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When I first watched Tron: Legacy in 2010, I was underwhelmed. The film seemed too focused on recreating entire scenes from the original, leaning heavily on bringing back older actors, and giving the digital world a more organic look that felt at odds with the crisp, computerized spirit of the 1982 classic.

On rewatch, though-especially after revisiting the original Tron-I found myself appreciating it much more. The universe did need dusting off and reinvention, and here the reinvention is both tasteful and visually spectacular. The story, while still relying on nostalgia and callbacks, gains depth through the emotional thread of a father trapped in a digital world, unable to see his son. The parallel with Clu-an artificial creation who perceives himself as his creator's true child-adds an interesting layer of dramatic tension.

Yes, the CGI de-aging of Jeff Bridges looks dated and occasionally cringeworthy today, but within the film's logic it still works: Clu is a piece of software, not a human.

Ultimately, Tron: Legacy keeps you engaged, dazzles with its visuals, and balances reverence for the original with fresh ideas and themes. It's a strong reboot.

Coming late to this party. This isn't a great film. It's also pretty sexist. The Kate character is depicted as a naive girl who needs to be "educated" about what the world is really like by some testosterone-fueled men. And when she tries to stand up, she is immediately put down like a child with a tantrum. In her weakness, she also falls of course for a criminal, because he seems to be the first guy willing to have sex with her in years. It's horrible. It's insulting. It's revolting. And to what end?

Watching Sicario in 2025 makes you see all the flaws in Denis Villeneuve's filmography. Beautifully shot films, yes, but so empty. With the potential exception of the Arrival, maybe Blade Runner 2049, this is a director who has a style, which is more than many can say, but one he applies identically regardless of story. It gets tired and ultimately feels like pure effect.

For those of us who crave something different - truly different - Afternoons of Solitude grants that wish. Films like this don't come around often, and when they do, they tend to divide. Albert Serra's latest is no exception: challenging, hypnotic, and ultimately unforgettable.

The discomfort doesn't come from the bullfighting itself - at least not for me. I grew up in Spain, and bullfighting was part of the cultural fabric of my childhood. I've since come to reject the cruelty of it, but I can't help the nostalgia I feel remembering afternoons spent watching corridas with my father.

What makes Afternoons of Solitude so fascinating - and at times, hard to sit through - is the absence of narrative. Serra repeats the same bullfight, again and again, variations on a theme that grows heavier with each cycle. He's been explicit that repetition is the point - the very essence of the film.

Some critics argue that we shouldn't seek deeper meanings in this film beyond the pure recording of the human-animal fight. I disagree. When Serra calls the film "metaphysical" and says he's after whatever "truth" resides in bullfighting, you can't help but look beyond the frame.

At its core, this is a film about the human drive for perfection - that relentless, sometimes self-destructive instinct. The torero, elegant and precise, risks everything to touch transcendence. It reminded me, in its spiritual intensity, of Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev - for those who may have seen it.

But across from the torero stands another protagonist: the bull. Maybe the only animal that will continue to charge under threat rather than flee. And it's that presence - powerful, unwilling, tragic - that stains the torero's pursuit. His art, his perfection, is built on the suffering and death of another. What is that if not a metaphor for humanity's endless ambition, achieved at the expense of nature?

And perhaps, despite the film's title, the afternoons of solitude aren't the torero's at all. Perhaps they belong to the bull - the loneliest figure in that arena.

To me, Afternoons of Solitude also echoes the moral confusion of the world we live in - how beauty, power, and image can distort our sense of right and wrong. As a member of the audience, you can't help but care for the torero, as you should. But in doing so, you almost forget who began this fight.