NoelM-77

There's something inherently promising and even absurdly thrilling about this premise. It screams for pulpy grandeur or satirical bite. But Under Paris doesn't dare lean into either. Instead, it swims somewhere in the tepid middle: no self-aware enough to be fun, not smart enough to be serious, and not bold enough to be memorable.

Let us be clear; the premise isn't the problem. It offers all the elements of a high-stakes thriller, or at least an entertaining creature feature. But Under Paris offers exposition and convenience. This film settles for soggy pacing and narrative shortcuts.

There is a whiff of creativity. But these moments are rare flashes in an otherwise murky execution. The film refuses to embrace the chaos it flirts with. It stitches together uninspired chases, flat line delivery, and emotional arcs so underbaked they might as well still be in the writers' room.

Halting flow. Choppy. Barely stitched together. The pacing lurches forward without rhythm, veering from tedious bureaucratic drama to rushed disaster-mode hysteria. The tonal balance is entirely absent; scenes that should be terrifying are accidentally comic, and scenes that aim for gravitas land with a shrug. Editing feels reactive, and the narrative jumps feel unearned. You are not pulled along by the current.

Virtually no rewatchability. What remains is an uninspired sequence of tropes: the grieving marine biologist, the incompetent officials, the rogue activist group, the impending mass casualties event. There's no suspense to relive, no scenes that demand revisiting, and no characters worth caring about.

The soul is absent. Forced eco-messaging with the subtlety of a news ticker. The film does not offer a satisfying monster-movie catharsis. It is emotionally & thematically hollow. You feel nothing. Even the shark is neutered by erratic CG and uninspired camerawork. No iconic moment, no signature. Just grey sludge.

In short, Under Paris is a film that mistakes having a concept for making a movie.

Woman of the Hour is the kind of film that wants to feel important; timely, charged, haunting. But beneath the polished veneer of true crime dramatisation lies a script that never quite figures out how to turn its disturbing premise into something truly memorable. It's a film content to skim the surface of horror without plumbing its psychological depths.

It's a story that practically begs to be told. But the film too often settles for dramatised reenactment rather than cinematic introspection. It tells us what happened, but doesn't really probe why it should be any deeper than a Wikipedia article.

Creatively, it deserves some credit. The premise is striking, and the juxtaposition of a bright, plastic game-show world with the darkness lurking underneath offers rich symbolic contrast. Yet, the execution lacks bite. The direction feels safe and largely conventional. Moments that could have explored are instead brushed aside for rote backstory and shallow suspense.

Flow-wise, the film moves barely decently, though not without fits and stumbles. The tension never quite builds; it plateaus. Each scene pushes the narrative forward but rarely elevates it. The editing feels more like a news segment than a cinematic experience, with little escalation or payoff. The third act, especially, feels drained of urgency, landing with a soft thud.

Rewatchability is minimal. Once the initial curiosity of the story is stated, there's very little left to draw you back. The dialogue doesn't linger, the direction doesn't dazzle, and the characters, including the killer himself, never evolve past broad sketches. The film misses the opportunity to complicate the killer's charm, or to deeply explore the cultural rot that allowed him to go undetected.

Soul is perhaps where the film falters most. It never quite commits to a strong thematic voice. There's a whiff of social critique, but it's vague and mostly inert. The film ends without having delivered an emotional gut punch or a memorable insight. It doesn't disturb. It doesn't provoke. It simply ends.

Kendrick's direction is competent and her performance is measured, but even she seems hemmed in by a script that doesn't trust the audience to think for themselves. 4.55/10; Woman of the Hour had the makings of a haunting indictment; but ends up little more than a footnote with flair.

Knock at the Cabin is a high-concept thriller wrapped in a claustrophobic setting, built on the bones of an existential dilemma; but unfortunately, it mostly collapses under it own weight. It's a film that wants to be intimate, urgent, and morally profound, yet it struggles to be more than a lightly engaging though experiment stretched over a feature runtime

Creatively, it earns its stripes. The premise is compelling, the kind of elevator pitch that hooks instantly. It's not just home-invasion horror. The ingredients are there.

But the flow suffers. After a tense and well-executed opening, the narrative stalls. The film's middle act devolves into a repetitive rhythm: threats, flashbacks, emotional pleas, a strange attempt to shove down a particular group (the Rainbows) down your throat, and vague proclamations. It's as if Shyamalan is afraid to push the envelope. The mystery should build; instead, it flatlines. Pacing issues pile up, and the sense of dread becomes mechanical rather than mounting. You wait for a twist; it never comes. Or worse, the lack of one is the twist.

Rewatchability is where it really falters. Once you know where it lands, the entire journey feels like a one-way trip with little payoff. There's no thematic richness that invites multiple interpretations, no cinematic nuance that deepens on second viewing. The tension is a one-time thrill (if it is a thrill at all), and the narrative doesn't offer much to chew on afterward.

And while the film wants desperately to have soul it never quite earns it. It tries to blend intimacy with apocalyptic stakes, but the human drama never hits hard enough to carry the philosophical burden it placed on itself. It's content to ask, but afraid to answer.

Bautista, however, deserves praise. He delivers a surprisingly restrained performance, and his presence almost carries the film's emotional tension single-handedly. But he can only do so much with material that's more allegory than story.

In the end, Knock at the Cabin is a sketch of a better film; conceptually bold but emotionally and structurally undercooked. It's more idea than execution, and more setup than payoff.