Have you ever heard of Widow’s Bay? This small island community with the ominous name lies some 40 miles off the coast of New England. The island’s only town, which shares its name, doesn’t see many visitors. Summers are mild, winters are windy and often nail-bitingly cold. Mobile reception is spotty at best, and the Wi-Fi signal is practically non-existent.

Oh, and it’s cursed. At least, that’s what the island’s many quirky and superstitious old-timers would have you believe. Surely it’s just that, right? Superstitions? Right?

Widow’s Bay is the setting for Apple TV+’s newest horror-comedy series. We meet Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys), the cosmopolitan but neurotic mayor of the island’s only town, who, after winning an uncontested election, is desperate to breathe some life into his fading community. His goal sounds simple enough: turn Widow’s Bay into a thriving tourist destination.

But when visitors finally start to arrive, their timing couldn’t be worse. It soon becomes clear that the town’s dark past — the very thing that inspired the locals’ superstitions — may not be superstition at all. Curses, ghosts, ghouls, witches, and worse might actually be real. Horror and hilarity ensue.

If that setup brings to mind the stories of Stephen King, you’re not too far off. It leans more into comedy and character quirkiness than King usually does, but the influence is obvious. Watching the 10-episode season, I kept coming back to the same description: the lovechild of Fargo and Twin Peaks, raised somewhere deep in the lands of Stephen King, with H.P. Lovecraft as creepy uncle living in the old house just down the road.

The series leans heavily into comedy, and while it often lands — especially in Loftis’ neurotic behavior and his clashes with the older, deeply superstitious locals, chief among them the town’s eccentric of eccentrics, the old salt Wyck (Stephen Root) — it occasionally comes at the expense of the horror, softening moments that might otherwise have hit harder.

That said, showrunner Kate Dippold and director Hiro Murai, who helms most of the episodes, keep the horror alive. It may not reach the depth of Mike Flanagan or the unsettling strangeness of Ari Aster, but it doesn’t need to. The series leans on creeping unease and the sense that something is wrong, rather than jump scares or gore, and at times it genuinely unsettles.

As the New England fog rolls in over Widow’s Bay, strange events begin to unfold. People disappear, only to return changed, and old legends resurface — quite literally in some cases. Warnings go unheeded. Strange figures appear in the dark. A church bell tolls in the distance, one that hasn’t rung since the disaster, and the local old-timers, seemingly fused to their bar stools, nursing bitter pints, begin to count each toll. Widow’s Bay is a place of secrets and curses.

Mayor Loftis will have none of it. He is far more concerned with the surge of tourists he has worked so hard to attract. On top of that, he is a single father to his troubled teenage son Evan (Kingston Rumi Southwick), who has begun asking questions about his long-dead mother. With both curses and parenthood to contend with, it’s no wonder his sanity is starting to fray.

At the center of it all is the relationship between Loftis and Wyck, two complete opposites who begin as bitter rivals. As a skeptic elevated to the leadership of Widow’s Bay, Loftis doesn’t have the respect of the locals, earning, at best, side glances and whispers behind his back. Matthew Rhys captures this perfectly — part embattled father, part the mayor from Jaws, trying to keep a lid on things as the situation quietly spirals out of control.

Wyck, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. Strange and erratic even by the town’s standards, he would easily fall into the familiar role of the drunken eccentric in a story like this if it weren’t for Stephen Root’s performance and the depth written into the character, both of which push him beyond the stereotype.

Faced with the same problem, these two are forced to bring their wildly different perspectives to bear, finding a way to cooperate, however grudgingly. Watching these two actors, so different in style and energy, play off each other is one of the show’s real pleasures.

That’s not to say every character we meet is equally well-developed. With the series leaning heavily on quirky side characters for humor, some — while funny, even hilarious at times — remain closer to sketches than fully formed people, often built around deadpan delivery and socioeconomic misunderstandings. There are exceptions, such as the socially awkward Patricia (Kate O’Flynn) and the island’s only police officer, the embattled Sheriff Bechir (Kevin Carroll), both of whom are given more to work with.

Widow’s Bay has a very distinct visual style, clearly inspired by horror and mystery films from the late ’80s and early ’90s. I’m not entirely sure what techniques are at play, but I would have loved to hear the creators talk about it. It brought me straight back to the films and TV series I used to watch obsessively on VHS. Muted, almost drab colors sit beneath layers of deliberate visual noise, giving the image a worn, tactile quality.

This becomes even more pronounced in the series’ many flashbacks, where the aspect ratio shifts to evoke a visual language that now feels almost ancient compared to today’s fast, dopamine-driven feeds. The series isn’t exactly slow-burning, but it is character-driven and knows when to take its time, even if there’s no shortage of running and screaming along the way.

Widow’s Bay is a quirky, moderately scary, and often very funny series. It won’t satisfy horror fans looking for relentless scares and gore, and it doesn’t aim to be a full-on comedy either. It works best in the space between, as it slowly unravels its central mystery. The horror stays understated, the humor dry and character-based, and the mix proves surprisingly effective.

Widow’s Bay premieres on Apple TV+ on April 29.

Alan Ritchson is on the rise. After breaking through as the imposing lead in Reacher, now three seasons strong, the 43‑year‑old American actor has established himself as a reliable presence in modern action entertainment. What makes Ritchson compelling is not just his physicality. Beneath the brute‑force archetype he often plays, there is usually a hint of vulnerability and, if you look closely enough, a genuine sense of humanity.

Reacher paved the way for other roles, mostly in action fare. One of the more enjoyable examples is Guy Ritchie’s underappreciated and gleefully irreverent The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare (2024), where Ritchson appeared alongside Henry Cavill and Eiza González.

The actor has also spoken openly about his struggles with bipolar disorder, something that perhaps explains the vulnerability that occasionally shines through in his otherwise hyper‑masculine screen presence.

Netflix’s War Machine, then, sounds like something right up his alley. A military science fiction action film that promises to pit gung‑ho soldiers in combat gear against an unknown mechanical menace, more specifically a giant alien robot armed to the gills with lasers, missiles, bombs, and more. On paper, this is exactly the kind of premise where Ritchson should thrive, leaning fully into his on‑screen persona as a modern action leading man.

Which makes it all the more unfortunate that while the premise of War Machine is perfectly suited for a Friday‑night popcorn spectacle, the film gradually turns into something else entirely. That approach may play well with its obvious target demographic, American military enthusiasts, but it is likely to feel far less compelling elsewhere. That said, I will freely admit one thing: I do love me a giant robot with guns. But let’s dig a little deeper.

War Machine begins in the deserts of Afghanistan, where a squad of military engineers, led by our hero, later known only as 81 (Alan Ritchson), meets up with a stranded group of soldiers and their Humvees, commanded by 81’s brother (Jai Courtney).

After some severely masculine bravado, with everyone talking in booming voices while flexing military tattoos and getting their hands dirty, the group is suddenly ambushed by unseen Taliban fighters. 81 is the only survivor, but not before carrying his dying brother on his shoulders back to base.

Two years later, 81 has signed up for Ranger training in Colorado, as in the guys who constantly seem to shout “Rangers lead the way… all the way!” The program is overseen by the grumpy officer Torres (Esai Morales) and the slightly manic‑looking commanding officer Sheridan (a somewhat crazy-eyed Dennis Quaid). After a gruelling and overly long montage‑driven training sequence, most aspiring Rangers are weeded out, leaving only the (un)lucky few for the final “Death March” exercise.

And I cannot stress enough how painfully cliché much of this setup feels. I am obviously not a military man, and one hopes that director Patrick Hughes (The Expendables 3, The Hitman’s Bodyguard), who wrote the film with James Beaufort, who also appears on screen as the character 23, has deliberately dialed up the bravado and the banter for cinematic effect.

That is not to say the film is entirely painful to watch. It isn’t. In fact, if you can look past the gung‑ho bluster, Alan Ritchson presents a compelling, if somewhat archetypal character: the wounded veteran with PTSD, vulnerable beneath a thin veneer of heroism, determined to finish Ranger training in honor of his fallen brother.

The focus of the film is the so‑called “Death March,” a final test where the remaining Rangers-in-training must head into the wilderness to complete a mission: destroy what they believe to be a crashed experimental military aircraft. Everything is, of course, pretend — rifles loaded with blanks, the opposing team, the so-called Cadre, consisting of other U.S. soldiers.

But when they reach the target, they quickly realize something is wrong. The wreckage looks nothing like a conventional aircraft. A high‑tech armored hull, with no wings in sight, lies embedded in the soil. When the soldiers plant their charges, the explosion results in something entirely unexpected: a very angry alien robot that immediately proceeds to decimate the troop.

The survivors of the attack, now hunted by the massive machine, must navigate the wilderness back toward their training base. At this stage the film effectively becomes a variation of the Predator (1987), with the remaining soldiers picked off one by one by an ever‑present alien menace.

It is not a particularly flattering look for the film to echo something so iconic quite this blatantly, and while Alan Ritchson does his best with the material he is given, the story, or what remains of it, begins to spiral during this middle stretch.

Let’s be honest: however compelling Alan Ritchson’s character 81 might be, at least within the limits of the genre, most viewers are here for the giant mechanical menace. On that front the film mostly delivers. The alien robot looks suitably imposing, even if its movements are sometimes a little slow and cumbersome, giving off a faint War of the Worlds energy, more in sound design and menace than in appearance.

When it clashes with the soldiers the film occasionally finds a rhythm, particularly in a tense river crossing and a chase involving an armored vehicle, staged as a slick, if somewhat CG-heavy, one‑shot.

But as the final act begins, the film’s true ambitions begin to reveal themselves. What initially felt like a rough‑and‑ready military sci‑fi survival story gradually transforms into something else entirely: a glossy recruitment video for the United States Army, complete with slow‑motion hero shots, flags rippling majestically in the wind, and roaring Black Hawk helicopters loaded with stoic and patriotic American solider.

By the time the inevitable rallying cries return, “Rangers lead the way!” followed, naturally, by the equally enthusiastic response, “All the way!”, the film has fully embraced its inner propaganda reel. At this point one half expects the credits to pause briefly so a recruitment officer can step into frame and hand out pamphlets.

Despite a few good action sequences, to this Norwegian critic, especially in this day and age, the end result lands somewhere between awkwardness and cringe.

War Machine premieres on Netflix on March 6th.

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“Here there be monsters!” The old adage appeared on ancient maps in times when the world felt larger, and what lay beyond the horizon was more mystery than certainty. It warned against wandering too far into the unknown. In the centuries since, as the map filled in and the world seemed to shrink, the phrase fell out of use. After all, there are no dragons beyond the horizon unless we happen to live in a world of monsters.

The MonsterVerse is an American multimedia franchise that began with Godzilla (2014), directed by Rogue One filmmaker Gareth Edwards, a man with a particular gift for making things look incomprehensibly large. While the film was not to everyone’s taste, it largely re-legitimized Godzilla for an international audience after Roland Emmerich’s dreadful 1998 attempt at resurrecting the atomic lizard.

Edwards’ film became the foundation of what we now know as the MonsterVerse, made possible through a carefully negotiated licensing arrangement with Japan’s Toho, the original home of Godzilla. Across subsequent installments like Kong: Skull Island, Godzilla: King of the Monsters, and Godzilla vs. Kong, audiences were reintroduced, especially those of us who grew up on Toho imports, not only to Godzilla, but to Kong, Mothra, King Ghidorah, Rodan, and even the gloriously excessive Mechagodzilla.

The MonsterVerse films tend to fall into two broad categories. Some are primarily concerned with pitting monsters against each other, preferably near recognizable skylines for maximum collateral damage, or as I like to call them, the “Let them fight!” films. Others are more character-driven, like Godzilla (2014) and Kong: Skull Island, exploring this world from a human perspective. As the films have leaned further into spectacle, occasionally tipping into full gonzo absurdity, Apple’s spinoff series Monarch: Legacy of Monsters moves in the opposite direction.

Monarch: Legacy of Monsters follows the origins and evolution of the MonsterVerse’s quasi-protagonist organization, Monarch. The story unfolds across two parallel eras. In the 1950s and 60s, we follow military officer–turned–explorer Lee Shaw (Wyatt Russell), scientist Bill Randa (Anders Holm), and physicist Dr. Keiko Miura (Mari Yamamoto) as they embark on expeditions that lay the foundation of Monarch. Far more than simple flashbacks, these sequences move steadily toward the 1973 events of Kong: Skull Island and the ultimate fate of Bill Randa.

Season 1 also further explores one of the franchise’s most important ideas: Axis Mundi, a hidden realm tied to the Titans’ origins, where time moves differently than in our world. When Keiko is lost there in the 1960s and later rescued decades later without having aged, the show makes it clear that Monarch is not merely tracking large animals, but investigating something far stranger.

The present-day storyline is set in the aftermath of 2014’s G-Day, when Godzilla battled the MUTOs in San Francisco, devastating the city and revealing the Titans to the world. At the center stand Bill Randa’s granddaughter Cate (Anna Sawai) and her half-brother Kentaro (Ren Watabe), and their father Hiroshi Randa (Takehiro Hira), alongside Dr. Keiko Miura and an older Lee Shaw. In a stroke of inspired casting, Shaw is played in the present by Wyatt Russell’s real-life father, Kurt Russell, turning resemblance into something more than coincidence.

The contemporary arc follows both global and familial fallout as the characters confront emerging Titan threats, sometimes working with Monarch and sometimes resisting it, while uncovering long-buried secrets about the organization’s past.

Picking up moments after the events of the first story, the second season of Monarch: Legacy of Monsters builds directly on these revelations from the first. With Axis Mundi no longer theoretical and Monarch’s internal fractures exposed, a new player enters the arena: the tech corporation APEX, eager to weaponize what Monarch studies. At the same time, a new aquatic Titan known provisionally as Titan X rises from the depths, pulling the mysteries of Axis Mundi further into the open and pushing the world toward another reckoning.

Yet for all its institutional intrigue, Monarch: Legacy of Monsters remains unmistakably human in its focus. Titan X is not simply a kraken-sized spectacle dredged up from maritime folklore, but an enigmatic presence whose arrival has personal consequences. Without venturing into spoiler territory, the creature’s connection to one of the central characters adds an unexpected emotional dimension. Instead of leaning on familiar science fiction shorthand, the series treats this bond with restraint, grounding it in character rather than destiny.

While Titan X drives much of the season’s mystery, it is far from the only presence looming over the narrative. Both Godzilla and Kong appear across multiple episodes, not as fleeting cameos but as integral forces within the story. Other creatures emerge as well, formidable and often unsettling denizens of Axis Mundi, Skull Island, and the far reaches of the world the characters traverse over the ten-episode season.

It is not uncommon for television series rooted in established franchises to use a first season to test the waters and find their footing. Monarch: Legacy of Monsters was already confident in its debut, but Season 2 feels more assured. The cast appear settled into their roles, no longer merely introducing characters to the audience but fully inhabiting them.

This is particularly evident in Anna Sawai’s Cate Randa. Following the acclaim of Shōgun, it is clear that Sawai can anchor not just a scene, but an entire narrative. In Season 2 she steps further into the foreground, allowing Cate’s grief, anger, and stubborn resolve to shape the direction of the story rather than merely react to it.

The Russell casting remains one of the series’ smartest decisions. Kurt Russell and Wyatt Russell bring distinct yet seamlessly connected interpretations of Lee Shaw. Though they do not share scenes, their performances feel in conversation across time. In this second season especially, the sense that father and son are shaping variations of the same man becomes even more pronounced.

When it comes to visual effects, sound design, and overall spectacle, Season 2 not only maintains the high standard associated with Apple TV’s science fiction productions, it expands its scale considerably. The ambition on screen reflects the work of a global network of visual effects and post-production houses, from New Zealand’s Wētā FX to Norway’s Storm Studios, recently Oscar-nominated for their work on Ryan Coogler’s Sinners. The result is not just bigger set pieces, but a richer sense of physical presence, particularly in the aquatic sequences, where weight, depth, and movement feel convincingly elemental.

The second season of Monarch: Legacy of Monsters proves that the MonsterVerse can be far more than just Titans smashing each other’s faces among collapsing city centers. It is at its strongest when it lingers in the human spaces between the catastrophes, where institutions fracture and loyalties burn slowly rather than explode.

Perhaps those old cartographers were right after all. Maybe they simply had the honesty to admit what they did not know. In the MonsterVerse, the darker corners of the world remain stubbornly unlit, from the deepest trenches to the oldest caverns and the hottest fires. For here, beyond the edges of the map, monsters still await us, hungrily eying the world we take for granted.

Season 2 of Monarch: Legacy of Monsters premiers on Apple TV+ February 27th.

Stranger Things has never felt like a show that was built only to entertain. When Matt and Ross Duffer talk about the final season, they don’t reach for hype. They talk about process. It’s two brothers trying to land something that began as a coming-of-age story and grew into a full-scale genre universe, without losing the all-important human element that made it matter.

This article — the last of three — is based on the hybrid press conference I attended on November 8, 2025, featuring creators, writers, and executive producers Matt and Ross Duffer.

The World That Grew Up

Matt framed the entire evolution of the series in one sentence: “As big as the scale and digital effects have been, the core of the show, at the heart of it, is a coming-of-age story.” That’s the throughline, even as each season has shifted shape.

For them, reinvention wasn’t just creative ambition — it was survival. “Something that’s been important to Ross and I, as we continue to build up the show, is we’ve never wanted to repeat ourselves too much,” Matt said. “And part of that is just, you don’t want to get bored. Because if you’re bored, you’re gonna be making something boring, probably.”

He tied that mindset to the sequels they loved as kids. “We’re movie guys, so we like the idea of changing it and making it feel different, scaling up,” he said. “When we look back at the sequels that we loved the most when we were kids, mostly James Cameron sequels, they tended to evolve what came before it — but in a way that felt organic.” He pointed to two big ones. “So we looked at, obviously, Terminator 2 and Alien. He didn’t betray what those original films were, but he took them in a new direction.”

Revealing the Upside Down

Ross was direct. “We wanted to reveal everything this season,” he said. For years, the Upside Down has been a puzzle box — and they’ve deliberately held back.

It wasn’t improvised. It was mapped out. “We have a full document from season one going into great detail about exactly what the Upside Down is,” Ross said. “And we’ve talked about every season revealing it, but instead, we’ve just given hints.” But the clues have always been there: “Especially season four, that it was frozen in time.”

Season Five goes the rest of the way. “We explain that — and the vines, why it looks like Hawkins. All that gets explained this year,” Ross said. “It’s pretty crazy.”

Creating Vecna

Vecna wasn’t an impulse villain. Matt said the idea was there from the start. “We always wanted to introduce this, you know, sentient being into the show,” he explained. “We had that even all the way back in our original pitch to Netflix for season one.”

But the timing mattered. “It felt right to introduce him in season four,” Matt said, because their characters had moved into high school. Then he went straight into personal territory. “High school for us was, I would say, the worst four years of my life,” he said, laughing — and then staying on it. “I think it’s just a hard time in your life. It’s not necessarily school, but everyone’s trying to figure out who they are. There’s more pressure than ever before. It feels like your entire life is on the line.”

He connected that to the internal nature of anxiety. “It’s all mostly internal, right? I mean, you’re dealing with this. We weren’t vocalizing it to anyone.” That’s where Vecna’s power comes from. “He’s preying on all those sort of dark feelings that you have.”

Matt traced the emotional escape route too. “The only way for Max to climb out of that is with the help of her friends,” he said, then added, “and I suppose Kate Bush as well was helpful in that situation.”

Vecna was also built from the villains who scared them most — specifically the ones who still felt human. “The ones particularly who scared us the most… they were all humanoid,” Matt said. “It was Pinhead. It was Freddy Krueger. And it was Pennywise.” Then he went long on the one that got under his skin. “Particularly, Pennywise really messed me up… Tim Curry,” he said. “’Cause we were the age of kids when we saw it. I saw it in fourth grade. Couldn’t sleep for several weeks. Or really a month.”

He remembered the VHS cover like a threat. “Couldn’t look at his cover on the VHS tape,” Matt said. “My mom had to stay… in the bedroom with me until I fell asleep.” Then, with a grin that didn’t fully hide the truth of it, he landed the point: “So the goal was to do that, which was also to scar and traumatize other childrens.”

Ambassadors of the ’80s

Ross described one of the unexpected joys of Stranger Things: watching it send people backwards into the films that raised them. “One of the things that got us first excited to tell this story was that there was a chance here to introduce these films that inspired us that we grew up on to a different generation,” he said.

He used their own gateway drug as an example. “For us, a big movie was Scream,” Ross explained, “because that was one of the first horror movies that we saw.” And that movie didn’t just entertain — it opened a door. “Scream references a lot of other films, whether it’s Halloween or Nightmare on Elm Street,” he said. “And it inspired us to go back and watch all these classic horror films, and we went through a full horror movie phase.”

That’s what he loves hearing from younger viewers now. “When I hear that watching Stranger Things has inspired younger kids to go back and watch some of these films… whether it’s John Carpenter or an earlier Spielberg or Wes Craven… that fills us with joy,” Ross said. “Or read Stephen King. It makes us so happy.”

Matt couldn’t help himself: “It is depressing when they refer to them as ‘old films’ though.”

Dungeons & Dragons

The show’s relationship with Dungeons & Dragons also opens a window into the Duffers’ own upbringing: “Ross and I were ’90s kids. Didn’t grow up in the ’80s. We just grew up consuming a lot of ’80s pop culture.”

And when he talked about what their era looked like, he went somewhere else. “The game that was actually huge at the time was Magic: The Gathering,” Matt said. “The first movie we ever made was an adaptation of Magic: The Gathering.” They did play D&D, though: “We did play Dungeons & Dragons, but not as much,” he said. “I think if this show were set in the ’90s, they would’ve been playing Magic: The Gathering.”

D&D’s role grew organically once it was in the show. “We actually didn’t intend for Dungeons & Dragons to be that big of a part of the show,” Matt admitted. “But the opening scene, we had the kids playing Dungeons & Dragons. And we always wanted to do that.”

Then the story started needing a shared language. “As the show continued, we needed something for the kids to be able to reference in order to help them understand what was going on,” Matt said. “And they had the D&D board out. So we ended up sort of writing that in very organically.”

What mattered most to him wasn’t the nostalgia — it was what the game represents. “It lends itself beautifully… because that’s a game about not just imagination, but collaboration,” he said. “It’s a show about how you can only win by working together, by cooperating, by using your various skills.”

“I’m very proud of the fact that it’s helped encourage some people to find that game,” Matt said. “Because I think especially now where people don’t tend to come together, there’s something very powerful and important about friends getting together in the real world and interacting — not just with physical objects, but with each other.”

Family and Loss

Ross brought the conversation back to what he sees as the true spine of the series. “At its heart, this really is a show about family,” he said. He described Stranger Things as multigenerational by design — not as a side effect. “From early on, we saw this as a multigenerational show,” Ross said.

The long runtime changed what they could do. “If this was a film, it woulda just been about the kids or just been about Hopper,” he said. Instead, they could move across the whole town. “We can bounce around, get to know all these people, but also we can then put them together.”

He singled out Hopper and Eleven as one of the most important emotional journeys to resolve. “Hopper and Eleven probably being the most important just because they’ve had a long journey,” Ross said. Then he laid out the tragedy at its foundation. “Eleven, her mom was taken from her. She didn’t have anyone. Her one father figure, Papa, was really messed up.” What she found in Hopper was a different kind of bond. “And so she found someone in Hopper who had lost a daughter.”

Ross kept it focused on where it ends. “I think we’ve seen that relationship change and evolve over the years,” he said. “And how it plays out is really important for both of their characters in the final season.”

Someone New

The Duffers are careful about adding new characters at the best of times — and a final season is the worst time to throw off the chemistry. Matt said they almost avoided it. “For a while, we were planning not to do it at all,” he said.

But they wanted the last season to feel like a loop closing. “One of the things we wanted to do with the final season was recapture some of the feeling of the first season, so that it would feel like everything is going full-circle,” Matt explained. The problem was obvious. “Because the kids in the show are clearly not kids anymore,” he said.

So they solved it by putting actual kids back into the mix. “The only way to really recapture some of the energy and innocence of the first season was to introduce a new, younger cast into the show,” Matt said. That’s where Holly Wheeler comes in. “That’s when we came up with the idea of elevating Holly to a major character,” he said. “Which made sense, because she’s another Wheeler. She’s really just been in the background.”

Casting that role made them nervous. “There are not that many kids that can carry a role of that size,” Matt said, “and that have the kind of range that we knew Holly would need.” The resemblance mattered too. “Extra challenge — she had to look like our Holly would look… like she was a Wheeler family member.”

“We were very lucky in finding Nell,” Matt said, “who we think is a very special kid and extraordinary actor.”

Sound, Score, and Finale

Ross went first on the music, and he still sounded amused that Netflix ever let them do it. “Kyle and Michael… prior to season one, they had never composed a score for anything,” he said. “So I’m shocked Netflix honestly let us hire them.” The result became foundational. “Their sound is so essential to the DNA of the show,” Ross said.

He talked about what the final season gets to do, after four years of musical language building. “We’ve now had four seasons’ worth of score from them,” Ross said. “There are so many themes… and there’s so much about this season that is about coming full-circle.” That meant revisiting earlier material. “We’re revisiting a lot of cues and scores and themes,” he said. “We’re adjusting them for the season, but also we’re trying to bring back those sounds… that went throughout the previous seasons.”

Matt widened it to sound design itself. “Super-important to us,” he said. “If you look at any of our scripts, our cast makes fun of us ’cause every other line is ‘whoosh,’ ‘bang,’ ‘crack.’ It reads like a comic book or something.” It’s not decoration — it’s visualization. “I don’t know, it helps us visualize what the show is going to be, and ultimately sound like,” Matt said.

“We spend a lot of time, even on the rough cuts, making sure that it sounds great, even before we send it to Netflix,” Matt explained. “It’s very important to us.” Then he claimed, only half-joking: “I think it’s the best-sounding first rough cuts they will ever get, because we obsess over it.”

He told a story from the premiere that turned into a mini-lecture. Someone praised the sound — and then admitted how they watched it. “Well, how have you been watching the show?” Matt said he asked. “Did you have a sound bar? No, just listening out of their LG TV.” His reaction was immediate. “I said that’s not acceptable.” Then the practical advice: “Headphones are fine. AirPod Maxes sound good. The new AirPods are really good. Or you need a sound bar.” He added, grinning: “If not, I’m gonna be upset.”

The Sweet Spot

Ross summed up their writing philosophy in a way that sounds simple until you realize how hard it is to do consistently. “We love action and horror and spectacle,” he said, “but for us… we get bored personally if we don’t care about the characters.” He pointed to the example they always circle back to. “Someone like a Spielberg, or Jurassic Park being one of the prime examples — you care about these people, and then you bring in the spectacle.”

So that’s where they start. “When we’re talking about sequences… we’re usually building it from the character,” Ross said. “Where do we want our characters to be?” If the emotional climax and the effects climax hit together, that’s the goal. “If you can hit both the character emotional climax at the same time as you’re hitting a visual effects or spectacle climax… that’s our sweet spot,” he said.

He gave an example the audience already knows. “With Dear Billy, with Max’s escape… it’s both a huge emotional moment… but it’s also big visual effects sequence… and a monster trying to dig into her brain.” Then he stated the rule in its bluntest form. “If you don’t care about these people, then none of them matter.”

Matt agreed, adding the one-line version of the same philosophy. “You don’t want spectacle for the sake of spectacle,” he said. Then, because he can’t help himself: “But we do like monsters.”

Expectation and Vision

Matt talked about the pressure of success as “noise,” and it’s clear they’ve had to build defenses against it. “Every year it feels like there’s more and more noise around it,” he said. The strategy is to keep the circle small. “What we try to do as much as possible is shut off the noise and not listen to it,” he explained.

Then he described how small the decision-making group actually is. “At the end of the day, it comes down to me, Ross, and our four writers,” Matt said, “all of whom have been on the show since either season one or season two.” Their job is to make something they believe in. “We just try to write something that we think is cool,” he said.

He traced it back to the only season that had no pressure. “That’s what we did all the way back in season one, because we had no fans,” Matt said. “We were just trying to make something that we loved.” With the finale, the danger is paralysis. “Especially with this final season… because of the level of expectation… it can just paralyze you,” he said. “So we just stopped thinking about it.”

The method is almost comically narrow. “Really, you’re just trying to please five people, and then hoping it trickles outward,” Matt said.

Netflix adds another complication: “There is no test screenings,” he said. “So we don’t get any reactions from fans.” The feedback loop is tiny. “We’re only getting feedback from… a total of 10 people,” Matt said. “Which is terrifying, but on the other hand, really freeing.” Then the leap of faith: “You put it out in the world and you pray.”

Farewell… and an Encore?

Ross described the final stretch of the shoot as emotionally brutal — not because they were trying to manufacture goodbye moments, but because the schedule forced them. “The shoot was so hard and so long that all of us… were really just focused on the work for the majority of the shoot,” he said. But once they started final scenes, it changed.

They organized it so the ending landed one actor at a time. “We organized it in a way that every actor’s last scene in the show was the last scene we filmed,” Ross said. “And so every time we were on an actor’s last scene, it was really emotional all day for everyone. There were lots of tears.”

For the brothers, the end was the hardest part — because it wasn’t just the cast. “We knew not only we’re gonna be wrapping a group of actors that we really cared about and loved,” Ross said, “but also we were saying goodbye to this show, to the production, to the crew.” And even if they work together again someday, it won’t feel the same. “Not in the same way, not all together,” he said.

They did what they could to mark it. “There was some confetti at the end. There was some champagne,” Ross said. “Everyone kinda got a key prop.” Then the specifics started coming out: “Joe got his bat.” Matt jumped in: “Sadie got her Walkman. Millie got the dress. The pink dress that she was wearing in season one.”

As for the future beyond Hawkins, Ross said they’ve started talking — carefully. “We are in early, early days of talking,” he said. “We have this spinoff idea… a live-action spinoff. It would be another TV series, though.”

Matt drew a firm line around the main story. “It is the end of the story of these characters and Hawkins and the Upside Down,” he said. He mentioned the animated project as the exception — because animation freezes time. “There is a cartoon… set between season two and three,” Matt said. “And the kids in that cartoon will never age, which is great.” Then he delivered the joke that also felt like a promise. “Other than that, this is the end of their journey. And we don’t want to explore anything beyond that. Unless we’re all destitute in like 20 years.” Ross immediately followed: “And then this interview never happened.”

Full Circle

What stands out isn’t how carefully the Duffers guard spoilers — it’s how clearly they still know what Stranger Things is about. Collaboration. Friendship. Family. Fear as something internal. Monsters as something external. A town that feels small enough to be real, and a world big enough to swallow it.

They keep coming back to the same balance Ross described: if the emotional peak and the spectacle peak hit at the same moment, the story lands. If it doesn’t, it’s just noise.

Now the Upside Down gets its answers. The characters get their ending. And the Duffers, after a decade of building, get to close the loop.

Stranger Things has always been a story about growing up, but for this group of actors, it’s also been the backdrop of their own lives. Across a decade, they’ve moved from childhood into adulthood inside the same world of Demogorgons, Dungeons & Dragons, and Hawkins heartbreak.

This press conference brought together Jamie Campbell Bower, Caleb McLaughlin, Gaten Matarazzo, and Finn Wolfhard — four performers whose characters have shaped the emotional and thematic spine of the series in their own distinct ways. Each of them has grown with the show, and each of them had a deeply personal perspective to share.

This article — the second of three — is based on the hybrid press conferences I attended on November 8, 2025.

Becoming Vecna

Jamie Campbell Bower began the session by reflecting on the sheer intensity of his process. He didn’t downplay it. “The artistic process that I went through for this show was arguably the most in‑depth process I think I’ve ever done for any specific role,” he said. For him, taking on Henry Creel and transforming into Vecna wasn’t just about performance, but responsibility. “I felt such a level of duty… maybe because of its success and the hard work that’s been put into it by all these amazing people… and Matt and Ross Duffer as well.”

Jamie spoke at length about how deeply he explored the psychology of the character. “I was trying to fully understand the reasons that this person was the way that they were… a lot of stuff to do with primary caregiver relationships at childhood and the trauma.” Season 5 continued that exploration, but he held back on specifics. “I had more of those moments in season five as well… but I can’t say too much because it’s a development throughout the season.”

He also revealed a moment of eerie coincidence: “The day I got cast, I remember walking down the street, and there was a guy wearing a Vecna D&D t‑shirt. I’ve not seen a Vecna D&D t‑shirt since.”

Growing Up Beside Lucas

Caleb McLaughlin has been with the show since he was thirteen. His reflection was striking in its honesty. “My artistic journey was the development of me in my adolescence,” he said. “The scripts kind of wrote my life out in a way.”

Being a child actor on a show this big meant he had to grow into his craft while growing into himself. “At 13, I didn’t really know much. I just knew what I loved and expressed myself in that way.” But Lucas became a lens for understanding experiences he had never faced. “I’d read the script and be like, I’ve never been through that… so how would I react to that? How would Lucas do that?”

Over time, Lucas and Caleb shaped each other. “Lucas kind of merged with my personality in a way… I had to put Caleb to the side and put Lucas in the forefront.” That process impacted him more deeply than he realized. “Reflecting on the past… whoa, I’ve been on the show almost half my life. That is a part of my development.”

Optimism and Craft

Gaten Matarazzo approached his reflection with the same warmth fans recognize in Dustin. “It’s harder for me to find things that haven’t been impacted by the show,” he said. Starting so young meant understanding the mechanics of a film set earlier than most actors do. “It’s very rare for people our age to have the literacy of how a set works on a day‑to‑day.”

He talked about the comfort and security that came with growing professionally inside a long‑running series. “When you show up on a set or in a theater, you have those anxieties or uncertainties out of the way… you can just hunker down and focus on what you enjoy doing.”

What he values most is the consistency, something he admitted he took for granted for years. “I think sometimes I forget to actively think of that… but it’s something I value.” Letting the show go, he admitted, is hard. “I’ll always have next season in case things don’t tend to work out… and now you kind of just have to dive in headfirst.”

Later, when asked about Dustin’s optimism, he dug even deeper. “Without him, I probably would be a tremendously more pessimistic person.” Playing the character helped him hold onto a part of his younger self. “It almost felt like affirmation… giving me the tools to remain consistent in that department over the course of this decade.” And he didn’t hide his gratitude. “I’m a very, very lucky individual. And I don’t take that for granted.”

Leadership and Community

Finn Wolfhard immediately joked, “I haven’t changed a bit,” but his real answer showed a lot of reflection. Being so young on such a massive series could have been overwhelming, but he credits the group for keeping each other balanced. “The only reason why we’re all doing as well as we have been is because we have this community we were able to come back to.”

He pointed to the Duffers as central to that environment. “It softened the intensity… it’s a testament to the Duffers on how much they care about their actors and their crew.” He also emphasized how naturally the show absorbed new cast members. “When we added Sadie, it felt like she had been there. When we added Jamie… it was such a gift to have people join the family.”

On playing a more mature version of Mike returning to his strategist roots, Finn said, “It was awesome to step back into that role… to go back to his roots as a kid.” He spoke about the universal theme beneath Mike’s journey. “In the end, you always come back to your core beliefs and what you think is right… there are all these different roads you can go down, but what are the things that truly matter?” Season 5, he said, returns Mike to that essence. “It was a reintroduction of those beliefs that Mike holds so dearly.”

Starting From Loss

Season Five doesn’t offer a reset or a moment to catch its breath. Gaten described how unusual it felt to begin without any sense of victory. “It’s a completely different type of start to a season,” he said. “It ends with us pretty clearly losing for the first time… we’re starting from scratch and that’s pretty scary.”

That sense of loss, however, doesn’t paralyze the group. Gaten emphasized that the response is instinctive. “In Stranger Things fashion, we go about that challenge with just as much enthusiasm and intensity and fierce desire as we always have.”

Finn echoed that emotional tone when looking ahead to the latter half of the season. “I would say it’s like a bittersweet second half,” he said, pointing toward an ending shaped as much by consequence as closure. “It answers a lot of questions people have been asking about the show.”

The Weight of Trauma

For Caleb, Lucas enters the final season carrying more than the immediate aftermath of Max’s fate. “This was one of Lucas’s most traumatic moments… he felt like it was his fault,” he said, describing how that guilt reshapes the character.

But Lucas isn’t defined solely by that pain. Caleb explained that the strength audiences see in him comes from everything that came before. “We capture him in this stoic sensibility of resilience… he’s taken so many tools from moments in past seasons.”

Rather than retreating inward, Lucas leans on the people around him. “He has the support of his friends, the support from his past, and is just ready for whatever comes next.”

Holding Onto Hope

Hope, for Gaten, isn’t something Dustin performs — it’s something that’s been shaped over time. “It’s hard to… but I think a lot of that optimism stemmed from who I was at 13,” he said, tying the character’s outlook directly to his own younger self.

Playing Dustin helped him preserve that instinct. “It almost felt like affirmation… giving me the tools to remain consistent in that department over the decade.” That consistency became something grounding, especially as everything around the characters grows darker.

He ended on a note of perspective rather than optimism-for-optimism’s sake. “I’m very lucky and fortunate to be in a situation where I can prioritize optimism when so many aren’t.”

Scale and Emotion

Finn was asked what struck him most when reading the scripts — the scale, the emotion, or how it ties back to the beginning. His answer covered all three. “The scale is so huge… season five blew that out of the water.” But what amazed him most was the balance. “What I was most impressed with is how the Duffers handled the world‑building… the big set piece stuff… with the really emotional character stuff.”

He spoke about the difficulty of switching between massive action and intimate emotion. “Halfway through an action sequence, you have to have this really emotional moment… that’s very hard to juggle.” But he praised the cast for pulling it off. “The whole cast is so good at that.”

Looking Ahead

As the press conference moved toward its ending, the cast was asked to describe the tone of the upcoming Volume Two without spoiling anything. The question quickly turned playful, starting with one-word attempts before expanding into something more reflective.

Gaten kept things honest: “It’s large… it’s very cool to be a part of a project where you basically are making a feature film every time you’re starting a new episode.” He talked about the rare privilege of working on a show with that level of ambition: “That is quite rare… something this show has done brilliantly.”

Finn took a more emotional route. “I would say it’s like a bittersweet second half,” he said. Season Five’s latter chapters, he hinted, aim to close loops the audience has carried for years. “It answers a lot of questions people have been asking about the show… I haven’t seen it, so I’m excited to see it.”

Jamie, with his typical dry humor, offered a single word: “Broad.” And Caleb simply added, “Mystical.” Both answers, while brief, captured the way the cast sees this final stretch — big, emotional, and full of the mythology that anchors the entire story.

Final Reflections

The second press conference captured a different kind of nostalgia than the first. Here were four actors who have grown into adulthood in front of the world, each shaped by the characters they’ve embodied for nearly half their lives. Jamie unpacking the psychological depth of Vecna. Caleb reflecting on Lucas as a defining part of his own adolescence. Gaten grounding his optimism in both character and real life. Finn tracing Mike’s journey back to the heart of who he was as a kid.

Each of them brought something essential to the series, and each carried the weight of the ending with a mixture of pride, gratitude, and uncertainty about life after Hawkins.

Season Five marks the end of a decade-long chapter — not just for fans, but for the performers who grew up inside its world. And if their reflections are any indication, the final episodes will carry the same blend of scale, heart, and humanity that has defined Stranger Things from the beginning — the epic and the intimate, side by side.

For more than forty years, James Cameron has been chasing visions most filmmakers would consider impossible. From The Terminator and Aliens to The Abyss, Titanic, and the first two Avatar films, his work has always carried the same DNA: technological reinvention in service of his blend of technical ambition and character-driven drama.

With Avatar: Fire & Ash, Cameron is returning to Pandora at a moment when he feels both the world and the art form are in a state of deep transition. And in conversation, what stands out isn’t the scale of the new film, but a kind of unfiltered honesty running underneath it.

On December 2nd, 2025, I joined other journalists from the Golden Globe Awards in a Zoom conversation with James Cameron to talk about his third installment in this pantheistic science fiction epic.

Grief and Family

He begins by laying out the evolution of the saga. “In the first film, we established a world and a relatively simple love story, because our eyes were focused outward on everything around us and the new creatures. It was shockingly new. Nobody had seen anything like that before. I’d never done anything like that before.”

“The second film,” he continues, “takes you to different parts of that world, and we start to make the plot more complex and introduce new characters, including the Tulkun and the Reef People.” Now, he says, “we go to a next level of complexity with the new film by introducing the Ash People. But also because we’ve had this tragic event in movie two — the death of the eldest son.”

He says the grounding of Fire & Ash came from an instinct that grief needed to be treated honestly. “I felt it was really, really important to ground the film in authentic human responses to things like trauma and loss and grief. Commercial filmmaking tends to gloss over that stuff. Usually when somebody dies in a movie, the wife dies and the husband goes on a killing rampage, and we all celebrate that violence for the next two hours. I don’t think commercial filmmaking deals with it honestly and authentically.”

He adds, “I’ve had a lot of loss in my personal life over the last ten years or so. And grief doesn’t just stop like that. And it’s not a trigger to just go.”

The consequences of this loss reverberate most sharply through Neytiri. “Neytiri becomes very kind of dark,” he says, “and she starts to live in a kind of hatred, which makes her kind of a racist. And she’s got to fight her way through that and see people for their values and for the good that’s inside them regardless of the color of their skin.”

For Cameron, the emotional weight of this chapter is also a chance to highlight the cast. “What we’re doing in that volume when we’re doing performance capture is some of the best work these actors have done in their careers. And we’re talking about Academy Award winners Kate Winslet and Zoe Saldaña, three-time Academy Award nominee Sigourney Weaver. And they will tell you this is some of the best work they’ve done, but it tends to get overlooked.”

He clarifies a point often misunderstood: “I still read in the media from time to time that Sigourney Weaver voiced Kiri. She didn’t voice Kiri. She performed Kiri for eighteen months. It took six months to shoot Titanic. We worked three times that long. If this was just voicing, we’d be done in days, not months or years.”

On his directing process, he says, “I’m a very prepared director when I’m shooting live action. But when I’m doing capture, it’s very free. I don’t previs it. I don’t storyboard. I don’t tell the actors where to stand. I let them find the scene.”

Building Pandora

Cameron explains that the biology of Pandora grows from real ecological principles. “We tried to make it a consistent ecosystem. We were very inspired by the biological systems of our own planet, which are rich, which are diverse. But we think there are certain rules that probably would apply to an alien ecosystem — animals that herd together, animals that are herbivorous, animals that are predatory. They’re gonna look a certain way. They’re gonna be configured a certain way.”

In the ocean, he says, “you’re gonna have big apex predators. You’re gonna have schooling fish. They school for a reason — so maybe they don’t all survive, but they survive as a group.”

He also reveals an early design challenge: “When I decided the Na’vi should be blue, we thought maybe the foliage in the forest should be a cyan blue-green so it makes sense as camouflage. But when we tried it, it all looked desaturated — like we’d thrown a blue filter over the whole forest. So we said, all right, forest has got to be green. Now the Na’vi are blue. Why are they blue? They don’t fit in. Well, forests aren’t orange and a tiger blends in, right? It’s a question of patterning and stripes and things like that.”

As for genre, he says, “These films are really more of an allegorical fantasy than a hard science fiction. If you think of a movie like Arrival, they don’t look like us, they don’t think like us, they don’t even perceive spacetime the way we do. That’s true science fiction. The Avatar films are more of an allegorical fantasy.”

Setting the story on a distant planet allows him to address contemporary issues without triggering cultural defenses. “We set it on another planet so that we can deal with all of our problems that we have right here on Earth — hatred, mistrust, detachment from each other, lack of empathy — but without people thinking of a particular government or religion or country.”

Displacement and Identity

He continues: “The Sullys are displaced, right? By violence. Jake leaves to keep his people safe. But it doesn’t matter — the enemy is chasing. Anybody that’s been displaced from their home, that’s going to be emotionally very traumatic.”

Neytiri voices this directly in the film, he says: “‘I don’t have my forest. I don’t have my people that I grew up with.’ She feels like a stranger in a strange land.”

Spider represents another dimension of belonging. “Spider desperately wants to be Na’vi. He paints himself blue. He tries to be part of the Sully family. Neytiri’s not having it because she’s gone to this very dark place. But Spider is accepted by the next generation. I think we see these trends — hatred sometimes stops with the next generation.”

On choosing Lo’ak as the storyteller, Cameron says: “Jake has been our storyteller, but Jake can’t tell Lo’ak’s story because Jake doesn’t understand Lo’ak. Lo’ak feels like an outcast. He feels like an outsider even in his own family at times.”

He connects this to the family’s identity: “They’re mixed-race kids. Everybody knows that Jake is part human, and that tension is there in that marriage. Stress number one. Now you’re at war, and you’re a mixed-race family living in a new place and trying to fit in and be respected and seen.”

The Economics of Ambition

Cameron laughs when asked about the financial side: “It’s the stupidest business model in history. In order to succeed, the film has to be in the top ten of highest-grossing films in history before we’ve written a word, before we’ve shot anything. Everybody thinks it’s a great idea to make an Avatar movie — until you look at the math.”

But he emphasizes the upside: “The more money we spend, the more jobs we’re making. There are 3,800 names in the credits of this film. That’s 3,800 jobs.”

He also points out the reality of the theatrical market: “We’ve dropped down about 30 to 35 percent since COVID and since streaming. People have habituated to accepting their media on streaming. If they’re going to a movie theater now, they want to see something special. They don’t want a movie — they want an experience.”

On releasing at Christmas, he says, “If you release right before Christmas, you’re moving into a big holiday weekend. If you can get a foothold with a long film, you need time for people to make an appointment to go see it. Titanic was number one for 16 weeks. Avatar followed a similar trajectory.”

“These films are about the heart,” he adds. “Parents might want to take their kids — teens might think, maybe I’ll go get my mom.”

The Challenges of AI

Cameron distinguishes between forms of AI: “There’s little AI and there’s big AI. Big AI is an artificial superintelligence — that’s a big problem for human civilization. That’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about generative AI.”

He is candid about his skepticism: “If you take everything everybody’s ever done and put it in a blender and get a result, how is it not the average? It’s not the idiosyncratic, unique view of an individual artist and their lived experience. I want to read a script by somebody that’s gone through some stuff individually, not the average. I don’t see how you don’t get to mediocrity that way. Does it work? Yeah, it works — that’s the scary thing. But that’s not how I want to generate images. And I certainly don’t want to replace actors.”

“That’s another reason I’m speaking up,” he says. “Our process has always been, on the Avatar films, a very actor-originated, actor-centric process. We celebrate the actor, and we consider that the sacred moment of creation. Generative AI is exactly the opposite. We could have a younger generation of filmmakers coming up who say, ‘I don’t need actors. I can get my brilliant idea on the screen without even dealing with actors. I can make up characters.’ But then you lose that moment where you pass the baton to an actor and it becomes their unique version of the character.”

He pushes back against any easy headline. “Now, it’s not that simple,” he says. “Everybody in the room would run out and say, ‘Jim Cameron hates AI, thinks it’s gonna ruin Hollywood.’ That’s not the headline. Avatar movies and the kind of big films that I love and have always loved cost too much. Visual effects processes are expensive. Costs rise and theatrical revenues have come down, and they may continue to come down. At a certain point, where they cross, those movies cease to exist.”

He worries about what that means for the next generation. “There may be a few people out there, like me and Steven Spielberg and Denis Villeneuve and other filmmakers that have a track record in this. But how do young filmmakers come up and get into fantasy and science fiction at scale? How are they gonna do that? That’s starting to close out.”

“So if generative AI can be a genie that’s out of the bottle that can be tamed to do certain parts of an actor-centric workflow, and that brings the cost down — even modestly, say 35 percent — that takes the place of the lost revenue we’ve been experiencing since COVID. It might be a kind of Hail Mary pass that’s available to us now. I can’t tell you that’s the case because I haven’t worked in it.”

He mentions his position on the board of Stability AI as “a way to study that business, see how it’s done, how they think, how the developers work,” and says he has challenged them to build tools that can plug into existing VFX workflows. “My idea is not to make human artists obsolete, but to speed up our cadence. I’m 71. How many more Avatar movies can I make when it takes me eight years to do two films, or ten?”

“If I could shorten that, that’d be great,” he continues. “Then I have the same number of artists just working faster and more efficiently, and the next day, when we finish the film, we go on to the next thing. Maybe it’s another Avatar movie, maybe it’s something else. There could be some economic value that improves our filmmaking and improves the financials of the theatrical marketplace. But I can’t guarantee that. It’s an instinct that I have. And I’m gonna say clearly — it’s an instinct.”

He laughs that he’s been right about a lot of things before. “I had an instinct about CG when I did The Abyss. In ’88, ’89, we started fooling around with CG for the first time. My instinct was: it’s going this way. So then I did Terminator 2. Then after that, I founded Digital Domain, which was the first all-digital major visual-effects company. That proved to be true. I’ve been right on a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I’m right this time. We’ll see.”

The Human Thread

When the subject shifts back to technology more broadly, Cameron stresses that the tools themselves are not the point. “Most of what we’ve developed has been in the service of creating an authentic sense of reality for the audience,” he says. “You feel like what you’re seeing is impossible, but it looks real. We try for a high sense of reality.”

He points out that cinema has always been technical. The difference now is how quickly innovation spreads. “Almost everything we’ve developed has been adopted by other filmmakers as well,” he says. “I’m proud of that — that it gets adopted beyond just the Avatar films. It’s a rising tide that raises all ships. We’re not an insular culture at Avatar. We’re very open source. We’ll show anybody what we do. If other filmmakers want to learn from us or adopt some of our techniques, that actually benefits us. It’s enlightened self‑interest.”

By the end of the conversation, Cameron still sounds like the kid who fell in love with the big screen, just armed with far more data, tools, and scars. He talks about grief and family with the same seriousness he brings to ecosystems and render times. He is suspicious of easy answers, blunt about risk, fiercely loyal to actors, and stubbornly in love with the idea of people gathering in the dark to be taken somewhere else for a few hours.

Avatar: Fire & Ash may be built on cutting-edge tools and workflows, but it is driven by something far older: a belief that stories matter more when they come from people who have actually lived through something — and that the most advanced image in the world still isn’t worth much if there’s no human pulse behind it.

Stranger Things has always been a show about growing up, even when monsters and alternate dimensions stole the spotlight. When it premiered in 2016, it felt like a lightning bolt—an 80s throwback that wasn’t just referencing nostalgia, but living inside it.

Across five seasons, we’ve watched this story evolve from a small‑town mystery into something much bigger and more ambitious, all while holding tight to what made it so iconic. What started with a group of kids on bikes became a decade‑long journey about friendship, fear, loss, and finding yourself in the shadow of unimaginable darkness.

That journey is finally coming to an end. The cast and creative team have grown up alongside the audience, and you can feel that weight in every answer they give. Ten years is a long time in anyone’s life—but for these actors, many of whom began as children, it’s practically a lifetime. There’s a sense of farewell woven through the final season, a mixture of pride and melancholy that mirrors the story’s own themes of change.

This article—the first of three—is based on the hybrid press conferences I attended on November 8, 2025, where Executive Producer Shawn Levy, Millie Bobby Brown, David Harbour, and Noah Schnapp gathered to talk about closing out the series.

The Scale of a Finale

When the cast was asked what it felt like to step onto the Season 5 sets, Millie Bobby Brown didn’t hesitate to describe her reaction. “Our sets this year have felt insane… there’s one specific set that I just was kind of in shock that it was even built,” she said. She talked about the joy of working in a world that feels real instead of relying entirely on imagination. “Not having to imagine absolutely everything… is a joy.”

That contrast between practical sets and massive visual effects isn’t new for Stranger Things, but the sense of scale feels different this time. David Harbour compared acting on such sets to playing in a band: “It doesn’t matter if there’s a huge green screen or a huge set… I’m playing guitar, what I love to do.”

He repeated his preference for the quieter, character-driven moments. “I much prefer the intimate… those rich three-to-four-page scenes with two people really going at it.” Noah cut in with a grin: “You are the best at them.” David tried to wave it off, but Shawn backed him up: “You are really, really good.” Noah piled on again: “No one takes a monologue better than David Harbour.”

Chemistry After a Decade

Chemistry has always been the show’s heartbeat. Noah Schnapp said it plainly: “It’s so crucial to have good chemistry… it reads on screen.” He talked about how their comfort with each other allows improvisation to shine. Millie took it a step further, describing the cast as a ragtag family: “We’re all, in our own way, outcasts… you’ll know how strange we are in our own way.” That vulnerability, she explained, is part of the show’s DNA: “I don’t feel like there’s any perfect person… and that’s what’s exciting.”

Shawn Levy added that everyone knew they were walking into the final season, and real emotions flowed into the performances. “Knowing this was a farewell… the emotions were very, very honest and authentic,” he said.

Brave Faces

One of the most emotional exchanges came when Millie was asked whether Eleven’s bravery over the years had influenced her in real life. Millie said, “If you would’ve met me at 10… I’ve always been quite outspoken and brave in my own way.” She explained how the final season changed her perspective: “You question everything you’ve ever done with your character… this is my last shot at playing this superhero.” That pressure forced her to dive deeper: “You have to leave your humility at the door… pretending to fly when you’re not.”

David Harbour described the dread of reading new scripts: “The first 15 pages are usually just full of anxiety.” He talked about emailing the Duffers after each season with thoughts—unsure if they were read—but always trusting the writers to “land the plane.”

The Heart of Hopper and Eleven

When asked about Hopper and Eleven’s bond, David began with a grin: “I think there are a lot of emotional centers. I mean, my ego appreciates you saying that, right? That like we’re the center.”

Then he shifted into something far more personal. He talked about their connection as “two people that are both lost, that are both heroic… that both have such big, broad, deep hearts and are both deeply flawed.” After years of playing that dynamic, he said, “I love human beings like that. I love humanity.” He added that reuniting with Millie this season carried enormous weight: “They do something so extraordinary this season… and the payoff is really deep and rich.”

Millie echoed that sentiment, reminiscing about how bizarre it seemed in Season 1 that Hopper would become Eleven’s father figure. “Such a weird pair,” she laughed. But the foundation built in earlier seasons carried them through, making their dynamic in Season 5 feel effortless. “They have this shorthand… a really deep connection,” she said. “People talk about Eleven, and in the same sentence they talk about Hopper and El.”

Growing Up on Set

Millie, now a mother and married, reflected directly on what the series gave her. “I started out when I was 10… it’s given me a lot more than probably the average person because it’s like school. It’s all I’ve ever known.” She talked about learning the craft piece by piece: “It taught me about being a professional person… about how to hit your mark… what racking focus means… speaking to a director… taking a note.”

She didn’t stop there. “I graduated on the show. I learned how to be a friend,” she said, describing the experience of working inside an ensemble of forty main characters. The responsibility of being in the spotlight shaped her early: “Naturally you are in the light… there’s a lot of young people watching you… it makes you want to make good decisions.”

She also spoke about finding balance as she grew up: “This has been my anchor… and it’s also made me realize how much it’s okay to have other anchors… you can have your own personal life and private life.”

Fear and Resolve

Asked about balancing Hopper’s hardened exterior with fear, David Harbour went full Shakespeare—a moment both funny and unexpectedly moving. He referenced Hamlet and the Bhagavad Gita to explain Hopper’s evolution.

Hopper, he said, confronts a pivotal shift this season: a warrior reawakened, but also a man learning to accept what he cannot control. “The readiness is all,” he quoted. Beneath the monster-fighting and chaos, he hopes audiences see that vulnerability: “You’re not in control of this universe… you can only play your role.”

The Moment It Hit Them

One of the most emotional rounds of answers came when the cast was asked when it truly hit them that this was the end.

Noah described sitting down to write goodbye letters and suddenly realizing how much of his childhood had been shaped on set. “These are my family members… a day I will never forget.”

David admitted he hadn’t planned to attend the final day of shooting, then found himself driving over anyway. “I sat in the back and watched them play this scene… just crying.” For him, it was a cathartic moment of watching the kids he’d worked with for a decade become adults.

Shawn Levy reflected on the challenge of closing the series while still honoring its mystery. He said the show has always lived in the balance between scale and intimacy: “It can’t just be great character scenes… and it can’t just be cool monsters. It’s both.” He praised the Duffers’ work on the finale as “masterfully done… full-throated storytelling.”

Later, he spoke about the difference between the moments fans now own and the moments that still belong only to the people who made the show. “So many of the moments in this show now… they belong to the world. These characters belong to the world forever.” But the memories of creation he holds close. “I remember those season two scenes in that cabin… seeing these actors make something magic come alive.” He summed it up simply: “The moments belong to the world, but the moments where we got to make it… those belong to us.”

A Decade of Storytelling

The press conference wrapped with a mix of humor and weight. David leaned forward with a mock-warning: “So let me tell you what happens on page one—” before Shawn shot him down with a quick, “No, please don’t.”

Shawn’s tone softened as he reflected on closing out the series: “I’m very proud to be a part of this show… very excited for the world to experience such moving, full-throated storytelling.”

David added his own moment of clarity, recalling the final shoot day: “I had this incredibly cathartic moment of watching these young actors… become men and women.” It was pride, yes—but also the recognition of how deeply this decade had shaped them all.

Ten years is a long time to hold onto a story. For the Stranger Things team, it wasn’t just a job, but a place to grow up, to find family, and to discover themselves inside a supernatural epic.

And for the audience who’ve been there since the first Demogorgon, Season 5 looks ready to deliver what Stranger Things has always done best: the epic and the intimate, side by side.

Guillermo del Toro has been dreaming of Frankenstein since he was seven years old. That was when he first saw Boris Karloff cross the threshold in James Whale’s 1931 classic — a moment he describes as a religious awakening.

What unfolded across the panel was a remarkably open conversation — not just about Frankenstein as a film, but about fathers and sons, creation and cruelty, art and obsession, and the question that burns at the heart of Mary Shelley’s novel: What makes us human? Del Toro’s cast and creative team echoed that same depth. Oscar Isaac, Jacob Elordi, Mia Goth, Alexandre Desplat, Tamara Deverell, Mike Hill, Kate Hawley — all of them, in their own way, described a film that pushed them toward something raw and personal.

This article is based on the video recording and transcript from the hybrid press conference I attended on the 8^th of October, 2025.

Themes of Creation and Responsibility

Del Toro’s lifelong relationship with Frankenstein isn’t something he frames in analytical terms. He goes straight to the memory: “I was raised Catholic, but there I found my true religion. I understood in Karloff what a martyr and a messiah meant. I said, ‘That’s me.’” That clarity stayed with him for decades. When he finally read the novel at eleven, he said he discovered that “the humanity of the creature, and the inhumanity of the world” were the real forces that gripped him.

He didn’t intellectualize how the story matured with him — he stated it plainly: “I’ll make this movie about my dad and I back then. And then as I became a father, I said my dad and I, and me and my kid. And eventually, it was about forgiveness and acceptance.”

Asked how he found his way into the adaptation, he shrugged: “The ending was my guide. The forgiveness and acceptance.”

The Burden of Inheritance

Oscar Isaac didn’t approach Victor through theory — he approached him through that first long conversation with del Toro. “We talked about our fathers. About being fathers. About family,” Isaac said. Two hours later, del Toro simply told him, “I want you to be Victor.”

Isaac remembered the film’s code name: Prodigal Father. “The father is the one that goes away and has to come back and basically say sorry,” he said. Del Toro added with a grin, “And it’s also Pinocchio. The same story.”

Isaac described Victor as someone fueled not by madness but total conviction: “Maybe that’s why it was fun — because he has no doubts.” Del Toro expanded on it in his unmistakable tone: “Every tyrant in the history of mankind has no doubt. And thinks himself a victim. That’s Victor. ‘Poor me, poor me.’ And they’re monsters.”

What moved Isaac most were the final pages del Toro first showed him. “Tears were streaming down my face. His recognition of him as his son… the grace in it… that destroyed me.”

The Creature as a Mirror

Jacob Elordi didn’t downplay how deeply the script hit him. “Every word of the Creature was something I was asking myself,” he said. “I get to be Job asking God why.” And then the line that sealed it: “Now run.” He laughed remembering the moment: “I heard drums in my head. I knew I had to do it.”

Del Toro suggested he look into Butoh, “this Japanese dance of death,” which Elordi said helped him figure out how a body stitched from parts might move. But he also studied babies, children, and animals. “My dog has this great innocence in the way she moves,” he said. He told a story about staring at her in a Toronto hotel room before filming: “She walked up… we touched noses… little static electricity… and I knew, okay. I’m good.”

When asked about the brutal emotional toll of the role, he didn’t hide behind craft: “All of that suffering and pain and trauma is already in our system. The film was cathartic. I got to look it in the face.”

Crafting Flesh and Soul

Mike Hill — del Toro’s long-time creature collaborator — didn’t sugarcoat it: “Our call time was midnight some nights. We’d start putting the appliances on Jacob for ten hours.” He emphasized the strain: “It is literal torture. Sit in a chair for ten hours and don’t move.” But he also praised Elordi without qualification: “He never complained once. Not once. And we did it 56 times.”

Elordi shot back with affection: “I got a professor’s education in monster films from Mike.”

Del Toro jumped in to underline Hill’s rarity: “Ninety-nine percent of makeup effects guys can make a monster. One percent can make a character.”

Hill described the design intent as clearly as del Toro does in his films: “We didn’t want an accident victim. This is not a repaired creature. We were making a newly minted soul.” He explained the philosophy behind the skin tones, the mismatched pieces, the careful asymmetry: “Parts of the Creature are blue, where the flesh hasn’t taken. That mosaic of parts — that’s what makes him great.”

And always, it came back to the eyes. “Every line on that face is to direct you to look at Jacob’s eyes,” Hill said. “We were making a person.”

The Poetry of the Body

Mia Goth didn’t pretend she arrived fully formed as Elizabeth. “Once I landed in Toronto, I still didn’t have a full grasp,” she said. Everything shifted in the fittings. “I started to understand Elizabeth from the outside in. The story the fabrics were telling… that’s when I found her.”

Kate Hawley echoed this, saying the emotional connection began with the material itself: “Guillermo said to me, ‘I don’t want fusty old period for this.’” Her costumes for Elizabeth drew from insects, botany, and organic structures, weaving subtle patterns into fabrics that shaped Mia’s physicality and presence.

The corsets were punishing. “Very difficult,” Mia admitted. “Frustrating.” But then: “Once I stopped trying to fight it and just went with the experience, it was helpful. It’s exactly what Elizabeth was feeling.”

Del Toro later revealed why Elizabeth became so central: “She became an amalgam of me and Mary Shelley. She’s the most intelligent character in the movie. She understands more than anyone else.”

Building a World of Circles and Scars

Production designer Tamara Deverell broke down how Victor’s lab was built in layers — architectural, emotional, symbolic. “We started in Scotland,” she said. “Looking at buildings that inspired us.” But the breakthrough came from a single gesture: “At one point I canted the upper walls in toward the vortex. Guillermo said, ‘I like it.’ And we found it.”

Del Toro joked: “Anything legally actionable is my idea.”

She described the process as “layers upon layers of paint, sculpting, hand‑hewn surfaces,” and emphasized the guiding visual idea: circles. “You’ll see circle motifs everywhere — the circle of life, beginning and end, ouroboros. We worked that into every space.”

Del Toro summed it up: “This isn’t eye candy. It’s story.”

Color, Silence, and the Music of Souls

Composer Alexandre Desplat spoke about their collaboration with warmth: “There’s no tension. With Guillermo, I can fly faster and higher.” The key moment he recalled was the so‑called body‑building sequence — when Victor assembles the corpses. “Any other project might have asked for horror,” he said. “But Guillermo said, ‘Feel the trance of the doctor.’ So, we went for a waltz.”

Del Toro laughed about their dynamic: “I give him a lot of ideas, and he reneges on all of them. Then he explains, very gently for a Frenchman, why they’re wrong.”

Their rule is simple: the music must move del Toro. “If I don’t cry,” he said, “it’s not ready.”

Desplat added, “When I’m too gentle, too restrained, too French, he reminds me that I have to be more Mexican.”

Romantic Punk

When the conversation turned to Mary Shelley, del Toro didn’t speak academically. He spoke like someone who has carried her with him his whole life. “I have dedicated my life to the Romantic movement,” he said. “Mary Shelley, Percy Shelley, Byron… decades of study.”

He stressed something many forget: “These people were punks. Iconoclasts.” Mary escaping at sixteen. Percy threatening melodramatic death. Byron riding into Waterloo. “This is not a languid thing,” he insisted.

He said the film is not just the book, but “an amalgam of her biography, my biography, the Romantic movement, the novel.” And his metaphor for adaptation — already legendary among reporters — resurfaced: “Adapting a book is like marrying a widow. You have to respect the late husband. But on Saturdays, you’re getting it on.”

When asked what he’d ask Mary Shelley if he could meet her, he didn’t hesitate: “I would not ask anything. I would listen.”

“Emotion is the new punk,” he said. “The new anarchy. To all that wisdom you bring with your irony, to all that callousness you bring with your certainty, I give you this: emotion — and fuck you.”

It was raw. It was defiant. It was del Toro.

A Story Reborn

What makes this Frankenstein uniquely del Toro’s is not simply its craft — though the craft is immaculate — but its emotional honesty. It is a story of longing, of failed fathers, of wounded sons, of cycles broken and cycles repeated. It is a story of the pain we inherit and the pain we pass on.

And, ultimately, it is a story of forgiveness.

As the director said: “I provide the supermarket, not the shopping list. You buy whatever the fuck you need.”

This press conference made one thing clear: everyone involved brought something personal to the film — something lived, something felt, something raw. And in doing so, they created a Frankenstein that is less about monsters and more about what remains human in us after everything else is stripped away.

When the Nuremberg Trials began in 1945, the world faced an unprecedented moral reckoning. The war was over, but a single question remained: what do you do with men who had unleashed industrialized death upon millions?

For the first time in modern history, justice would not be vengeance. It would be principle. The architects of horror would stand before a tribunal, and the world would listen.

Eighty years later, writer-director James Vanderbilt returns to that crucible of conscience with Nuremberg (2025), a tense and unflinching drama that explores the intersection of justice, psychology, and power.

The film centers on three men: Dr. Douglas Kelley, played by Rami Malek, the U.S. Army psychiatrist tasked with examining the mental state of the captured Nazi leadership, Justice Robert H. Jackson, played by Michael Shannon, the Supreme Court judge who led the prosecution at the trials, and the defeated Adolf Hitler’s second in command, Hermann Göring, played by Russell Crowe.

Following acclaimed premieres at the Toronto International Film Festival and AFI Fest, Vanderbilt and his cast gathered for a virtual press conference on November 28, 2025, to discuss the film’s decade-long journey and the eerie modern echoes of its subject.

The long road to justice

James Vanderbilt began working on Nuremberg more than a decade ago. The idea, he said, came like a lightning strike.

“I first heard about the story,” he recalled. “I read Jack El-Hai, who wrote the book The Nazi and the Psychiatrist, that the film is based on. I read his book proposal 13 years ago, and it was only five or six pages long, but it was the quickest I said yes to anything in my life.”

He continued. “I used my own money to option the material, which I do not advise. But I was so immediately taken with it. I didn’t know there were psychiatrists in World War II. I certainly didn’t know one was tasked with doing something like this.”

At first, Vanderbilt imagined a contained, psychological film: two men in a cell locked in a war of intellect and ideology. But research kept expanding the scope. “I thought my movie was going to be over here, in a cell the whole time between these two guys,” he said, “but then I read about Robert Jackson, Michael’s character, who isn’t really in the book. And I had never really heard of him—even though he was a U.S. Supreme Court justice—who is basically the guy who said, ‘We can’t just execute these men. We have to put them on trial.’”

That defiance changed history. “The U.S. Army wasn’t interested in a trial at all,” Vanderbilt said. “There was actually a standing order that Churchill and Roosevelt had agreed upon to shoot these men within 48 hours of their capture.

And Jackson said, no, this is an incredibly important thing that we have to do. Not only did he convince them, he took a leave of absence from the court, flew to Nuremberg, and became the chief U.S. prosecutor.”

That moment of moral clarity, Vanderbilt said, became the film’s backbone. “It’s about the moment when civilization decides whether it will be civilized.”

The burden of understanding

When Rami Malek first read Vanderbilt’s screenplay, he said it “felt like an extraordinary piece of literature.”

“It really did,” Malek said. “It read to me like—it’s a cliché, but I couldn’t put it down. I didn’t want to change a single word. James has a gift for weaving complexity and clarity.”

What struck him most was how human the story felt beneath all that history. “He approached this film with immense respect for history and for understanding this truly human story we were telling. It wasn’t just about recounting dates and verdicts. It was the opportunity to stand alongside giants in history, to retell a period of time that was both uncomfortable and necessary.”

Malek described Dr. Kelley as “quick-witted, charming, and very disarming. And when your roster of patients is the entire Nazi high command locked up in 22 cells, I think that’s quite useful.”

The prison scenes opposite Russell Crowe, who plays Hermann Göring, were filmed in real, confining spaces. “The stage was set by James and our cinematographer, Dariusz Wolski,” Malek said. “They had a plan for these cells—thirteen by ten feet. Usually on a set we would remove a wall, make room for the camera, but here it was as suffocating as possible. You had to remain completely focused. There’s no alternative but to look your counterpart dead in the eye and bring your A-game.”

He remembered that first day vividly. “I didn’t know how I would meet Russell. It was our first day on set, and it’s the first scene we have together. He gave me a nice compliment about my work, and I couldn’t tell if he was trying to charm me as Hermann Göring or if it was just Russell. But there was respect for what we had on our hands. It’s intimate, it’s epic, it’s about a handful of voices that changed the way the world thinks about justice.”

The work took its toll. “There was one moment where we were shown the footage—the actual atrocity footage. James so smartly kept it at a distance from us. I could only watch six or seven takes before I couldn’t take it anymore. I removed myself and waited in Göring’s cell. That’s when we decided that in that scene, Kelley would finally invade his personal space, sit on his bed, and confront him.”

He spoke of how each take became a kind of psychological duel. “Sometimes I would lower my tone instead of raising it. Things almost became a whisper. And that would bring me even closer to Russell’s face, where I could see a bead of sweat come down. I thought, is that because of performance or the heat of that cell? After every take we could just look at each other—not smiling, not blinking—but knowing what we were bringing to that moment.”

“It wasn’t about who delivered the better performance,” Malek added. “It was about who was going to allow us to tell this story about moral courage and resilience. For the purpose of speaking truth to power in all its iterations.”

The voice of justice

For Michael Shannon, stepping into the shoes of Robert Jackson was both humbling and illuminating.

“It’s very humbling to be offered the opportunity to even pretend to be this person,” he said. “What he accomplished in his life is staggering. But the one solace of being in what can be considered a pretty silly profession is that you get to inform the world about things that they probably don’t know much about—people, stories that are important.”

Shannon was struck by the power of Jackson’s words. “These are the man’s words,” he said. “The speech he gives, his opening statement—that’s his speech with edits. What I say is what he said, and it’s one of the most moving pieces of oration in the history of civilization, or at least the modern era.”

He agreed with Vanderbilt that cinema has a singular ability to make history felt. “You can read about this event, you can study it, you can watch documentaries, but there’s something about cinema that actually makes it enter in a different way—in a more emotional way, where you can actually feel it if we’re all doing our jobs.”

Asked about parallels with today’s world, Shannon was blunt. “Frankly, I didn’t find it so threatening just from a personal standpoint,” he said. “It’s not me—it’s Jackson. And you’re not going to do anything to Jackson, God rest his soul. I’m just showing you what this man did. If anybody has an issue with Jackson or what he did, that’s between them and him. But not standing up for what you believe in or stating your truth is cowardly. And I don’t want to be a coward.”

A verbal gunfight

The film’s centerpiece is a 22-page courtroom exchange between Shannon’s Jackson and Crowe’s Göring—shot in a single day. Vanderbilt called it “a verbal gunfight.”

“I didn’t feel trapped,” he said. “I felt liberated by it because you have two of these guys who are both ready to go. Our first AD [Assistant Director] had a heart attack when I told her we were gonna do it in one day—because you do not shoot twenty-two pages a day. But Russell and Michael were completely down for it, and it was one of the most incredible days I’ve ever had on a film set.”

He grinned recalling the reaction in the room. “We had three hundred extras in the courtroom. After the first take, they stood up and applauded. As they should.”

The courtroom set was built to scale. “Russell and Michael were about fifty feet away from each other,” Vanderbilt said. “That’s far to do a scene that gets that intense between two people. Plus, Michael couldn’t move. Usually, you know, Tom Cruise can walk around and talk to Jack Nicholson. But Michael had to stay at that lectern.”

Shannon said the realism made sense. “In a real court proceeding they wouldn’t come in after a half hour and say, ‘Are you tired? Would you like a little break?’ You go until you’ve got the guy or you don’t.”

Standing on the shoulders of giants

Vanderbilt acknowledged the inevitable comparison to Stanley Kramer’s Judgment at Nuremberg (1961), though he was quick to clarify the difference. “It’s actually a different story,” he said. “People say, ‘How could you remake Judgment at Nuremberg?’ and I tell them, ‘But we didn’t remake it. This is a different trial, four years earlier.’”

Still, he and cinematographer Dariusz Wolski paid tribute to Kramer’s classic. “We screened it again right before shooting,” Vanderbilt said. “The opening statement of that film, Kramer shoots as a 360 around Richard Widmark. We did that with Michael as a tip of the hat.”

A moment at the AFI screening left him emotional. “I got to meet Stanley Kramer’s daughter and widow,” he said. “They both came to see the film, and both told me they loved it. That was one of the most special moments of my life. You dream about making something like this, and then you meet people who knew one of your heroes.”

The weight of conscience

For Malek, Nuremberg is about confronting silence as much as it is about confronting history. “I’ve always been drawn to roles that raise questions rather than give easy answers,” he said. “Whether it’s about identity or power or responsibility. Storytelling, for me, has always been a way of keeping conversations alive—and of asking audiences to look at themselves a little differently.”

With Nuremberg, those questions become painfully direct. “What do we do in the face of injustice?” Malek asked. “That’s the heartbeat of it. And that’s why this was exceptionally meaningful on every level.”

Vanderbilt nodded. “The thing that struck me through all this research is how fragile justice is. It doesn’t just exist. It has to be built. It has to be defended. That’s what Jackson understood—and what I hope the film reminds people of.”

Nuremberg is a film about a uniquely important event in judicial history, but it’s also a reminder that justice itself is a human invention—one that endures only through the courage of those willing to uphold it. As Michael Shannon said, “Cinema makes you feel it.” And in this case, feeling it may be the most important part.

(This article is based on the official transcript from the Nuremberg press conference held for journalists via Zoom on November 28, 2025.)

The time has come to return to the Continent once again. The penultimate season of Netflix’s hit series The Witcher has arrived, bringing with it a few changes to what we’ve grown used to across the three excellent seasons so far. Some are improvements to what was already great—especially for fantasy fans like yours truly.

And yes, there’s that one giant kikimora in the room. If you’ve been following the series, you’ll know exactly what I mean. If not, why start with season four? Go back to the beginning. It’s a great show.

As this is the fourth season, a recap is in order. But before we do, there are spoilers ahead for the first three seasons. Again, if you haven’t watched them, go do so. This article will be here when you return.

The first season of The Witcher was released on Netflix in 2019. Based on the hit novel series by Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski, it tells the story of the monster hunter for hire Geralt of Rivia (then played by Henry Cavill) and the Slavic-inspired fantasy world of the Continent. Feared and reviled by common folk, witchers roam the land slaying monsters that terrorize humanity—while gradually, some might say, becoming monsters themselves.

The first season is told in three non-linear storylines over multiple time periods, which naturally caused some confusion among audiences. The season begins with one pivotal event: the sacking of the kingdom of Cintra by the brutal forces of Nilfgaard, where Princess Cirilla (played by Freya Allan) escapes into the wild.

The story also tracks Geralt, some 30 years earlier, making a living as a witcher along with the bard Jaskier (played by Joey Batey), not yet aware that Destiny is already stalking him. We also learn the history of Geralt’s love-to-be, the sorceress Yennefer (played by Anya Chalotra), who begins as a hunchbacked outcast with magical potential and is taken to the academy of Aretuza, some 90 years before the sacking of Cintra.

These storylines orbit each other throughout the first season, circling closer over time until they finally converge at its end, setting the stage for the second season. Here, the plot centers on Geralt, Ciri, and Yennefer as they come to grips with what Ciri actually is, and the otherworldly evil entity Voleth Meir the Deathless Mother—a hag inspired by the Slavic myth of Baba Yaga—who tries to possess Ciri to get back home to her own realm.

The world of the Continent also opens further as we witness the struggles of the kingdoms and the plight of the elves. This season also introduces many new faces, some who become parts of the greater narrative—such as the queen of the elves, Francesca Findabair (played by Mecia Simson)—and others for single episodes, such as the fan-favorite from the novels, the half-man, half-beast Nivellen (played by Kristofer Hivju).

The season concludes in an epic showdown as Geralt, Yennefer, Jaskier, and the other witchers fight against Voleth Meir the Deathless Mother, now possessing Ciri.

With the Deathless Mother banished back to the world she came from, we move to season three, where Ciri’s Destiny and how it came to be are revealed. The forces of Nilfgaard are always searching for her, as the Nilfgaardian emperor—and Ciri’s long-lost father—Emhyr var Emreis (played by Bart Edwards), the White Flame, wants his daughter and, more importantly, her Destiny and the powers that come with it, by his side.

Aiding him is the powerful warrior-sorcerer Vilgefortz (played by Mahesh Jadu), who betrayed the mages of Aretuza for his own gain. His brutal experiments in search of Ciri led to the fall of the magical academy, the deaths of most of the mages, leaving Geralt severely wounded at the hands of Vilgefortz and Ciri missing.

But before we continue, let’s finally address that giant kikimora in the room. I’m referring, of course, to the recasting of Geralt of Rivia. For various reasons that I’ve long since lost track of—most of them based on rumours or deliberate falsehoods—Henry Cavill left the series after finishing the third season.

The sense of impending doom in the fandom was palpable, and after a suitable period of panic, lamentation, and online gnashing of teeth, Netflix announced that Liam Hemsworth would be taking up the silver sword and black armor—which, naturally, only resulted in even more panic and teeth-gnashing.

I don’t think anyone, not even Liam Hemsworth himself, would deny that what would have been best for The Witcher series was if Henry Cavill continued his role as Geralt of Rivia. At the same time, with online fandom being what it is, Hemsworth’s entry into the role wasn’t exactly cast in a positive light by the fans, who, not exactly known for calm and collected discourse, wasted no time in finding every opportunity to write scathing posts online, prompting Liam Hemsworth to leave social media.

Now where have I heard that story before?

Still, many voices also supported Liam Hemsworth taking on the role, and from within the production, the showrunner and co-stars have praised his preparedness and for bringing new depth, humor, and humanity to the role. I agree with them.

As a fan of both the novels and Netflix’s adaptation (I have not played the games), I think Henry Cavill absolutely perfected the role of Geralt, and I was heartbroken when the news came that he had left after the third season. I would have wanted Cavill to continue, but since he won’t, we’re lucky to have Liam Hemsworth step in. He does an amazing job with Cavill’s legacy, respecting what Cavill did, while at the same time bringing something fresh.

The opening of the fourth season is a great study in damage control and how to smoothly bring in such an important recast. We are introduced to an old storyteller, a century or more after the events of the series, reading tales of high adventure and romance to a group of gathered children. This collection of tall tales is taken from his treasured possession: the collected works of Jaskier the Bard, chronicling the exploits and adventures of Geralt of Rivia.

Through his tales—some exaggerated as only Jaskier would write them—we see flashbacks to important scenes from the earlier seasons, from Geralt’s fight with the kikimora at the very beginning of season one to his fated meeting with Ciri. The scene works as both a great recap and a clever way to place Liam Hemsworth into the series.

Season four sees the allies again on their separate paths. Geralt, along with Jaskier and the traumatized archer Milva (played by Meng’er Zhang), now recovering from his defeat at the hands of Vilgefortz, is heading south to Nilfgaard to confront Emhyr, who he believes has captured Ciri. Meanwhile, Yennefer is gathering the mages still alive after the sacking of Aretuza, with the goal of hunting down Vilgefortz. And unknown to both Geralt and Yennefer, Ciri has, under a false name, taken up with a band of outlaws calling themselves The Rats.

The story in this season feels a little tighter and better paced than the previous season. The goals, especially Geralt’s, are clearer, and his story is paced in the more traditional ‘party on adventure’ kind of way, which helps the story immensely.

There are new faces too, and while the recasting of Geralt has taken just about all of the attention for this season, there is another important recast: Geralt’s mentor Vesemir. The role was memorably played in season two by Danish actor Kim Bodnia, but due to scheduling conflicts, his character was recast by Scottish veteran actor Peter Mullan, known for roles such as King Durin III in The Rings of Power and Jacob Snell in Ozark.

Another new face this season is Laurence Fishburne as the eccentric and regal vampire apothecary Regis. Fishburne’s portrayal of Regis in this season was one of the highlights for me. The only physical description of Regis from the novels details his black eyes and greying hair. Crucially, the books never specify the color of Regis’s skin. But that didn’t stop the comments and loud online shouting of “woke,” as the character in the games is portrayed as Caucasian.

Yet another new and notable character, and one of the villains of this season, is the grizzled and brutal bounty hunter Leo Bonhard, here played by the excellent Sharlto Copley, who hunts Ciri and her friends in the band of outlaws she has joined.

What fans will enjoy, however, is how the action scenes have been thoroughly revamped. The fights and battles, be it with blades or spells, were already excellent in the three seasons that came before, but now there’s a new intensity. Whether it’s a higher budget or Liam Hemsworth’s eagerness to prove himself and fill the massive shoes left by Henry Cavill, the result is action that is much more kinetic and dynamic.

There are some scenes here that had me pick my jaw up from the floor, figuratively speaking, of course, but quite literally for some of the foes unlucky enough to cross swords with Geralt or Ciri. One whole episode is dedicated to a magical battle that would simultaneously please Harry Potter fans while sending that franchise packing in terms of sheer spectacle.

At the other end of the coin, this season goes deep into the human side of not only Geralt, but also his traveling companions. There is an excellent episode where these themes are explored in a highly unusual and playful way, demonstrating one of the most original—and arguably brave!—ways the show is evolving, even without Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia. This commitment to character depth, combined with the tightened plot and explosive action, gives Season 4 a powerful sense of renewed direction.

So, to round this off, if you’re a fan of The Witcher like I am, I’m sure you agree that we would have loved to see Henry Cavill continue in his role. But I’m happy to report that Liam Hemsworth does the best with what he has been given, and at least from what I have seen, as a fan of the previous seasons and of the novels, this is more than enough to convince me that the future of The Witcher is secure.

Bad things happen in Derry. The fictional town, a locus for all things strange and evil, was put on the map of Maine by horror master Stephen King, along with its siblings Castle Rock and Jerusalem’s Lot.

After first appearing in King’s short story “The Bird and the Album” in 1981, Derry has since appeared in many of the author’s works, such as Insomnia (1994), Dreamcatcher (2001), Bag of Bones (1998), 11/22/63 (2011), and most notably, It (1986).

Stephen King’s seminal novel It now stands as one of his most well-known and cherished works. Set in the small town of Derry between 1957 and 1958, and then 27 years later, between 1984 and 1985, it follows a group of friends as they confront an ancient, alien entity that slumbers beneath the town, waking every 27 years to feed on fear and death. While its true name is unknown, the entity is referred to as Pennywise, as it often takes the form of a sinister-looking clown.

Far more than a horror novel, It runs over 1,100 pages, delving deep into the story of Derry, its inhabitants, and its history. The book follows a group of friends: Bill Denbrough, aka “Stuttering Bill,” Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Stan Uris, and Mike Hanlon. In the first part, set in the late 1950s, we follow the friends as they investigate the disappearance of Bill’s younger brother. In the second half, set in the mid-1980s, the friends reunite in Derry to confront the reawakened evil once again.

As a celebrated horror masterpiece, it didn’t take long for a screen adaptation to emerge. In 1990, a two-part made-for-TV movie premiered, starring the indomitable Tim Curry as Pennywise. While the adaptation was a massive success in terms of viewership, its 215-page screenplay omitted much of King’s sprawling novel, understandably given its scale.

Another 27 years would pass before a new adaptation arrived. Director Andy Muschietti’s two-part theatrical version modernized the timeline, shifting the childhood story to the 1980s and the adult story to the 2010s. Bill Skarsgård, born for the role, took on Pennywise, giving the clown a more predatory, baroque presence. The films cemented Pennywise as a modern horror icon and set the stage for a deeper exploration of Derry’s cursed origins.

This brings us to IT: Welcome to Derry, an eight-episode series set in 1962, a few years after the events in the first half of King’s novel. It’s developed by the same creative team behind the recent films: director Andy Muschietti, producer Barbara Muschietti, and writer Jason Fuchs. Crucially, Bill Skarsgård returns as Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

The series unfolds through two parallel storylines. The first begins, as it always does in Derry, with the children. We meet a group of local kids, several already grappling with trauma and deep-seated fears. After a shocking tragedy strikes the town, they find themselves hunted by a force that feeds on their anxieties, manifesting as horrific visions and nightmares. Their effort to understand what’s happening becomes our entry point into the season’s sprawling narrative.

Meanwhile, at the local military airbase, Cold War paranoia is at a fever pitch, mirroring the global tension of 1962 as the world edges toward the Cuban Missile Crisis. Major Leroy Hanlon (Jovan Adepo) and fellow officer (Stephen Rider) join an air force obsessed with nuclear supremacy and haunted by the fear of annihilation.

They’re soon joined by the mysterious Dick Halloran (Chris Chalk), a name King fans will instantly recognize. It soon becomes clear that a top-secret government project is underway in Derry: the search for an unconventional weapon. This weapon, rumored to harness fear itself as a destructive force, lies buried nearby, and only Halloran’s unique gifts can sense it.

Our return to Derry is anything but pleasant. As in Muschietti’s previous It adaptations and in much of King’s best horror, the story thrives on contrast: the bright, wholesome facade of small-town life concealing a rotten underlayer where both supernatural and human horrors dwell. With children again at the heart of the story—and often the targets of those horrors—the dread feels immediate and personal.

Then there’s Pennywise, once more played with eerie brilliance by Bill Skarsgård. Wounded and dreaming of revenge after his defeat by the Losers’ Club, he lies dormant beneath Derry, his slumber growing restless as the military’s secret project stirs old energies. His influence begins to seep outward, infecting the town and its people once more.

Note: After writing this review, I realized that I got my timelines mixed up. IT: Welcome to Derry is, of course, connected to Andy Muschietti’s changed timeline. So the story about The Loser’s Club in King’s book is set a 27-year generation after the story of this series.

Some viewers might dismiss IT: Welcome to Derry as another prequel spin-off from a familiar title. But while Muschietti’s films were wildly successful, they only hinted at the vast mythology within King’s novel. Here, the creative team returns with the same atmosphere and creeping dread that defined those films, expanding the legend of Derry rather than retreading it.

The eight-episode format proves the series’ greatest strength. The films could only gesture toward Derry’s dark past and Pennywise’s recurring cycles of terror, erupting every 27 years in death and destruction. The show finally gives space to explore that history through flashbacks and deeper world-building, turning the town itself into a character—vivid, haunted, and utterly cursed.

IT: Welcome to Derry is horrifying, nightmare fuel that offers far more than cheap jump scares. Unbound by the story in King’s novel, Muschietti delivers scenes that will both haunt you and, at times, might make you wonder if everything is quite alright in the Muschietti household.

Developed by: Andy Muschietti, Barbara Muschietti & Jason Fuchs
Directed by: Andy Muschietti
Written by: Jason Fuchs
Starring: Bill Skarsgård, Jovan Adepo, Taylour Paige, Chris Chalk, Stephen Rider, James Remar, Amanda Christine, Clara Stack, Madeleine Stowe, Rudy Mancuso, Blake Cameron James
Streaming on: HBO / Max
Episodes watched: 5 of 8

The question is as simple as it is catastrophic: what happens when the world has 18 minutes until potential annihilation? This is the terrifying, real-time premise of director Kathryn Bigelow’s new thriller, A House of Dynamite.

On September 27th in New York, a press conference with the film’s key creative team revealed the project was born from a question the acclaimed director had about the world’s precarious nuclear situation. What she and writer Noah Oppenheim uncovered in their research was a paradox so unsettling it formed the core of the film: the unimaginable power to end civilization rests almost entirely with one person, who may be the least prepared to wield it.

“The most surprising was how the president has so authority on something so epic and so potentially catastrophic,” Bigelow explained. “It’s just this one man and, within a matter of minutes, has to decide about... the utilization of these weapons or not”. The conversation offered a blueprint for how a team of artists—in front of and behind the camera—constructed a cinematic pressure cooker, designed not just to thrill, but to confront an audience with a reality many have chosen to forget.

The Paradox at the Heart of Power

One of the great surprises for Bigelow was “being able to work with Noah Oppenheim,” whose “acumen on the subject is kind of, like, none other”. Their collaboration began with deep research, and one conversation in particular rattled them both. They asked a former senior Pentagon and CIA official how much a president practices for this ultimate decision. The response was, “Not at all”.

“When the president takes office... they’re given a very short briefing on the ‘football’... less than an hour sometimes. And that’s it,” Oppenheim shared. “And then they don’t think about it ever again”. This stood in stark contrast to what they learned at US Strategic Command (StratComm), where an admiral told them “they practice the protocol for nuclear weapons 400 times a year”. This stunning gap between the preparedness of the operators and the ultimate decision-maker became the film’s central tension. It led Bigelow to what she calls an “interesting paradox”: the idea of launching a “defensive measure that... could be global annihilation”. She asked, “Yet, what are you defending? There’s nothing left”.

An Architecture of Anxiety

To immerse the audience in this high-stakes confusion, the filmmakers made a crucial structural choice early on. Instead of a traditional linear narrative, the film is broken into three distinct chapters, each replaying the same 18-minute window from a new perspective. This was done to “stay in real time” and conduct a “deep dive in each one of the halls of power as you climb up the, sort of, food chain”.

According to Oppenheim, the structure is designed to replicate the chaos of a real event. “In the first watching, the audience is absorbing it in that way,” he said. “And then, we pause, and they have an opportunity now to re-experience it with new context”. It’s a luxury that highlights the terrifying reality of the situation. “Unfortunately, in real life, the folks who have to make these decisions don’t get the luxury of a second or third run-through”.

The Unrelenting Pursuit of Realism

“The authenticity is paramount in something like this,” Bigelow stated, emphasizing the responsibility of taking an audience into closed-off spaces. To achieve this, the production embedded high-level advisors into the fabric of the film. Bigelow herself insisted, “we didn’t shoot anything that they didn’t say, okay, that is relatively accurate”.

Rebecca Ferguson, who plays Olivia, had a direct line to Larry Pfeiffer, the former real-life Head of the Situation Room. “I had his WhatsApp, his messages. I had email,” she said, explaining her drive to ensure every detail was correct, “down to, who would get this email first?”. For actor Tracy Letts, the advisors were even closer; some were extras in his scenes. “They’re guys who have actually sat in my seat,” he explained. This allowed him to understand the attitude of his character. The advisors told him, “You answer to the President, and beyond that, you don’t have to worry about anybody around you”. Letts found this note incredibly helpful. “Well, that’s very freeing to hear”.

Mastering the highly specific jargon proved a significant hurdle. Oppenheim noted that Bigelow “interrogated” every line, constantly asking, “Is this how it would really happen? Is this how they would really say it?”. Letts called the dialogue “a foreign language,” citing “militarized words” like “Operationalize” that are not part of everyday speech.

Anthony Ramos, whose character is stationed at a monitoring base, was struck by the advisors who live that life of constant vigilance. “While we’re out here eating our little croissant and drinking our little latte,” he said, “they’re, like, in front of their shit like this”. The ultimate validation came when those same advisors watched the performance and told the actors, “dang, like you guys took us there... That’s how it feels for us”.

Capturing Controlled Chaos

Achieving this level of realism required a specific, documentary-like approach to filmmaking. Jason Clarke, another member of the ensemble, effused about the process: “I love the way Barry and Kathryn shoot... It’s my favorite way to shoot. It’s so easy. It’s so simple, and yet it’s so immediate”.

This method involves cinematographer Barry Ackroyd lighting the entire environment, not just a specific spot, and then covering the action with multiple cameras. “There’s no marks,” Bigelow explained. “Basically, the actor is left alone to do their job... and then, he captures it”. Tracy Letts described it as a “tough gig,” at one point counting 25 cameras rolling on him simultaneously. He praised Bigelow as “the calm at the center of the storm,” an interrogator who guides through questions rather than commands. “I always felt I could turn to Kathryn with a question or even to just, kind of, stop the proceedings and say, wait a minute, I don’t understand what we’re doing here”.

This intense environment forged a unique focus, but Rebecca Ferguson revealed there was still room for levity. Surrounded by actors ad-libbing complex technical dialogue, she invented her own lines. “I made pizza toppings,” she confessed, to laughter. “I was literally going, ‘So did you want salami on that one, yeah?’”. It was a way to stay present in the scene’s intensity while acknowledging the human need for a release. “It’s authentic,” she said, “but we also had fun. Like, which is also important. There’s also joy in the room”.

The Post-Production of Tension

The film’s unbearable tension was further sculpted in post-production. Editor Kirk Baxter called the script a “gift for a film editor,” an opportunity to “look clever”. He praised Barry Ackroyd’s on-the-fly camera work, noting the cinematographer almost deserved a “co-editor credit” because “part of the pacing is based on his sort of live decision-making”. Baxter approached the complex narrative by first cutting the entire film for “story and emotional performance,” and then doing a complete second pass purely “concentrating on accuracy”. This ensured every event aligned perfectly, a task Bigelow likened to “three-dimensional chess”. For Baxter, the human element was key; he singled out Jason Clarke’s performance, calling him “the scene-stealer” for the powerful “silent work” and micro-expressions he delivered.

The score, by composer Volker Bertelmann, was designed to add an emotional layer without overpowering the drama. “When I see a film the first time, I try to... stick to the emotion that I have,” he said. He felt compelled to musically translate the idea that “human life is so worthy. Every life”. For the film’s most urgent moments, he had woodwind players “moan into their instruments,” creating an “animalistic kind of sound where they nearly cry”. This subtle, haunting effect injects pure human dread into the sterile environment of the situation room.

An Invitation

The purpose of A House of Dynamite, however, lies outside the theater. For Bigelow, the film was never just a thriller, but a catalyst. It is, she said, “an invitation to the audience to take away something.” She hopes to ignite a renewed and urgent “conversation about nuclear weapons,” a subject she feels has been dangerously ignored. After experiencing the film’s relentless tension, it’s a conversation that feels impossible to ignore. “It’s really an opportunity,” she concluded, “a reach out to the audience to then hopefully take the conversation further.”

A House of Dynamite premieres in select theaters on October 10th and on Netflix on October 24th. This article is based on the transcript provided to attending journalists following the press conference.

I don’t always drink beer, but when I do, I prefer Guinness. The famous line from the Dos Equis advertising campaign, featuring actor Jonathan Goldsmith as “The Most Interesting Man in the World,” could easily be adapted for me and my love for the dark, Irish beer. The phrase has become a popular meme, its details often switched out to fit any situation with a touch of humor.

The Guinness name is an iconic touchstone in Irish culture, and the history of its brewery is deeply embedded in 19th-century Ireland. Set in the 1860s, House of Guinness drops us into the heart of the religious, class, and cultural struggle between militant Irish Fenians and the Anglo-Irish establishment — a conflict that would steer the nation for more than a century to come, pitting Protestants and Catholics against each other well into the late 20th century.

At the center of this storm stands the Guinness brewery in Dublin, a symbol of immense Protestant power. With the passing of its patriarch, Sir Benjamin Guinness, this empire is left to his four children: Arthur, Edward, Anne, and Benjamin. But this is no simple inheritance; they are each imprisoned by the strict, unforgiving terms of their father’s will.

Each of the Guinness heirs has their vices and virtues — depending on who you ask. The eldest, Arthur Guinness (Anthony Boyle), couldn’t care less about the family business. A staunch Conservative, his ambition lies in politics, with his sights set on a seat in Parliament representing Dublin. However, as a gay man in 19th-century Ireland, such a public life is a dangerous pursuit that could ruin his family.

Edward (Louis Partridge) is the idealist and workhorse of the family, perfectly suited to run the family business and expand it into a global empire. With an ambition to mend Ireland’s fractured society, he has already spent five years running the Dublin brewery for his father. However, his dedication soon turns into an obsession, leading him to forsake the expectations of a gentleman of his status.

The late Guinness patriarch’s only daughter, Anne Plunket (Emily Fairn), is presented as the family’s soul and conscience. Unhappily married to the Protestant clergyman William Plunket — a man destined to become the Archbishop of Dublin — her primary goal is to keep her unruly siblings in line and protect the family name. But beneath this pious exterior, she harbours secrets and dreams of freedom and self-determination.

The youngest of the four siblings is Benjamin (Fionn O’Shea), the black sheep of the family. He has never shown any interest in the Guinness brewery. Instead, when we meet him, Benjamin is deep in addiction and in debt to Fenian criminals in the Dublin underworld, making him a volatile and unpredictable force within the family.

As if sensing his children’s individual ambitions—or lack thereof—the late Sir Benjamin Guinness’s will is designed to keep them firmly in line. Its draconian rules are meant to keep the brewery intact, stipulating that Arthur and Edward must run it as a pair. Neither Anne, as a married woman, nor Benjamin, the addict, are to see a penny of the inheritance. Should Arthur prioritize his political ambitions over the brewery, he would lose everything. And so, with a single stroke of a pen, a father ensures the misery of all four of his children, even from beyond the grave.

The eight episodes of House of Guinness follow the four heirs as they navigate the treacherous landscape of 19th-century Ireland. While they have allies — such as the family’s foreman and enforcer, Sean Rafferty (James Norton), their major-domo, John Potter (Michael McElhatton), and the shrewd marketeer, Byron Hedges (Jack Gleeson — yes, that’s Joffrey from Game of Thrones) — they also face a host of adversaries. These include Ellen (Niamh McCormack) and Patrick (Seamus O’Hara) Cochrane from the Fenian Brotherhood, as well as various politicians, nobles, criminals, and religious institutions that object to more alcohol flooding the streets of Dublin.

The first thing that struck me about House of Guinness was its one-two punch of style and substance. 19th-century Dublin is fantastically brought to life around the massive brewery, and as the story evolves to the rest of Ireland and even New York, it’s clear the showrunners are punching far above their budget’s weight class. This is a testament to the mastery of the set design, costuming, and post-production departments, which transformed shooting locations in Manchester and Liverpool into an immersive and believable version of Ireland’s past, even if it isn’t 100% historically accurate.

Indeed, the show doesn’t purport to be a documentary. The opening of each episode makes this clear with the statement that this “fiction” is based on true stories. This declaration gives the writers immense freedom to invent — to create a “what if” scenario for the Guinness family and its business empire. This narrative freedom also extends directly to the show’s style, where House of Guinness embraces purposeful and deliberate anachronism.

While the setting looks period-correct, the storytelling is thoroughly modern. The soundtrack shifts between traditional Irish folk — often remixed and updated — and surprising needle-drops of contemporary music. This is complemented by a liberal use of stylish, bold graphics whenever a concept needs explaining or a piece of dialogue requires translation, giving the series a confident, edgy flair.

All this is supported by excellent writing from series creator Steven Knight, whose credits most famously include Peaky Blinders. He is joined by directors Tom Shankland (The Children, Ripper Street) and Mounia Akl (Costa Brava, Lebanon), who share directing duties across the eight episodes. Together, they draw powerful performances from an excellent cast, telling a story that is gripping, tense, and stylish. The four main characters, despite their flaws and varied screentime, are compelling and easy to root for.

My love for the famous Irish beer aside—of which I had multiple pints while watching this show—I realize that House of Guinness might seem niche, especially if you think it’s a show about the particulars of brewing. But this story is all about its characters, not the process of mixing barley, hops, and yeast. And while you might learn a thing or two about making beer—if you are so inclined—that is not its focus.

Ultimately, House of Guinness stands out as one of the better historical dramas of the year. It's unclear if this is a limited series or the start of something more, but this first taste certainly leaves you wanting more: more historical intrigue, more sibling rivalry, more witty jabs, more Fenian shenanigans, and, of course, more Irish beer.

And with that, I leave you with my warmest recommendation for this series, and a final quote that perfectly captures its spirit:

"So, infidelity. Sodomy. Lost love and random acts of violence. A more typical Dublin family is hard to find."

-Byron Hedges (Jack Gleeson)

Sláinte!

You might know him as the wildling Tormund Giantsbane in Game of Thrones, or perhaps the unorthodox detective Steinar in the Swedish crime drama Beck. Norwegian actor Kristofer Hivju has brought his particular brand of Nordic intensity to numerous international roles, and he’s not slowing down. It was recently announced that Hivju will star alongside Tom Holland and Niamh Algar in The Iris Affair, a new international thriller from Neil Cross, the celebrated creator of Luther.

This exciting news sent me back into my archives to an in-depth conversation I had with Hivju back in 2021. As he prepares for this major new project, his insights into his craft, his approach to iconic characters, and his career on the international stage feel more relevant than ever.

The original interview was a personal milestone for me—my first face-to-face in an age of video meetings, conducted at Oslo’s Ekeberg Café. I was particularly interested in exploring his work in fantasy and science fiction, from Game of Thrones and The Witcher to the hilarious and bloody Cocaine Bear. Revisiting that conversation now offers a fascinating look at the foundations of an actor continually making his mark.

Viking Inspiration

Born into an acting dynasty—his parents and grandmother were both in the business—one might assume Kristofer was destined for the stage. But he explains that for the longest time, his passion was elsewhere. “I just wanted to start playing music,” he says, “so it was a coincidence that I discovered I had a talent for acting... it wasn’t something I wanted to do until I was around 17, I guess.”

His interest in Nordic stories began with an early role as a farm boy in Stiklestadspelet, a traditional Norwegian play about the life of King Olav Haraldsson. While other kids had cartoons, Hivju found his superheroes in the Icelandic sagas. He carried these tales into adulthood, where they became a driving force in his work and formed a foundation for characters like Tormund Giantsbane.

But after embodying so many characters in that vein, is he looking to move away from the Viking-like narratives? Hivju admits he’s reached a “saturation point.” “It’s going to be a while before I can play something like that again,” he says, but quickly adds, “I’ve had a lot of fun doing so!”

His passion for Norse culture hasn’t lessened, however. As he made a name for himself internationally, he began to lament what he sees as Norwegians’ lack of pride in their own Viking history compared to their neighbors.

Says Kristofer: “In Iceland, for example, you will often hear stuff like, ‘We are the REAL Vikings!’ But here in Norway, at some point, it became something we didn’t want to talk about anymore, something politically incorrect, like we didn’t want to identify with ‘those barbarians.’”

He sees this cultural pride roar back to life in grassroots movements, especially when official support for the arts is threatened. He elaborates:

“In Norway, when institutions close down and state funding no longer goes into backing our culture, the whole country explodes! Then they make plays about our cultural heritage and icons like Haraldsson, Tryggvason, and Fairhair, telling tales about our cultural heritage. Those are the tales people want to tell when no one controls anything... Then they gather in every community, in every little town, and on every hill and mountain top to compose, create, and play! That tells us something about Norway.”

Playing the Game of Thrones

Kristofer’s breakthrough to the international film industry was as the wildling Tormund Giantsbane on Game of Thrones. Entering in the third season of the hit show, Kristofer’s character would stay until the end, appearing in 33 episodes, avoiding the death and dismemberment that the show was known for and becoming a favorite in the Game of Thrones fandom. Having watched every episode of the hit fantasy series, I was curious about how it felt taking on such a major production and about his best memories from those years.

Says Kristofer: “It was a kind of flow zone that lasted eight years for most of the people involved. In a way, making something that is really good is very difficult because you plan for one thing, shoot a different thing, and when it comes to editing, it becomes something else again. It is a collaborative project that relies on all links in the chain, working together to make it so that the creators’ visions and dreams somehow end up on the screen.

My point is that it was a flow zone of great work ethics, enormous ambitions, and lots of job satisfaction at every stage of the production. It got crazier and crazier with each passing year, and the budgets only went up and up, and you had night shoots and massive battles one after another.

When I got there in the third season of the show, it had already become a hit, and that ‘hit factor’ was going to increase. It gave us confidence that, in turn, gave us the power and drive on and keep at it. Overall, the satisfaction of working on something like that is my best memory.”

Game of Thrones would have a major impact on Kristofer’s career. His name became known worldwide, and his character became a fan favorite—Tormund Giantsbane’s obsession with the knight Brienne of Tarth (played by Gwendoline Christie) has inspired countless memes and fanfiction.

He reflects on being part of such a phenomenon: “You can be a part of a lot, and then all of a sudden, you’re in something that’s so iconic and that had such an insanely large audience. My desire has always been to entertain and inspire people, and in a show like that, you managed to excite them to such an enormous extent. As an actor, you leave a lasting impression on the audience. It’s fascinating to note that people are still very tied to that universe, even though it’s been three years since the show ended.

For instance, when I was at Comic-Con a few years back, I met Christopher Lloyd, that crazy professor from Back to the Future. I became star-struck because these films were so important to me and had a significant impact on me as a kid. For me, it was a kind of magical world, but he was just some dude who made these movies long ago. Yet they are attached to him, and he has become the icon of these movies.”

It doesn’t seem like Kristofer will be rid of his connection with Tormund Giantsbane anytime soon. And he is perfectly fine with that.

Coins to The Witcher

Hivju also made a memorable appearance in the second season of Netflix’s hit fantasy series The Witcher. Although he was only in the first episode, “A Grain of Truth,” his character Nivellen made a significant impact. No wonder, as the tragic and magically cursed nobleman is a favorite for many in The Witcher fandom.

His initial approach to the character came from an interesting misunderstanding.

Says Kristofer: “I was introduced to The Witcher before Netflix released the first season. I had little knowledge of it, and I understood it was a game, so that reference was there. But I approached it in an isolated way based only on the bits of text I received beforehand. When I first approached and analyzed the character of Nivellen, it was as if he was a human. When I read the first episode, I might have done so a bit too quickly, as I didn’t get that important fact at the beginning. When I met show creator Lauren Schmidt, I realized that he was a half-boar! But I had already attached myself to the character without realizing all the other things, and I’m glad I did. It let me start with his humanity.”

Once he understood the full scope of the role, Hivju dove deep into the existing lore and fandom to prepare.

“Then began the discussions about how to portray him,” he explains. “I found loads of fan art and drawings. People talked about him and had him as their favorite character in The Witcher universe. With fantasy, one can read books, play games and visit online communities where people discuss and create their own stories. My point is that there is much passion for these worlds, and when I went deeper into it, we discussed how to create the character based on this.”

Fantasy and special effects nerd that I am, I had to ask about the amazing practical effects that went into creating Nivellen. Hivju explained that the goal was always to use prosthetics rather than CGI, drawing inspiration from classic stories but aiming for something much darker.

“You can’t ignore The Beauty and the Beast, for example,” he says. “The author of The Witcher, Andrzej Sapkowski, shamelessly borrows from ancient myths, legends and stories and incorporates them into something new. It should be said that our story is far darker than Beauty and the Beast, to be sure.”

The technical process was incredibly detailed, requiring a full body cast to create a custom-fitted suit. But the real challenge was capturing a nuanced performance from within the complex mask.

Kristofer describes the process: “I had a tiny hole in the mask and a camera so I could see my surroundings at all times and look out through Nivellen’s snout. I also wore a bunch of tiny dots on my face to capture my expressions inside the mask, and they have incredibly detailed footage of everything I do. They spent enormous resources doing this because Nivellen is such an emotional character; he is not just a beast that shouts and screams.

The director, Stephen Surjik, was very concerned about this and wanted the character to be as authentic as possible. A face consists of 350 muscles, and you can express joy and shame in the same smile. There are so many expressions, and if they had become one-dimensional, as is always the danger with a character like this, he wouldn’t have the same emotional impact. So it became the mission of everyone involved to get my performance inside the mask to come alive on the outside of the mask itself. I was delighted with the result.”

The Thing about The Thing

In the 2011 prequel to John Carpenter’s horror masterpiece, The Thing, Hivju played Jonas, one of the Norwegian arctic researchers. The role marked his first foray into a major international film production and put him at the center of a classic debate among sci-fi fans: practical effects vs. CGI. Rumors have long swirled that the film’s practical effects were largely replaced by computer-generated ones. I asked Kristofer to set the record straight.

He begins by describing his reverence for the original: “The Thing had a major impression on me as a kid and is one of my first really significant movie memories. For me to be a part of this universe was a magical experience. It was my first proper film role, as I basically came straight from the theatre stage at that point. I really got to geek out going into it. Several people on that shoot were actually involved in John Carpenter’s original production, and all of us were big fans. It’s important to mention again that our film is a prequel, not a remake. It’s a homage, and it’s really fun to watch it back-to-back with the 80s one.”

Regarding the effects, Hivju confirms the initial plan was to lean heavily on practicals, but the reality of modern filmmaking required a hybrid approach.

“The original idea was to create as much as possible with practical special effects, and there is still a lot of that left,” he explains. “But the requirements for effects only increase over time. So even if we had a lot of stuff controlled by remote controls—we had four guys with their own RC controller moving various things—it supplied the base to be enhanced later with CGI. For example, I had that hand-thing on my face in a scene, which was a practical effect. I had a lot of fun with it! It was a kind of film education for me right there.”

The endless fan debates about “who gets turned when” aren’t just for the audience; Hivju says those same conversations happened on set among the cast.

Says Kristofer: “We had the same kind of discussions when we made our prequel. ‘What happens when? Who’s going to be what? Who infects who?’ I had my own theories, and there were a lot of discussions about this. Also, what your character knows and what you yourself know as an actor are completely different things. What was fun about that role was how I got to shape my character. Initially, my character Jonas was somewhat underdeveloped in the script, but I wrote a long letter to the director with ideas and details we could use. And we had reshoots that would help reinforce these ideas. It was a great experience.”

The Path Forward

Having reached what he called a “saturation point” with axe-wielding warriors, it’s no surprise that Hivju has explored a variety of different roles. One such memorable turn was in Cocaine Bear, the hit comedy-horror about a bear that goes on a drug-fueled rampage.

Kristofer explains the appeal of such a wild project: “It’s based on a true story. That is, the premise is true, at least. It is about a bear that found a depot of cocaine. But this is also one of those ‘what if’ scenarios. What if the bear had gone berserk? It is a ‘monster in the mountains’ kind of film, and a comedy-drama with absurd madness and excessive splatter! It’s great fun!”

He also remains open to the world of superheroes, a genre he follows closely as a fan.

Says Kristofer: “I’ve been approached by both Marvel and DC before. I can’t say for what, as it is a sacred rule among actors that we never discuss the roles we turn down. But I’m a big Superman fan, especially of Christopher Reeve. And Batman, too, of course; I’ve seen all of that and loved it shamelessly! Marvel has taken over and done a lot lately, so I’ve been following that too. Anyway, it’s a long life, and no one seems to be hitting the brakes anytime soon!”

From our conversation in 2021, it was clear that Kristofer Hivju had a desire to explore new and unexpected territory. With roles in projects like Cocaine Bear and now the upcoming thriller The Iris Affair, it seems he is doing exactly that, continually surprising audiences and proving that no one, least of all him, is hitting the brakes.

Thank you to my dear and brilliant friend, the late and great photographer Kai Simon Fredrikson, for immortalizing Kristofer and yours truly in all our hairy, Viking glory back in 2021. Kai passed away on his own terms in the first weeks of 2025. He will always be missed.

You can see more of his photos on his Instagram, that is still up as of this writing.

If you or someone you know needs support, help is available.

USA: Call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988.

UK: Call the Samaritans at 116 123. For resources in other countries, visit Find a Helpline or Befrienders Worldwide.

“Till death do you part” is a traditional part of the blessing when marrying two people who, one might hope, are deeply in love. Marriage is a life-changing event for many, intended to tie two people together for the rest of their lives—until death, as they say.

But as passion gives way to the drudgery of everyday life, many marriages end in divorce. Valuables are shared depending on the law of the land, but in some cases, the conflict surrounding a divorce goes so far that people will even try to hurt or kill each other.

In Jay Roach’s satirical black comedy The Roses, this is taken to the extreme. Based on the 1981 novel The War of the Roses by American author Warren Adler, and previously adapted by director Danny DeVito with stars Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner, it’s a story about gender roles, materialism, and the conflicts they can create.

In this new and thoroughly modernized adaptation of the '80s novel, we meet Theo (Benedict Cumberbatch) and Ivy (Olivia Colman) as the embattled couple. After a change in career and fortune, their traditional gender roles are reversed, leading to resentment and conflict.

But hold up a moment. How does all this happen? You might think that yours truly is a cynic through and through who doesn’t believe in neither love or marriage. This is not exactly true, as I am married—the non-religious, humanistic way… don’t worry, it’s a Norwegian thing—and our home is calm and peaceful for the most part—no guns or butcher's knives in sight.

The basic premise of The Roses will be familiar to those who know Warren Adler’s novel or the 1989 film adaptation. We meet Theo, a brilliant and arrogant English architect. During a restaurant meeting to discuss the latest award-winning brutalist abomination, he wanders into the kitchen and meets Ivy. Their connection is instant. A decade later, they have moved to the USA with their children, and Theo is working on his magnum opus. Meanwhile, Ivy takes care of the kids while dreaming of getting her own restaurant off the ground.

However, their fortunes dramatically reverse when a freak storm demolishes Theo’s architectural wonder. The collapse, captured on video and immortalized as a meme, effectively ends his career. Following a nervous breakdown, Theo is forced to step back from work. In a stroke of irony, the very same storm diverts traffic past Ivy’s new establishment—the shellfish-themed “We Got Crabs”—which becomes an overnight sensation and a burgeoning culinary empire.

While welcomed at first, this reversal of roles begins to take its toll. Theo throws himself into raising their two teenage children, molding them into athletes and scholarship recipients. Ivy, meanwhile, is consumed by her growing restaurant chain, spending most of her time away on publicity trips and media appearances.

Gradually, their partnership begins to fracture under the weight of stress, misunderstandings, and a failure to communicate. A mutual longing for what they once had—and what they feel they’ve lost—simmers beneath the surface. When their children leave for college on scholarships, Theo begins to dream of architectural wonders again, and the couple's long-simmering resentment finally boils over into all-out war.

The world of Warren Adler's original novel was a creature of the 1980s—a gilded age obsessed with status symbols and the sheer accumulation of expensive possessions. That zeitgeist feels a world away from our current era of gig economies, personal branding, and the anxieties of doomscrolling.

So, with another adaptation comes the natural question: did the story survive the transition to a modern setting? The answer is an emphatic yes. While a materialistic streak remains, director Jay Roach and writer Tony McNamara have wisely shifted the focus from a war over property to a more contemporary battleground: professional envy, shifting power dynamics, and the resentment that brews when one partner's ambitions eclipse the other's. The core conflict is still there, but its motivations are distinctly modern, making the result both hilarious and darkly relevant.

But the film's satirical relevance, over-the-top as it can be, hinges entirely on the charm and talent of its leads. Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman have a beautiful, combative chemistry, turning their domestic battlefield into a war of witty jabs and vicious onslaughts. It's a performance that is both hilarious and terrifyingly cringe-worthy—in the best possible way—leaving you laughing out loud one moment and hiding behind a pillow the next.

Adding fuel to the fire is an eclectic bunch of friends and co-workers. Andy Samberg’s lawyer, Barry, and his unhinged wife, Amy (a scene-stealing Kate McKinnon), bring more chaos to an already dangerous situation, while Ivy’s “free-spirited” employees Jane (Sunita Mani) and Jeffrey (Ncuti Gatwa), along with the couple Rory (Jamie Demetriou) and her controlling wife Sally (Zoë Chao) complicate matters further.

At times, The Roses pushes its boundaries so far you expect it to collapse under its own satire, only for it to push even further. Watching it, I got a sense that the film issues a challenge to its audience: take a side. Men may find themselves rooting for Theo, while women may rally behind Ivy. For couples watching together, it might just be a revelatory experience. Or perhaps that’s the point—whether you’re laughing at the absurdity or questioning your own allegiances, the film is doing its job.

The Roses premiers in theatres on the 29th of August.

“We’re not getting any younger.” It’s a phrase often uttered with a mix of passion and gallows humor when we talk about something we desperately want to do. It speaks to our mortality, the limited time we have in this world, and the desire to make the most of it.

Four of the residents of the Cooper’s Chase retirement village in England certainly take this philosophy to heart, albeit in a rather extreme fashion. While their neighbors are content with knitting, gentle water aerobics, painting, or tending to emotional support llamas, these four geriatric eccentrics have a more thrilling passion: investigating unsolved murders. They meet every week for what they call “The Thursday Murder Club.”

The English television personality and author Richard Osman took this concept and turned it into a successful and critically acclaimed novel series. Beginning in 2020 with The Thursday Murder Club, it was followed by the sequels The Man Who Died Twice (2021), The Bullet That Missed (2022), and The Last Devil to Die (2023). The fifth book in the series, The Impossible Fortune, is scheduled for release in September 2025.

In 2020, Steven Spielberg’s production company, Amblin Entertainment, bought the film rights to the novel series and began developing the first film. While it would take years before production actually began, with casting rumors floating around involving Viola Davis, Meryl Streep, and others, it wasn’t until 2025 that we would get a Netflix adaptation starring a whole slew of veteran actors. Here, Chris Columbus directs a cast led by Helen Mirren, Pierce Brosnan, Ben Kingsley, and Celia Imrie, with a supporting cast that includes David Tennant, Jonathan Pryce, Naomi Ackie, Daniel Mays, Henry Lloyd Hughes, and Richard E. Grant — a veritable who's who of British talent!

So let’s take a trip over to the old folks' home at Cooper’s Chase and meet our sleuths. Helen Mirren plays Elizabeth Best, a former spy and the group's de facto leader. Cunning and formidable with a mysterious past, she lives at the retirement village for her beloved husband, Stephen (Jonathan Pryce), who suffers from dementia.

Pierce Brosnan plays Ron Ritchie, a former firebrand trade union leader who is still fighting the good fight, albeit on a smaller scale. Ron is strong, charming, and fiercely loyal. His son, Jason (played by Tom Ellis), is a former professional boxer turned television personality, a career path his father doesn't quite understand or approve of.

Then there is Ben Kingsley as Ibrahim Arif, a retired psychiatrist. He is gentle, meticulous, and brilliant, if a bit neurotic and anxious. As the most intellectually cautious of the group, his analytical mind and strong moral compass are crucial in getting to the bottom of their cases.

Last, but certainly not least, is Celia Imrie as Joyce Meadowcroft. This former nurse is unfazed by any and all descriptions or depictions of gruesome injuries the group might encounter. She brings a kind, optimistic, and often deceptively sharp perspective to the unfolding events. And yes, she always brings an oversized cake to any occasion.

Together, they form “The Thursday Murder Club,” digging up cold cases in an effort to solve them. But their hobby gets an upgrade when a very real, and very, very current murder happens right on their doorstep. When one of the owners of Cooper's Chase is killed, his shady and unscrupulous business partner, Ian Ventham (David Tennant), is left as the apparent sole owner. This sets the club into action, not just to solve the case, but to save their home.

These events set the group on an investigation that delves not just into the murder of their former landlord, but also into the backgrounds of many residents of Cooper’s Chase. If you get a nagging feeling that this sounds a bit like the brilliant series Only Murders in the Building, you’d be half-right, as it plays on many of the same themes.

But is it good? When I started watching the film, it seemed like I was in for a good time. Geriatric self-irony? Check. Generational humor? Check. Old vs. young? Check. Witty dialogue? Check. Interesting characters? Check. And a terrific cast? Check, check!

However, around the halfway mark, the plot begins to lose its way. The narrative threads become tangled, resulting in a story that feels messy and unfocused. With too many characters and plot points, I found that the time between laughs and heartwarming moments grew longer as the film approached its two-hour runtime. Would this have worked better as a series? That was the feeling I was left with. That, and “Hmm, that was okay. I’ll probably forget it in a week.” That’s not something I’ve often said about any film starring one of these actors, much less all four.

The plot meanders through the apparent rivalry between the owners of Cooper’s Chase, tying in several inhabitants and an unrelated cold case in an effort to involve as many side characters as possible. On this twisting route, full of tea, biscuits, and murder boards, the film somehow loses sight of the charm, wit, and humor it started with. It feels as though writers Katy Brand and Suzanne Heathcote, along with director Chris Columbus, have tried to cram a series' worth of a novel into a two-hour runtime, making the final product feel messy and rushed.

Still, The Thursday Murder Club is a film I would highly recommend. Not for the meandering plot, but for the chance to see this stellar cast in action, even if they are hampered by a somewhat poor execution.

The Thursday Murder Club premiers on Netflix on August 28.

The question of whether our species is alone in the universe has occupied our minds for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Looking up at the night sky, even our ancient ancestors began to wonder, and as they did, their pattern-seeking minds spun stories around what they saw: planets, stars, and distant galaxies. These stories became myths, populated by gods, monsters, and visiting beings from other worlds.

As our species matured, this fascination evolved into stories that became the foundation of early science fiction. Perhaps the best-known example is H.G. Wells’s 1897 novel The War of the Worlds, which depicts a brutal invasion of England by bloodthirsty Martians. Wells wrote the story as a cautionary tale about humanity’s hubris, our precarious place in the universe, our brutal exploitation of other living beings, and the evils of colonialism.

While Wells's novel is a landmark, stories of alien visitors and invasions go back much further. A notable example is Lucian of Samosata’s Vera Historia (“A True Story”), from the 2nd century CE. In this satirical tale, the protagonist is taken to the Moon, where he finds himself in the middle of a large-scale interplanetary war between the King of the Moon and the King of the Sun over the right to colonize Venus. The armies in this conflict were composed of bizarre alien beings, such as horse-vultures and salad-winged birds.

As the media landscape evolved, Wells’s iconic novel, The War of the Worlds, became one of the most frequently adapted in the science fiction genre. The results of these adaptations have been decidedly mixed, ranging from Byron Haskin’s revolutionary 1953 film and Steven Spielberg’s excellent 2005 blockbuster to a myriad of small-budget, often clumsy adaptations appearing yearly on various streaming platforms, including a recent and dreadful version starring Ice Cube.

The influence of Wells also inspired stories not directly tied to his novel. Freed from the constraints of adaptation, whether direct or loose, these works were often more original, examining the concept of a sinister alien invasion from a wide range of perspectives. Notable examples include the 80s series V, with its reptilian humanoids in disguise, and the excellent post-apocalyptic drama Falling Skies, which ran from 2011 to 2015.

This brings us to Apple TV+'s Invasion, which premiered in 2021. Before we continue, please be aware that this review contains heavy spoilers for the show's first two seasons. If you wish to avoid them, you may want to stop reading here.

Created by Simon Kinberg and David Weil, the series distinguishes itself with a global cast and a story that unfolds from multiple, very human perspectives. It favors a slow-burn, less-is-more approach, particularly in its first season, which focused on a creeping, atmospheric dread. Mysterious sightings and strange phenomena hint at a hidden menace long before the aliens or their craft are revealed, building worldwide panic and chaos as the season progresses.

The aliens themselves were first revealed as seemingly unintelligent, protoplasmic blobs that could form sharp pseudopods to stab and slice their victims. But as is often the case in stories like this, a secret hierarchy was soon revealed. With the appearance of what looked like a mothership in the sky, a new class of more dangerous, bio-mechanical hunter-killers began to appear on the ground, signaling a new and deadlier phase of the war.

The show’s global scale is reflected in its sprawling cast. The first season sets the pieces on the board, introducing U.S. Special Forces soldier Trevante Cole (Shamier Anderson) in the Middle East; the brilliant technician Mitsuki Yamato (Shioli Kutsuna) at Japan's space agency; protective mother Aneesha Malik (Golshifteh Farahani) trying to keep her children safe in the U.S.; and a group of British schoolchildren, including the bullied, epileptic Caspar Morrow (Billy Barratt) and his friend Jamila Huston (India Brown), stranded after a crash. A brief but memorable arc featuring Sam Neill as a small-town sheriff on the verge of retirement perfectly establishes the show’s ominous tone in the first episode.

Picking up a few months later, the second season throws us into a full-blown war. Humanity is on the brink of collapse, and the characters’ separate journeys begin to converge. Aneesha, now in possession of a powerful alien artifact, joins a resistance group called “The Movement.” Mitsuki is recruited by the eccentric tech mogul Nikhil Kapoor (Shane Zaza) to communicate with a captured alien consciousness.

Meanwhile, a traumatized Trevante follows the clues in Caspar’s sketchbook, convinced they lead to a weakness in the aliens’ onslaught. The season culminates in a desperate mission, with Mitsuki opening a psychic portal to the alien hive mind, allowing Trevante to help Caspar, who now has a deep connection to the aliens, to launch a direct assault that ends with the boy’s heroic sacrifice and the fall of the alien mothership.

The third season picks up two years after the aliens were seemingly defeated. The now-unified Earth is preparing to celebrate its victory over the invaders. With Caspar dead and Trevante missing since the attack, the nations of the world have come together under a single planetary leadership to stand against further extraterrestrial threats. Outside of the walled-off and heavily guarded “Dead Zone” where the mothership crashed, life has returned to a fragile new normal.

On the eve of the second anniversary of the mothership’s fall, however, several mysterious events begin to take place. People go missing, and a family is attacked by alien entities in their home. Then, one of the many extraterrestrial portals—all heavily guarded by military facilities—opens on its own, and a bruised and battered Trevante emerges with a warning: “It’s not over.”

His warnings go unheeded. The alien menace is gone, or so the people of Earth seem to think, and humanity needs a living hero, not a prophet of doom. It doesn’t take long before Trevante is on the run, finding an ally in Jamila as they desperately search for others who will listen. As if to prove his point, the dormant portals erupt with alien growth, expanding exponentially and confronting humanity with a new, terrifying threat.

The third season largely follows the protagonists’ — now finally assembled in one place — mission to end the alien menace once and for all. This leads them into the Dead Zone and the crashed alien mothership, where new dangers arise. One of these is not alien at all, but a cult of human worshippers who believe that everyone killed by the aliens transcends to a higher plane of existence where they will be reunited with their lost loved ones. As we’re now used to in Invasion, the series takes its time developing these characters, giving them an initial humanity that soon gives way to religious fervor. This sci-fi trope of the “alien fifth columnists” is well known from other stories, but here it works well, even if it is presented a bit heavy-handedly at times.

With this third season, it's clear that showrunners Simon Kinberg and David Weil are playing the long game, crafting one of the most unique and patient shows in the alien invasion subgenre. Even as it grapples with well-worn tropes, the show has felt distinct since its first episode. This is partly because it avoids emulating H.G. Wells, opting instead for its own approach to storytelling.

The series has evolved through distinct phases, each with its own pacing and tone, which may not be for everyone. The first season was the setup—a slow burn of creeping dread that likely tested the patience of viewers accustomed to fast-paced action. The second season was the war—a darker, more desperate chapter with humanity pushed to the brink. Now, this third season is firmly in the action phase, shifting into a more traditional science fiction thriller as its proactive heroes unite on a mission to solve the alien mystery and end the menace once and for all.

Despite this shift in tone, the overall arc of Invasion still feels very planned and thought out by its writers. This is clearly not a case of showrunners Simon Kinberg and David Weil responding to audiences those looking for more action in their science fiction, but rather a story that is planned from the first episode. It is expertly written, with a well-thought-out plot and likeable characters—especially Mitsuki and Trevante—that keep me invested.

Yes, even Shane Zaza’s abrasive and arrogant, Musk-like tech mogul Nikhil Kapoor has his charms, and, perhaps surprisingly, humanity. His performance perfectly channels that unique and sometimes scary blend of genius and hubris, making one ponder with a mix of humor and terror what would happen if a real-life tech billionaire got his hands on a crashed alien ship. We’d probably have a self-driving UFO with an X logo on the side before the end of the month.

To sum up, if you’re a fan of character-driven drama and alien invasion stories, I highly recommend Invasion. The series masterfully evolves from the slow-burn, almost meditative storytelling of its early seasons to the more action-oriented pacing of the third, yet it never falters or loses sight of what makes it unique. For me, it’s the commitment to a patient, human-focused narrative that makes Invasion one of the best and most rewarding shows in the alien invasion subgenre.

The third season of Invasion premieres on Apple TV+ on August 22, 2025.

Fresh off the world-saving, family-friendly spectacle of his summer blockbuster Superman, James Gunn delivers a glorious case of tonal whiplash with the second season of Peacemaker. This is superhero action of a decidedly more R-rated vintage. Of course, that didn’t stop our titular hero from worming his way into a cameo in the Man of Steel’s latest outing. But now, it’s time for Peacemaker to step out of the bright, primary-colored spotlight and back into his own grimy, blood-soaked corner of the DC universe.

First introduced to moviegoers in James Gunn’s excellent and hilarious The Suicide Squad (2021), it was clear from the film’s post-credit scene that we hadn’t seen the last of Peacemaker. Played with a masterful mix of oblivious, deadpan humor and surprising raw emotion by the perfectly cast John Cena, Chris Smith was an anti-hero practically begging for his own series. And less than a year later, after his ill-fated mission to Colto Maltese with Task Force X, the character stormed onto HBO Max, bringing his uniquely misguided quest for peace — at any cost — to the small screen in the first season of Peacemaker.

The first season surrounded Peacemaker with a new, dysfunctional family. Reprising their roles from The Suicide Squad were the no-nonsense Agent Emilia Harcourt (Jennifer Holland) and the beleaguered tech analyst John Economos (Steve Agee). They were joined by a host of brilliant new characters, including the warm and — much to her own surprise — capable Leota Adebayo (Danielle Brooks) and the scene-stealing psychopath with a heart of gold, Adrian Chase, a.k.a. Vigilante (Freddie Stroma). But most importantly, the show introduced us to Peacemaker’s truest friend and sidekick: the majestic, hug-giving eagle, Eagly.

But every hero needs a villain, and in a gloriously Freudian twist, Peacemaker’s greatest foe was his own father: the unabashedly racist redneck and supervillain Auggie Smith, a.k.a. the White Dragon (a terrifying Robert Patrick). As if that wasn’t enough baggage, Auggie also supplied his son with all his high-tech gear, conveniently sourced from a quantum dimensional portal he kept in his closet, as one does. Rounding out the rogue’s gallery was the pint-sized martial arts menace Judomaster (Nhut Le), all of whom were just side dishes to the season’s main course: a full-blown invasion of body-snatching alien bugs.

To avoid spoilers, let’s just say Season 1 delivered a symphony of chaos, mayhem, ultra-violence, and a brand of humor so gloriously offensive it’s a miracle it ever made it to air, especially in an industry where some studio executives have skin thinner than tracing paper. If you haven’t seen it, what are you doing here? Go watch it. And if your sensibilities are easily offended, be warned: Season 2 doesn’t pull any punches either. Peacemaker and his crew are back, and this time, the threat is a little closer to home.

The new season opens with a lengthy recap sequence covering the events of both Season 1 and Gunn’s 2021 film, The Suicide Squad. And in a move that will surely be discussed calmly and rationally in the DC fandom for the foreseeable future, let’s just say the recap’s version of that scene from the end of the first season might not be exactly how you remember it.

At least we have a new and outrageously awkward title sequence dance routine to look forward to, along with a whole lot of retro rock music spread throughout the episodes, James Gunn style.

After this bit of canonical housekeeping, we find our heroes in a decidedly uncelebrated state. You’d think saving the world from a secret alien invasion would earn you a parade, or at least a decent pension. But this is Peacemaker’s world, so of course, the team gets unceremoniously dumped.

We find a guilt-ridden and lonely Chris Smith questioning if he can ever be a true hero, haunted by the growing suspicion that he has a reverse Midas touch, where everything he touches turns to crap. The final nail in his emotional coffin comes after a humiliating job interview with the Justice Gang — a lineup that includes Maxwell Lord (Sean Gunn), Green Lantern (Nathan Fillion), and Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced) — goes spectacularly wrong, dashing his superhero aspirations and sending him spiraling into a drug-fueled depression.

His friends aren’t exactly living the high life either. Nerd extraordinaire John Economos has been reduced to his natural habitat: a surveillance van. Leota Adebayo’s attempt to start a private detective agency goes sideways when her ad in a dingy Guns & Ammo-type magazine gets her mistaken for a call-up prostitute, and her relationship with her wife, Keeya (Elizabeth Faith Ludlow), is on an indefinite, heavily debated hiatus. And in a stroke of HR genius, the perpetually badass Emilia Harcourt finds herself fired for — get this — “toxic masculinity.”

And just to make things worse, there’s been a regime change over at A.R.G.U.S. Amanda Waller (Viola Davis) is out (don’t worry, she’s getting her own spin-off), and her replacement is a familiar, dreaded face: Rick Flag Sr. (Frank Grillo). Yes, the same guy we last saw giving Superman hell in this summer’s blockbuster. And he’s got a very personal, very lethal grudge, knowing full well it was Peacemaker who killed his son, Rick Flag Jr. (Joel Kinnaman), during the whole Project Starfish fiasco in The Suicide Squad.

So, with his life in shambles, Chris Smith does what any of us would do: during a particularly joyless drug-and-sex-fueled bender, he stumbles into his dead father’s interdimensional closet. It’s here he finds a gateway to a perfect, alternate reality — one where everything seems perfect and he is a part of the celebrated superhero team, The Top Trio. It’s the life he’s always dreamed of, and it presents him with a tantalizing, and deeply dangerous, choice: can he steal the life of the hero he always wanted to be, consequences be damned?

Let’s face it: John Cena is a terrific actor. We first saw his deadpan comedic talents in The Suicide Squad, but it was the first season of Peacemaker that proved he had a surprising emotional range, far beyond what’s expected from the typical wrestler-turned-thespian. In Season 2, that range is pushed even further. The story is much more focused on his character’s internal struggles and fumbling attempts at growth, making his relationships with his family and friends the real heart of the show.

John Cena’s growth as an actor is largely due to his working relationship with Gunn. It’s a partnership that has produced titles that are, frankly, far better than they have any right to be in an era of crippling superhero fatigue. Gunn’s “secret sauce” has always been his ability to inject real heart and raw emotion into even his most R-rated, edgy stories. It’s a quality that elevates his work, turning titles like The Suicide Squad and his epic MCU mic drop, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, into some of the best the genre has to offer.

That said, Gunn’s aim for edginess can sometimes misfire, and Season 2 suffers from a sluggish mid-season slump where the story loses momentum. It feels like padding for an eight-episode run, and the main culprit is a bizarre subplot involving Michael Rooker — who played Brian Durlin aka Savant in The Suicide Squad — as Red St. Wild. A fanatical eagle hunter sporting full Native American regalia for maximum—and admittedly hilarious—cultural appropriation, he’s a character so over-the-top he seems to get a deeply spiritual and almost sexual thrill from his quest to kill Eagly. Based on the first five episodes, the subplot drags the story into a detour of astral projections and spirit worlds that comes dangerously close to derailing the main plot entirely.

This season of Peacemaker also has a villain problem. While John Cena is terrific in the role, even more so than in the first season, long stretches of the season seem to be searching for a central antagonist to hang on to. In the first season, we had the double whammy of the body-snatching aliens and The White Dragon with his racist goons, which led to some fist-pumping scenes of nazi-punching. But this season, the story is much more internalized, leading to a deeper exploration of Chris Smith that, while deeply   moving at times, might turn off some viewers who’d expect more action and a clear villain for Peacemaker to smash.

Despite a meandering mid-season and the lack of a clear antagonist, Peacemaker is in good hands with James Gunn, and the story, now more personal, is still one of the most interesting and entertaining in the superhero genre. And while I didn’t have access to the final three episodes of the season before writing this review, I hope there’s plenty of time for Gunn to pull all these disparate threads together for a typically chaotic and bloody finale.

She’s back. Wednesday Addams, that grim and morbid daughter of the outrageously weird Addams family, is ready for another year at Nevermore Academy. There will be dark secrets, grisly murders, occultism, and maybe a bit of light ritual sacrifice on the side.

Along with her trusty companion, the animated severed hand, Thing, she is ready to solve—or make worse, depending on who you ask—any mysteries the school year has to offer.

You can almost hear that iconic, finger-snapping theme music now, can’t you?

Created by showrunners Alfred Gough and Miles Millar (of Smallville fame), with director and executive producer Tim Burton adding his signature gothic style, the series follows Wednesday Addams (played by Jenna Ortega) as she enrolls at the Nevermore Academy for Outcasts.

Before we continue, please be adviced that since this is a review for the second season of Wednesday, it will contain a few very light spoilers—nothing you won’t see in the trailers. But being a second season of a hit Netflix show, it will contain heavy spoilers from the first season, as it contains a short recap. So if you haven’t watched that yet, go do so. It won’t hurt. Much.

In the first season, Wednesday solved the mystery of the grisly murders plaguing the school. She confronted Tyler Galpin (played by Hunter Doohan), who turned out to be the monstrous Hyde, along with its sinister handler, Laurel Gates (played by Christina Ricci, who you might remember played Wednesday in the 90s), all while coming to grips with her own emerging psychic abilities. That story continues in season 2.

But before we dive into the new season, a quick history class is in order. So, let’s blow the dust off our oldest, most spider-web-covered books and take a look at where this ghoulish, yet lovable family came from.

Our story begins way back in 1938. In the pages of The New Yorker, cartoonist Charles Addams started drawing a series of one-panel, satirical gags about a family of creepy aristocrats who were, at the time, unnamed. They were the exact opposite of the perfect American family: a wealthy, weird, and morbid bunch who had no idea that the rest of the world found their hobbies—like playing with guillotines or setting each other on fire—to be a little strange.

In time, television came knocking. From 1964 to 1966, the black-and-white sitcom The Addams Family introduced them to the world and made them household names. This is when they were finally given their classic names: Gomez and Morticia; their children Wednesday and Pugsley; Uncle Fester; Grandmama; the family’s giant, Frankenstein’s monster-inspired butler, Lurch; and of course, the disembodied hand-servant, Thing. The show established the family’s most important trait: they were a loving, supportive bunch, even if their idea of an ideal family picnic often involved a graveyard.

Fast forward to the 1990s, when the family made a spectacular big-screen comeback with two hit movies: The Addams Family (1991) and Addams Family Values (1993). Director Barry Sonnenfeld found the perfect mix, combining the darker humor of the original cartoons with the warmth of the TV show, featuring an all-star cast that included Anjelica Huston as Morticia, Raul Julia as Gomez, Christopher Lloyd as Uncle Fester, and Christina Ricci as Wednesday. These films introduced the family to a whole new generation of fans and cemented their place in pop culture history.

After the success of the movies, the Addams Family was everywhere. They popped up in cartoons, direct-to-video movies, another TV show, and even a hit Broadway musical in 2010. Some of these were better than others, but it proved the family had an enduring appeal that transcended generations. Most recently, two animated films in 2019 and 2021 brought the family back to their roots, with character designs inspired by Charles Addams’s original drawings.

Last year, what looked at first to be another soulless Netflix spinoff about the sinister, serial-killer-obsessed daughter, Wednesday Addams, surprised many by becoming one of the streaming service’s most-viewed series to date. It was widely praised by critics and fans alike, flooding the internet with memes and references involving everything from weird dancing to cello music.

The series also changed a core premise of the Addams Family stories: the idea that they were a complete anomaly in American society. Previously, their strangeness was absolute. It was this strangeness that regular American society was measured against, and in this comparison, the satire of the Addams Family was built.

But the series introduced the term “outcast” to describe supernatural creatures or people with supernatural gifts. The Addams Family were no longer alone in their weirdness. Now, a whole minority of supernatural people and creatures, known to all and similar to the mutants in the X-Men comics, existed alongside regular people, or “normies.” With this came the chilling spectre of fear and prejudice. I admit that after having been introduced to the Addams Family in the 90s films as a young teenager, this change was jarring at first, as it seemed to water down the comedy that lay in this strangeness.

Now returning for her second year at Nevermore Academy after having (mostly) saved the school the year before, Wednesday Addams has become something of a celebrity among her fellow students and faculty. And she hates it. Yet, even as she would deny it, she has gained friends, most notably the overly cheerful werewolf Enid (played by Emma Myers). With Enid, she is quickly swept up in all manner of high school drama—much to her gloomy dismay. She has murders to solve, after all. Doesn’t she always? It seems to follow her.

Speaking of drama, there is also the family kind. Not only is her simple and malicious younger brother Pugsley (played by Isaac Ordonez) enrolling in the school this year, but her parents are also getting involved with school business, moving into a cottage nearby for the semester. Wednesday has long had a strained relationship with her mother Morticia (played by the perfectly cast Catherine Zeta-Jones) over her supernatural abilities, something her loving, but sinister, father Gomez (played by Luis Guzmán) tries his best to mend.

And when both her criminally insane Uncle Fester (played by Fred Armisen) turns up to cause mayhem and her Grandmama (played by the one and only Joanna Lumley), who doesn’t exactly see eye-to-eye with her own daughter Morticia, but loves and enables her granddaughter Wednesday in all manners of occult activities, chaos is sure to ensue.

There are other new faces too. Thandie Newton joins the cast as Dr. Fairburn of the local asylum. And since we lost the previous principal of Nevermore Academy last season, we have a replacement in none other than Steve Buscemi as the new head of the school, Barry Dort. His cheerful demeanor, colorful school sweaters, and focus on outdoor activities promise to be a special kind of torture for Wednesday. And knowing Buscemi as an actor, we might just get a bit of chaos from that corner too.

Based on the four episodes I’ve seen, the second season of Wednesday seems poised to go down a darker, more brutal, and sinister road. The humor is still there—some of it expertly timed, especially a small gag involving Pugsley, Lurch, and a bazooka. And while the high school drama might be slightly tiresome for some of us Gen X folks, it has its charms.

The series also seems to focus more on its side characters now, going deeper into their backgrounds and making them come alive, instead of them being mostly set dressing and recipients for Wednesday’s ire—although that still frequently happens—as they often were in the first season. This allows us into their lives and stories, making Nevermore Academy feel more vibrant and shedding the superficial nature of many characters from the first season. We’ve gotten to know them now, after all. If the first season was our clumsy and shy attempt at getting to know new people, like we all remember from our first days at a new school, they are now people we look forward to reuniting with after a long summer vacation.

With the second season, and a third already green-lit, Wednesday is sure to continue to charm, and maybe frighten, teens and young adults everywhere. While I still might not be overly fond of some of the more drastic changes from the original Addams Family stories—especially adding a whole section of the American population as supernatural beings, thereby losing some of the intended satirical elements—the show is definitely growing on me. Much of this has to do with how expertly the show is cast, with the Addamses themselves being portrayed by actors seemingly born to play them.

Still, I’m curious how long Netflix will manage to keep up the momentum of a series like this. Here’s to many more seasons, and perhaps stories, and maybe even spinoffs, that take place away from Nevermore Academy too. An old Addams Family fan can hope, right?

Like other recent Netflix releases, the second season of Wednesday is divided into two parts, with Part 1, consisting episodes 1–4, premiering on August 6. Part 2, consisting of episodes 5–8, will air on September 3.

Ask any Lord of the Rings fan about where in Middle-earth their dream home would be, and chances are significant that the answer will be the Shire. It is certainly my dream, the dreamy and somewhat scatterbrained J.R.R. Tolkien nerd that I am: if I had suddenly—and quite magically, I might add—been transported to a place of my choice in Middle-earth, it would be there.

You can see it now, can’t you? Frodo was right to be in love with the Shire, as Bilbo put it in Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. The woods, the fields, the little rivers. J.R.R. Tolkien's own descriptions evoke the Hobbits’ deep-seated love, not for some abstract ideal, but their home, as tangible and real as an imaginary place can be:

"They were in the heart of the country, and in the autumn of a good year. The fields were ripe and golden, and the apples red on the bough. The air was full of the murmur of bees and the smell of clover."

— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

These words, and many others from J.R.R. Tolkien’s books, laid the foundation for how artists Alan Lee and John Howe helped director Peter Jackson imagine The Shire on screen. When the time came for the production of what would become one of cinema's most beloved trilogies, the New Zealand-based special effects company Wētā Workshop put it all together, bringing the town of Hobbiton—where we first meet Bilbo and Frodo Baggins—to life.

In fact, the Hobbiton movie set, rebuilt for Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit trilogy, still stands on the North Island of New Zealand. In 2022, I had the chance to visit it during a three-week trip around the country. This journey was part-work, part-pilgrimage, and it took me to many of the iconic shooting locations from the films. I also visited Wētā Workshop for a behind-the-scenes tour to meet the craftspeople, and conducted in-depth interviews with both company head Richard Taylor and artist Daniel Falconer.

Gaming in Middle-earth is far from a new thing. For decades, players have waged war and adventured across its digital landscapes, from nostalgic classics like War in Middle-earth to the vast, persistent world of The Lord of the Rings Online. Most titles have focused on the epic conflicts that define the setting, allowing us to fight the forces of darkness head-on.

Lately, however, developers have tried more experimental approaches. We've seen the excellent survival-crafting game Return to Moria, following Dwarves reclaiming their ancient halls of Khazad-dûm, and the ill-fated stealth adventure The Lord of the Rings: Gollum. Now the time has come to paintt the Shire on this digital canvas, and who better to do it than the creatives who brought it to life on screen in the first place?

Enter Tales of the Shire. This is the debut game developed by Wētā Workshop and published by Private Division, a company known for championing titles from small and mid-sized indie studios. Releasing across a wide range of systems—including Windows, PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X/S, and even mobile—the game lets players take on the role of a hobbit and settle down in a secluded part of the Shire.

So without further ado, let me introduce you to my avatar in this cozy little corner of Middle-earth: the hobbit Heribald Hogg. Originally from the town of Bree, east of the Shire, he received a letter stating that he had inherited a hobbit-hole in Bywater, across the Bywater Pool from Hobbiton. So he made his way west.

But hobbits are as hobbits do, and he fell asleep by the Road after Second Breakfast. And there he snoozed, until a tall fellow with a long beard and a wide-brimmed hat rode along in his cart. Waking up the drowsy Heribald, the stranger offered him a ride to Bywater, as it was on the way to Hobbiton, where he had important business. But he didn’t say that, of course. Secret and safe is the business of Wizards, after all.

At this point, the game had just started. I created my hobbit to play—Heribald Hogg—choosing his appearance, clothing, hairstyle, and even the hair on his feet. I had wanted to call him Heribald Halfbuckle, the name of the hobbit I sometimes played in The Lord of the Rings Online many years ago.

For some reason, however, I could only choose a custom first name, not the surname. The tall stranger soon introduced himself as Gandalf. Luckily, once I was settled in my new hobbit-hole, I discovered that the dressing closet allowed me to change not only my clothes but also my hair and even my name.

And here, my life as a hobbit could begin. After meeting one of the nice (and hungry) Bywater residents, who had a hilarious letter for me, I got to see the hobbit-hole I inherited. It was a fixer-upper, so to speak, old and dusty, with barred doors and windows. But with some work and love, and with the help of the game’s excellent decorating system, where furniture and decorations could be moved freely around, and colors and paneling could be changed, it had a lot of “potential” as they say. So I got to work.

Next, I explored Bywater, making my way to the iconic tavern, The Green Dragon (where I’ve even had a beer and a meal in real life, but that’s another story), to meet some of the local hobbits. Here, the game does something beautiful: it gives you a journal. Everything is logged here, from your relationship rating with every character you meet to every item and resource you find, most of which are food-related, of course.

While exploring Bywater and meeting its interesting inhabitants, I began picking up the basic skills needed to get my hobbit-hole up and running: fishing, foraging, and farming, because all hobbits share a love for things that grow.

Time passes realistically in the game; days turn into nights, and the seasons change the landscape around you, from the fresh greens of spring to the golden hues of autumn and the quiet of winter. This rhythm of time is central to life in Bywater, allowing you to grow and expand your home as the year passes.

And so Heribald Hogg’s new life in Bywater began. Tales of the Shire is a hilariously cozy game. There are no Orcs to fight, no dungeons to delve into, and no magic rings—at least not in the hours I’ve spent playing. It’s also a small game, clocking in at around 3GB, at least on the Steam version I played.

Looking away from Heribald Hogg’s adventures for a moment, how is the game, really? Cozy, yes. But is it good? In a word, yes. When I first started it up, it took some time to get used to, even for an enthusiastic fan of all things Middle-earth like myself.

The lack of voice acting, for example, was jarring at first. However, I soon realized that Wētā Workshop had made this a part of the game’s charm. The choice to have no voice acting, focusing instead on the characters' expressions and the small noises they make, opens some doors. It allows you to play at your own pace without having to stop and listen to dialogue. On the other hand, it closes others, as this is not a game for those who, for various reasons, find reading a challenge.

When it comes to graphics, Wētā Workshop has created a whole new art style—one that also took some getting used to. This might be because we’re all so used to the visual styles of Alan Lee and John Howe, which not only inspired Peter Jackson’s films but also a host of other adaptations.

But when it finally clicked, helped by the atmospheric sounds and idyllic music, the beauty of the Bywater that Wētā Workshop had built from scratch was clear to see. Playing the game now, I couldn’t imagine it looking any different. It’s like a concept art book has come to life in brilliant, earthy colors, and I’m here for it.

And so, we have Tales of the Shire, the debut game from Wētā Workshop. In a media landscape filled with adaptations inspired, at least visually, by Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy, this game confidently creates its own identity. It's an invitation for every fan to return to that one place in Middle-earth many of us dream of coming back to, again and again.

Tales of the Shire releases comes out on on several platforms on the 29th of July.