant. His motivations are driven by a deep-seated envy and a warped perception of Superman as a threat to humanity. While the character is entertaining, some critics have noted that the sheer number of other DC characters introduced in the film-from Mister Terrific and Hawkgirl to Metamorpho-can make the overall narrative feel a bit overstuffed, with Lex's plot sometimes getting lost in the shuffle.

Gunn's signature style, characterized by quirky humor, dynamic action, and a vibrant aesthetic, is on full display. The visuals are a stark contrast to previous DC films, with a bright, bold color palette that feels ripped straight from a comic book page. The action sequences are kinetic and fun, with a standout moment being a slow-motion scene of Superman saving a girl from an attack. However, some have felt that the film's relentless pace and focus on humor can sometimes undercut the emotional weight of the story. The movie is certainly fun and entertaining, but it's not always intense.

The central conflict of the film revolves around Superman's intervention in a conflict between two fictional countries, Boravia and Jarhanpur. This act of global peacekeeping is manipulated by Luthor to turn public opinion against him. The film touches on timely themes of immigration and public trust in powerful figures, positioning Superman as the ultimate immigrant story.

In the end, Superman (2025) is a successful launch for the new DC Universe. It's a film with heart and a sense of fun that has been missing from many recent superhero movies. While it may be a little messy and overstuffed at times, it succeeds in its primary goal: to give audiences a Superman that they can believe in again. It's an optimistic and well-intentioned start that promises a bright future for the Man of Steel and the new DCU.

Released in 1994, Alex Proyas's The Crow is a film that exists at the unique and tragic intersection of style, substance, and a devastating real-world event. Based on James O'Barr's graphic novel, the movie is a gothic revenge thriller that has since become a cult classic, celebrated for its unique visual aesthetic, emotional weight, and a star-making, posthumous performance by Brandon Lee.

The plot is a somber and straightforward tale of retribution. On "Devil's Night" in a crime-ridden Detroit, rock musician Eric Draven and his fiancée, Shelly, are brutally murdered by a street gang. One year later, guided by a mystical crow, Eric rises from the grave to avenge their deaths. Endowed with supernatural powers and invulnerability, he stalks and systematically eliminates the gang members responsible, a grim mission fueled by his profound grief and unending love for Shelly.

What elevates The Crow beyond a simple B-movie premise is its unparalleled visual style. Director Alex Proyas, a music video veteran at the time, crafts a hyper-stylized world of perpetual rain, brooding shadows, and theatrical lighting. The city of Detroit is not just a setting; it's a character in itself-a grimy, decaying urban wasteland that serves as the perfect backdrop for Eric's dark crusade. The cinematography, by Dariusz Wolski, draws heavily from the film's comic book origins, utilizing extreme angles, high-contrast lighting, and a gloomy color palette that is both beautiful and unsettling. This "urban gothic" aesthetic influenced countless films and media that followed, establishing a visual language for a new wave of comic book adaptations.

Central to the film's enduring legacy is Brandon Lee's performance as Eric Draven. Lee fully inhabits the role, delivering a character that is at once a vengeful specter and a heartbroken romantic. His physical presence is both balletic and menacing, and he masterfully conveys the pain and sorrow that drive Eric's quest. His quiet moments of tenderness, particularly with the young girl Sarah, provide the film with its much-needed emotional core, reminding the audience that beneath the macabre makeup and leather trench coat is a soul broken by loss. It is a stunning, deeply committed performance that showcased a star on the verge of superstardom.

The film's impact is inseparably tied to the tragic accident that took Brandon Lee's life during the final days of production. This real-life horror lends an eerie, almost mythological quality to the film's themes of death, resurrection, and enduring love. The accident, which occurred during a scene where Lee's character is shot, forced the filmmakers to complete the movie using a stunt double, special effects, and creative editing. The release of the film became a poignant tribute to Lee, with audiences flocking to see his final, haunting performance.

The Crow is more than just a revenge flick; it's a visceral meditation on grief, a stylish masterpiece of atmosphere, and a fitting testament to the promising talent of Brandon Lee. While some may find its plot simple or its dialogue at times melodramatic, its power lies in its unflinching emotional resonance and groundbreaking aesthetic. It remains a powerful and melancholic cinematic experience, a testament to a career tragically cut short and a film that transcended its own dark material to become an unforgettable part of cinematic history.

A visceral and unflinching descent into the darkest corners of racial hatred and societal neglect, Joko Anwar's The Siege at Thorn High is a powerful, albeit uneven, action-thriller. Known for his mastery of the horror genre, Anwar steps into a different arena, using a gritty, high-octane premise to deliver a searing critique of deep-seated prejudices in Indonesian society. The result is a film that is both relentlessly brutal and deeply thought-provoking, though its narrative ambition sometimes outpaces its execution.

The film opens with a harrowing prologue set during the 1998 racial riots in Jakarta, where a young Edwin (Morgan Oey) witnesses the brutal assault on his sister. The trauma of this event echoes through the film, driving Edwin on a mission in 2027 to find his nephew, the child born from that horrific incident. His search leads him to Thorn High, a school for juvenile delinquents that more closely resembles a prison. Here, Edwin finds himself a minority, a Chinese-Indonesian teacher in a hostile environment ruled by the volatile and deeply prejudiced student leader, Jefri (Omara Esteghlal). The tension builds with the simmering resentment between Edwin and Jefri, culminating when a new wave of riots erupts, trapping them and a handful of students inside the school.

The true strength of The Siege at Thorn High lies in its fearless exploration of its themes. It's a raw and confrontational look at systemic prejudice and the cyclical nature of violence. The film doesn't shy away from the brutality, and Anwar's direction, reminiscent of The Raid's visceral action choreography, makes the violence feel impactful and earned. The school, with its claustrophobic halls and barricaded classrooms, becomes a crucible where years of racial animosity and personal trauma collide. The performances, particularly Esteghlal's turn as the detestable but complex Jefri, are a highlight. He embodies the rage and ignorance that are a product of his surroundings, making him a compelling, if deeply unlikable, antagonist.

However, the film is not without its flaws. The pacing in the second act can be sluggish, with repetitive verbal confrontations between Edwin and Jefri that stall the momentum of the siege. While the plot point of Edwin's missing nephew is the emotional core of the film, its execution can feel like an afterthought, and the revelation is a twist that some viewers may find perplexing. The film's message, while vital and powerful, is at times presented with a bluntness that leaves little room for subtlety. The social commentary is so transparent that it can feel like a lecture rather than an organic part of the narrative.

Despite these shortcomings, The Siege at Thorn High is a film that demands to be seen. It's not a fun or easy watch; it's a grueling emotional and physical gauntlet. Yet, it serves as a powerful and necessary social critique, a warning that history will repeat itself if unhealed national trauma is left to fester. Anwar has created a film that is both a propulsive action-thriller and a grim reflection on the corrosive power of hatred. It's a bold and important work from one of Indonesia's most exciting filmmakers, and its final moments, as brutal as they are, offer a haunting sense of tragic completion.