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This latest Mission: Impossible installment feels less like a film and more like Tom Cruise's personal stunt reel - a meticulously curated list of adrenaline-fuelled moments he fancied doing, tenuously glued together by a plot with all the depth of a puddle. The film relies heavily on flashbacks, callbacks, and Easter eggs from previous entries, which is lovely if you've memorised the franchise, but baffling if you haven't. The story telegraphs every twist well in advance, often serving scenes on a platter with a wink: "Remember this bit - it'll save the world later!" The dialogue is pure lowest-common-denominator exposition, designed to keep even the sleepiest audience member on track. Yes, the stunts are extraordinary - Cruise remains a marvel of physics-defying ambition - but the soul of the series feels MIA. I found myself longing for the sleek, mysterious vibe of the earlier films, before it all became one long action montage with a plot in tow.

Thunderbirds. Well, imagine my surprise. I walked in expecting yet another Marvel production seemingly penned by a committee of interns whose only creative references are memes and supermarket tabloid headlines. You know the type-every character blurting out five canned jokes per scene, just in case we'd forgotten we were watching "fun for the whole family".

But no. Shockingly, they appear to have locked that particular writer in a cupboard somewhere and actually hired someone with... what's the word? Ah, yes-standards. This one treats the audience as though we might, on occasion, be capable of independent thought. The writing is sharp, the humour isn't slapped across your face like a wet cod, and-brace yourself-they even manage to explore mental health without turning it into a punchline or a preachy after-school special.

The performances are genuinely impressive, the action sequences are properly exhilarating, and the effects? Expensive enough to suggest someone, somewhere, actually cared. I was prepared to endure two hours of corporate sludge. Instead, I left... dare I say it... entertained. Astonishing.

This film merges as a poetic masterpiece in the realm of cinema, particularly in its portrayal of childhood. This film artfully navigates the complex tapestry of a child's emotional landscape, capturing both the innocence and the trials of youth with a grace that transcends typical cinematic narratives. Through its subtle storytelling and nuanced visual language, "Monster" offers a profound reflection on the formative years, making it one of the most elegantly crafted films about children ever created.

The film exemplifies the exceptional ability of Japanese directors to delve into the joys and anguishes of a child's psyche with expert precision. The performances in "Monster" are remarkably understated, steering clear of the overt theatrical mannerisms often prevalent in Japanese cinema. This restraint allows the authenticity of the characters' emotions to resonate deeply with a diverse audience, marking a significant departure from traditional portrayals that might not universally translate across cultural boundaries. "Monster" not only captivates but also provides a resonant, cross-cultural insight into childhood, making it a significant work in both Japanese and global cinema.