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I first came across His Girl Friday as part of my film school coursework, and it turned out to be one of the earliest examples of classic Hollywood cinema I've experienced so far.

Right from the start, what stands out is how the film feels more theatrical than cinematic. The performances are highly expressive, with the actors delivering their lines as if addressing a live theatre audience, often pausing mid-dialogue to elicit a reaction. The mise-en-scène reflects this as well: the action is staged with only one visible side of the set at a time, while the camera remains mostly stationary, capturing long takes with occasional pans to follow the performances.

The comedy is razor-sharp and verbally driven, almost like a form of slapstick through dialogue. Interestingly, there's no background score to heighten the humor; everything relies on rhythm, timing, and dialogue delivery.

Tonally, the film is grounded in realism and clearly aims to appeal to a broad audience. The editing maintains a smooth continuity, with crossfades seamlessly bridging scenes and maintaining a sense of flow. Even during moments of chaos or montage, there's a sense of control and deliberateness, as if the film avoids jarring the audience unnecessarily.

The dialogue writing is the true masterstroke here. Every exchange feels meticulously crafted, full of wit, pace, and character. The blocking and choreography of the actors within confined spaces, especially during overlapping conversations, deserves close study by any aspiring filmmaker.

In retrospect, not much happens in terms of plot; it's relatively contained for a feature-length film. Yet, thanks to its clever writing and energetic pacing, His Girl Friday never feels drawn out. It's a fascinating example of how pure dialogue and performance can drive an entire narrative without relying on cinematic spectacle.

This was easily my most anticipated film of the year and to be honest, the one I was most nervous about. I've loved Marvel for as long as I can remember, and I always will. But post-Endgame, I couldn't shake the feeling that every new release was just another stepping stone to the next big crossover event. Instead of telling complete, meaningful stories, they often felt more like teases and winks rather than charecter based storytelling.

Now Fantastic Four on paper should have been the worst affected by this phenomenon, serving as the direct predecessor to Avengers Doomsday. But surprisingly (and thankfully), it breaks that pattern.

This film is a soulful audiovisual experience that feels complete and satisfying, while still managing to lay the groundwork for what's to come. At just 110 minutes, it's a tighter runtime than we're used to, yet it gives so much space for the characters to breathe. Nearly half of the film is dedicated to dialogue-driven scenes that let us truly get to know the team. These moments aren't filler, they're the emotional foundation that makes everything else land harder. Honestly, the character work is so strong that I found myself wanting more quiet scenes and fewer battles, a rare feeling for a superhero movie.

That said, the action doesn't disappoint. Not at all. The set pieces and choreography are among the most inventive we've seen in recent Marvel entries. Combine that with some truly revolutionary breathtaking VFX, and the result is nothing short of jaw-dropping. It's kinetic, clever, and completely engaging without ever feeling bloated or excessive.

What really stands out, though, is the film's unique visual style. The retro aesthetic gives the world a personality all its own - bold, nostalgic, and refreshingly distinct from the over-polished look we've come to expect from MCU fare. The production design feels like it's channeling something older and more magical, and it works beautifully.

Watching Fantastic Four genuinely made me feel like I was back in the golden age of Marvel. I smiled through most of the runtime, not because it was fan-servicey or overly nostalgic, but because it reminded me of why I fell in love with these stories and these charecters in the first place.

And yes, let's talk about that post-credit scene. The entire theatre erupted. It was the loudest cheer I've heard since No Way Home. Marvel still knows how to bring the house down when it counts.

With this film, and Thunderbolts also showing real promise, I'm genuinely optimistic about Avengers: Doomsday. It feels good to be alive as a Marvel fan again.

Does James Gunn's DCEU have a flying start, or does it soar too close to the sun? Well, yes and....yes.

Superman is a paradox of a film: bold yet cautious, vibrant yet overstuffed, refreshing yet oddly familiar. It's a movie that tries to be many things at once, and in doing so, both soars and stumbles.

From the outset, it's clear this Superman isn't just another reboot. It's the foundational stone for an entire cinematic universe. And with that responsibility comes a certain safety. The film isn't exactly formulaic, but it's certainly engineered to check a lot of boxes. It wants to please longtime fans, entice newcomers, and lay the groundwork for future spinoffs, all while being its own thing. That's a tall order.

Visually though? This might be the most comic book-looking comic book movie ever made. It's drenched in color, packed with personality, and brimming with Gunn's signature quirks, but thankfully without the overbearing winks and nudges of MCU-style humor. It owns its aesthetic confidently, and that alone gives it a unique identity in a crowded genre.

But here's where the cracks start to show.

The very thing meant to propel this film which is launching a universe, unfortunately ends up being its biggest burden. Instead of feeling like a clear starting point, Superman plays out more like the final act of an ensemble saga. With what feels like 30 characters introduced over two hours, the film juggles arcs and subplots at breakneck speed. The result? Emotional beats that don't quite land because we simply haven't had the time to invest in this version of the world.

A good example (without spoiling much): there's a key emotional scene involving Superman's parents. But there's no buildup, no grounding. The film assumes we already know them because, well, they're Superman's parents. But that's the issue. We don't know Gunn's version of them yet. Familiarity with the characters from other versions doesn't automatically transfer emotional weight, and the movie leans too hard on assumed nostalgia.

With so many characters and subplots, the screenplay often feels like it's running a marathon with a sprinting pace. It juggles at least three major plotlines, each of which could have sustained its own film. Separately, they might have been great. But mashed together, they dilute each other's impact.

But it's not like the negetives outweigh the positives.

The camera work is stunning. There are sequences so creatively shot they feel like pages of a comic panel come to life. Nicholas Hoult delivers a magnetic Lex Luthor -- sinister, grounded, and refreshingly faithful to the source. The score? Otherworldly. Every time it swells, it elevates the entire experience. Clark and Lois share some genuinely sharp, heartfelt dialogue, and their dynamic brings much-needed emotional grounding.

Production design is another win. The environments, especially Clark's apartment feel real and lived-in, not like sterile movie sets. The CGI is polished, the action is thrilling, and as expected from Gunn, there's humor embedded in the choreography itself. It's not just explosions and punches - there's wit in the way fights unfold.

In the end, Superman does enough right to be a worthwhile watch. It's an ambitious, messy, but passionate film. A promising, but overloaded beginning to this new era of DC.

It may not have stuck the landing perfectly, but it certainly took flight.

Ps - Not enough screentime for Hawgirl. Isabela Merced, we will avenge you.