Despite having watched the Alien franchise multiple times through (except for the Alien vs Predator crossovers), including the recent and disappointing Alien: Romulus (2024), I'm realizing something strange while revisiting Alien: Resurrection (1997) as part of another complete franchise watch—I don't think I've ever actually seen this one before.
Certain elements would have stuck with me: Ripley suspended in that netted cocoon during the early scenes, the obvious parallels to Jurassic Park with its cloning plot, and the stark difference in production value compared to the first three films. No, this is definitely new territory for me.
What probably happened is that after finishing Alien3 (1992), with both Ripley and the xenomorph definitively dead, I felt satisfied enough to stop. The recurring plot lines and familiar tropes had run their course. Of course, Hollywood had other ideas—bringing both back through the magic of cloning.
There's not much to say about this one other than—I would have been better off having not watched it. The only thing making this film worth mentioning is the ensemble cast of Sigourney Weaver, Winona Ryder, and Ron Perlman. It's like a weird, alternate dimension version of Three's Company.
I had a hunch going into Centurion (2010) that is was going to be a bad movie, but I didn't realize how bad it would actually be.
Shallow dialog connected to a plot that lacked meaning. Two actors that should stick to playing either drunk cops or futuristic androids, roles where failing to deliver your lines with any sort of skill is part of the role itself. Special effects that appeared to be an afterthought, and cheap at that.
I knew I was going to regret watching this flick. My expectations were easily met.
It had been a while since I sat down at home, alone, to watch a new movie. With a few hours to myself last night, I decided to put on a film I’d bookmarked and see what it had to offer.
I hadn’t watched the trailer or come across much about it online before pressing play. I’d likely saved it based on a compelling description and a solid cast lineup.
But— what can I say? I abandoned it halfway through.
The storyline moved at a crawl, but not in the way that lends itself to a slow-burn thriller. The dialogue felt shallow and unconvincing, and the portrayal of "cyber-attack" scenarios left much to be desired. Perhaps the subtle commentary on race relations was too understated to resonate in that moment.
In the end, there was nothing to hold my attention.
So, I hit STOP and switched to a comfort film—a reliable choice I’ve seen before, predictable and uncomplicated. Last Knights (2015) isn’t a great movie; it’s not even a good one. But that’s alright, because it doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is.
I can't recall where or when I picked up this book. It likely came into my possession through our Little Free Library or from a bulk collection I bought at a good price. Regardless of how it came to me, I was disappointed by the time I spent reading it.
There’s no doubt that Phelps-Roper’s story is both important and interesting. I believe that wholeheartedly. However, the book felt lacking in substance and depth, and it simply wasn’t long enough to provide a fuller, more complete narrative to make it worthwhile.
At times, Unfollow felt too simplistic—a story that didn’t seem all that difficult or challenging, and where the process of overcoming obstacles didn’t feel particularly arduous. I don’t think this reflects the reality of the author’s experiences; rather, I feel that not enough time, care, or attention was given to telling the whole story in a way that would do it justice.
Perhaps this is more a reflection of poor editing—or a lack of proper editing—than a lack of a compelling story to tell.
The reason for picking up The Woman in Me doesn’t really matter, and neither does why I stuck with it until the end. What matters is that I mostly regret ever reading it.
Haphazardly written with poor—or almost no—editing, the book reads like a disjointed stream of consciousness, pulling the reader along on a confusing roller coaster of random thoughts. It’s full of contradictions, trying to convey a life of helplessness while dodging any real sense of personal responsibility.
I believe the book is 100% personal, honest, and written by the author herself, but I can’t imagine recommending it—or, heaven forbid, reading it again—without wondering if its main purpose is to generate cash.
I’m not here to take away from the very real struggles the author faced, whether from societal pressures or her own mistakes. Those challenges are real and ever-present. What I will criticize is the lack of care in communicating those struggles in a way that doesn’t come across as highly entitled. The failure to fully own one’s actions, while placing the blame squarely on others and society at large, reflects a lack of self-reflection, empathy, or awareness of how we all fit into a bigger picture.
