That is the real issue we keep coming back to in this episode. Paul Feig’s Ghostbusters does not feel like a movie made from love, enthusiasm, or a killer comic idea. It feels like intellectual property karaoke: a studio taking a song everyone already knows, handing the mic to talented people, and hoping recognition will do half the work. The result is not offensive so much as frustratingly forgettable. It has proton packs, ghosts, slime, cameos, the logo, the car, and the song, but very little of what made the original stick.

In this episode, we finally watched Ghostbusters (2016), directed by Paul Feig and released in 2016, after talking about Bridesmaids the week before. That comparison matters, because a lot of the same creative energy that works beautifully in Bridesmaids works against this movie. Bridesmaids thrives on looseness, riffing, escalation, and performers finding comedy inside emotionally clear scenes. Ghostbusters tries to use a similar improvisational approach, but this is a bigger genre machine. It needs a stronger spine.

The movie follows Erin Gilbert, played by Kristen Wiig, who is trying to be taken seriously in academia when an old paranormal book reconnects her with Abby Yates, played by Melissa McCarthy. Abby is working with eccentric engineer Jillian Holtzmann, played by Kate McKinnon, and eventually the team is joined by Patty Tolan, played by Leslie Jones, an MTA worker with a deep knowledge of New York history. Together, they uncover supernatural activity tied to Rowan, a lonely hotel janitor trying to open a portal between the living and the dead.

That sounds like enough for a fun sci-fi horror comedy, but the movie never really builds momentum. We talk a lot about the baggage this movie carried before it even came out. Fans had spent years hearing rumors about a real Ghostbusters 3 with the original team. Then Harold Ramis passed away in 2014, and that version of the dream died with him. When this reboot arrived with a new cast, new continuity, and no real continuation of the original story, it was always going to face resistance.

The discourse around the movie got ugly fast, and we do not excuse the sexist, racist, or misogynistic backlash. But we also think that backlash created a shield around the movie, where it became harder to say the simpler truth: the movie just did not look very good, and then it was not very good. You cannot guilt people into liking a blockbuster. You have to make it undeniable.

There are highs, though. The biggest is Kate McKinnon as Holtzmann, who comes closest to creating something that feels new and specific to this version. She has the energy of a lab goblin in goggles, a mad scientist who may or may not understand normal human behavior. The Pringles “salty parabolas” line, the mannequin bit, the gun lick, the sideways delivery, all of that gives the movie some actual comic texture. The problem is that Holtzmann is mostly a vibe. She is funny to watch, but the movie never gives her a real arc or builds anything around her.

We also talk about Chris Hemsworth as Kevin, the impossibly beautiful and impossibly stupid receptionist. There is a funny inversion in taking Thor and making him the bimbo secretary, and Hemsworth commits to the bit. The “Michael Hat” joke works, and some of the physical comedy lands. But even that joke gets pushed too far. Kevin starts as a funny reversal and slowly becomes another sketch character the movie keeps returning to without enough variation.

The real Low is the structure. This movie mistakes riffing for construction. A good comedy scene is not just funny people saying funny things. It needs setup, escalation, reversal, and payoff. That is why the food poisoning scene in Bridesmaids works: there is a clear internal logic, and the comedy escalates from the situation. In Ghostbusters, too many scenes feel like the camera was pointed at talented performers long enough in the hope that something would happen.

The biggest debate in the episode is whether this needed to be a Ghostbusters movie at all. The cast has chemistry. Paul Feig knows how to direct comedy. The performers are talented. So why chain them to a beloved franchise if the movie is not going to justify that choice with a fresh point of view?

We also get into the team dynamic, which never fully clicks. The original Ghostbusters had clear roles: Venkman was the cynical hustler, Ray was the enthusiastic believer, Egon was the deadpan brain, and Winston was the working-class audience entry point. In the 2016 version, everyone has traits, but the group never becomes a fully defined team. Erin and Abby have a friendship backstory, Holtzmann is weird, Patty knows New York, but the emotional and comic engine never locks in.

The cameos are another major Low. Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Ernie Hudson, Annie Potts, and Sigourney Weaver showing up should be fun, but instead the cameos keep reminding us of the better, more iconic movie we are not watching. Dan Aykroyd quoting “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts” as a cab driver is not a victory lap. It just makes us want to turn this off and watch the original.

By the end, Ghostbusters (2016) is not the worst movie we have covered. It is worse in a different way: it evaporates. It has motion, noise, effects, and a few decent jokes, but almost no residue. The original gave us proton packs, traps, Slimer, Stay Puft, Ecto-1, “This man has no dick,” and “We came, we saw, we kicked its ass.” This one gives us flashes of talent trapped inside a reheated franchise meal with 40% of the flavor.

• Ghostbusters 2016 review
• Paul Feig’s Ghostbusters reboot
• Kristen Wiig as Erin Gilbert
• Melissa McCarthy as Abby Yates
• Kate McKinnon as Holtzmann
• Leslie Jones as Patty Tolan
• Chris Hemsworth as Kevin
• Ghostbusters 2016 backlash
• Ghostbusters 3 and Harold Ramis
• Why Ghostbusters 2016 failed
• Ghostbusters as IP karaoke
• Ghostbusters 2016 vs Ghostbusters 1984
• Ghostbusters 2016 cameos
• Bill Murray Ghostbusters 2016 cameo
• Dan Aykroyd cab driver cameo
• Rowan Ghostbusters villain
• Holtzmann gun lick scene
• Wonton soup joke
• Ghostbusters reboot box office bomb
• Why Ghostbusters 2016 is forgettable

That is the real engine of the movie. Annie Walker, played by Kristen Wiig, is not simply jealous that Lillian is getting married. She is grieving the version of their friendship where she was the first call, the default person, the one who mattered most. The wedding is the MacGuffin. The actual story is what happens when adulthood starts pulling a friendship apart, and one person is not ready to let go.

In this episode, we revisit Bridesmaids, directed by Paul Feig and written by Kristen Wiig and Annie Mumolo, as one of the last great mid-budget studio comedies of its era. It came out in 2011, right near the end of a run where movies like this could still become huge cultural events: big cast, big set pieces, quotable lines, emotional core, and enough room for performers to actually play.

The movie stars Kristen Wiig as Annie, Maya Rudolph as Lillian, Rose Byrne as Helen, Melissa McCarthy as Megan, Wendi McLendon-Covey as Rita, Ellie Kemper as Becca, Jon Hamm as Ted, and Chris O’Dowd as Rhodes. That cast is loaded, and the movie knows how to use them. It has the rhythm of sketch comedy, the looseness of the Judd Apatow comedy era, and the emotional structure of a friendship breakup movie.

What makes Bridesmaids special is that it treats female friendship with the same insecurity and arrested development that male friendship comedies had been mining for decades. Annie and Lillian are not polished movie-women sipping wine and dispensing life advice. They are goofy. They put chocolate on their teeth in a restaurant. They do weird voices. They make each other laugh in the way only people with years of shared history can. The movie needs that early coffee shop scene because it proves the friendship before Helen shows up and starts threatening it.

Helen, played perfectly by Rose Byrne, is one of the smartest parts of the movie. On the surface, she is Annie’s nightmare: rich, composed, elegant, socially polished, and seemingly designed in a lab to replace her. But the episode gets into how Helen is not just a villain. She is lonely too. Her perfect life is a performance, and by the end, when she admits she does not really have female friends and barely sees her husband, the movie lets her become human instead of just leaving her as the rich mean-girl obstacle.

Then there is Melissa McCarthy as Megan, which is still one of the funniest breakout comedy performances of the 2010s. It is easy to forget now how fresh that performance felt at the time, because so many later movies tried to turn McCarthy into some version of Megan again. But here, it works because Megan is not just random chaos. She ends up having the clearest emotional function in the movie. When Annie is at her lowest, Megan is the one who tells her the truth. She does not coddle her. She calls her out. “You’re your problem, Annie. And you’re also your solution.” That is real friendship.

We also spend a lot of time on the movie’s set pieces, because Bridesmaids has several all-timers. The engagement party speech scene is brilliant because it keeps going past the point of comfort. Annie and Helen keep taking the microphone, escalating the emotional warfare, and the longer it lasts, the funnier and more painful it gets.

The food poisoning dress fitting is probably the scene most people remember, and for good reason. It is gross, obviously, but it is not just gross to prove that women can do bodily-function comedy too. The joke has structure. Helen refuses the sketchy restaurant food, everyone else gets sick, and Annie’s denial makes it even funnier. She is sweating through the lie, insisting everything is fine while the whole bridal party is falling apart around her.

The airplane scene is another huge High. Kristen Wiig mixing fear, pills, alcohol, jealousy, and sabotage into one public meltdown is exactly the kind of performance this movie is built to showcase. And the bridal shower scene might be the best expression of Annie’s total emotional collapse. Helen steals Annie’s Paris idea, turns it into an absurdly expensive fantasy, and by the time Annie screams, “Are you kidding me?” the whole movie has become a volcano waiting to erupt.

The biggest Low we had is Rhodes, played by Chris O’Dowd. He is charming, and O’Dowd does a lot to make him work, but the character feels less like a fully written person and more like a narrative safety net for Annie. He is the nicest emotional support cop in the world, always available when the plot needs him, always patient, always kind, always there to help Annie rediscover the version of herself she has lost.

There is an interesting way to read that, though. Maybe Rhodes is written like the reverse of how women are often written in male-driven comedies: supportive, emotionally available, and mostly there to help the lead grow. That does not completely fix the issue, but it makes the character more interesting to talk about.

We also touch on the movie’s filmmaking style, which is not especially visual. This is not Jaws, Taxi Driver, or Hook in terms of camera language. It is more functional, almost sitcom-like at times. But that may be the right choice. The camera is not the star here. The performers are. Bridesmaids works because the cast can take clear emotional situations and spin them into comic chaos.

By the end, this is a High because it still makes us laugh, but also because it understands something real: female friendship can be messy, competitive, immature, loving, painful, and ridiculous all at once. And yes, women can be just as big of goofballs as anyone else.

• Bridesmaids 2011 review
• Paul Feig’s Bridesmaids
• Kristen Wiig as Annie Walker
• Maya Rudolph as Lillian
• Rose Byrne as Helen
• Melissa McCarthy as Megan
• Annie Mumolo and Kristen Wiig screenplay
• Bridesmaids female friendship
• Bridesmaids and adult friendship breakups
• Bridesmaids mid-budget studio comedy
• Judd Apatow comedy influence
• Bridesmaids engagement party speech scene
• Bridesmaids food poisoning dress fitting
• Bridesmaids airplane scene
• Bridesmaids bridal shower meltdown
• Jon Hamm as Ted
• Chris O’Dowd as Rhodes
• “You’re your problem, Annie"
• Why Bridesmaids still works

The problem is that Hook (1991) is not lacking magic. It has too much of it. This is Steven Spielberg turned all the way up: big feelings, big music, big sets, big reaction shots, big sentimental buttons on top of other sentimental buttons. The heart of the movie works. Sometimes it works beautifully. But then Spielberg keeps underlining it, circling it, adding one more speech, one more tear, one more “Mommy,” one more floating old man, until the movie starts giving itself a toothache.

In this episode, we revisit Hook, directed by Steven Spielberg and released in 1991, as a movie that feels almost impossible to judge cleanly. It is technically a Low, but it is also a movie with images, performances, and emotional beats that still absolutely work. The big argument is that Hook could have been close to a perfect kids’ adventure movie if someone had been willing to trim the fat.

The setup is strong: Peter Banning, played by Robin Williams, is a work-obsessed corporate lawyer who has forgotten that he was once Peter Pan. He misses his son Jack’s baseball game, takes business calls during his daughter Maggie’s play, and treats family time like an interruption. When Captain Hook kidnaps his children and drags him back to Neverland, Peter has to rediscover imagination, play, and the part of himself he abandoned when he grew up.

That idea is great. It is simple, emotional, and very Spielberg. The movie works best when it connects Peter becoming Pan again with Peter becoming a better father. The scene where Moira, played by Caroline Goodall, tells Peter that his children still want to play with him but will not want that forever is one of the best scenes in the film. Watching it as a parent makes it hit even harder. It is not just a speech about “work less, love your kids more.” It is about how quickly childhood disappears while adults are busy convincing themselves that everything else is urgent.

We also spend a lot of time on the things Hook gets absolutely right. Rufio, played by Dante Basco, is the biggest High. He was created for this movie, but he feels instantly iconic: the hair, the chant, the rivalry with Peter, the moment he kneels and gives the sword back. He makes complete sense as the teenager the Lost Boys would rally around after Pan disappeared. His death still hits, maybe too hard, but the character himself is one of the movie’s great inventions.

Bob Hoskins as Smee is another huge High. Every time he shows up, the movie gets funnier. He and Hoffman have a perfect rhythm together, and Hoffman’s Captain Hook might be the definitive live-action version of the character for a lot of people who grew up with this movie. He is theatrical, pathetic, vain, dangerous, funny, and totally obsessed with the rematch he has been waiting decades to get.

The Lost Boys scenes are where Hook feels most alive. Their practical sets, basketball courts, skate ramps, ragtag costumes, and late ’80s / early ’90s energy give Neverland a tactile quality that would probably be flattened into green-screen sludge today. We talk about how the sets look like sets, but in a way that works. Neverland feels like a giant playground built out of memory, fantasy, and production design money.

And then there are the three scenes we think are almost perfect. The Moira speech. The “Oh, there you are, Peter” scene, where Pockets stretches Peter’s face until he sees the boy underneath. And the imaginary dinner scene, where Peter finally learns to play again and the empty plates fill with food. That dinner scene is the whole movie in miniature: funny, emotional, imaginative, and completely clear. Peter gets it. The Lost Boys get it. We get it.

Then Spielberg adds more.

The biggest Low in the episode is not one performance or one scene. It is the runtime and the sentimentality overload. Hook is nearly two and a half hours long, and it should not be anywhere near that. The cell phone quick draw scene, the mermaids, the extended Hook suicide bit, Maggie’s song, the oversized Tinkerbell romance scene, the overexplained happy thought flashback, these are the moments where the movie starts putting a hat on a hat.

We also get into the strange obsession with “Mommy” in the second half. Maggie keeps invoking her mother, Hook dies asking for his mommy, and the ending keeps pushing the mother imagery until it starts feeling bizarrely overdone. The emotional idea makes sense, but the repetition gets weird.

The Rufio death is another complicated debate. It is effective, and it devastated us as kids, but tonally it sits in the middle of a goofy battle where pirates are being defeated by eggs, marbles, and Lost Boy nonsense. A kid gets stabbed in the chest, says he wishes he had a dad like Peter, and then the movie moves on almost immediately. That tonal whiplash is part of why the ending feels so messy.

Still, the final verdict is not that Hook is bad in a boring way. It is a movie full of great pieces that needed more discipline. The things that work work so well that they have lasted for decades. The problem is that Spielberg keeps adding sugar after the cake is already sweet enough.

• Hook 1991 review
• Steven Spielberg’s Hook
• Robin Williams as Peter Pan
• Robin Williams as Peter Banning
• Dustin Hoffman as Captain Hook
• Julia Roberts as Tinkerbell
• Bob Hoskins as Smee
• Dante Basco as Rufio
• Maggie Smith as Wendy Darling
• Hook as a Low episode
• Why Hook still works for ’90s kids
• Hook runtime and sentimentality problems
• “Oh, there you are, Peter” scene
• Hook imaginary dinner scene
• Rufio death scene
• Lost Boys in Hook
• John Williams Hook score
• Hook mermaid scene
• Tinkerbell human-size scene
• “To live would be an awfully big adventure”

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That is the whole argument of this episode. Jaws became the modern blockbuster, but what modern blockbusters often forget is that this movie is not great because it is big. It is great because it knows exactly when to be small. The broken shark did not ruin the movie. It saved it. Spielberg had to withhold the monster, shoot from its point of view, lean on John Williams’ score, and build suspense out of what we cannot see. Limitation forced creativity, and the result is one of the most perfectly constructed thrillers ever made.

In this episode, we revisit Jaws, directed by Steven Spielberg and released in 1975, as the movie that changed summer movies forever while also teaching a lesson Hollywood mostly misunderstood. It stars Roy Scheider as Police Chief Martin Brody, Richard Dreyfuss as Matt Hooper, Robert Shaw as Quint, Lorraine Gary as Ellen Brody, and Murray Hamilton as Mayor Larry Vaughn. Yes, it is a shark movie. But more importantly, it is a movie about a town, a family, a local economy, fear, denial, responsibility, and three men who all understand the shark differently.

We start with the thing everyone knows: the John Williams Jaws theme. There is no way to talk about this movie without talking about those two notes. But what we focus on is how simple the theme is, and why that simplicity matters. The shark is not a complicated villain. It swims. It eats. It keeps coming. The music becomes the shark’s identity long before we actually see the creature. It is not overworked or overexplained. It is primal, repetitive, and inevitable.

That simplicity carries into Spielberg’s direction. We talk a lot about Jaws as a “less is more” movie, especially compared to the kind of overstuffed spectacle that followed in its wake. Spielberg does not show the shark too early. He builds Amity Island first: the beach, the politics, the holiday weekend, the local business panic, the normal rhythms of a community that does not want to believe something monstrous is in the water.

That is why Chief Brody works so well as the center of the movie. He is not a superhero. He is a nervous police chief afraid of the water, trying to do the right thing while everyone around him tells him not to overreact. We get into how Brody knows, almost immediately, that something is wrong after Chrissie’s death. He wants to close the beaches. The mayor stops him. And when Alex Kintner is killed, the guilt lands on Brody in a way that feels deeply human.

One of our favorite scenes in the whole movie is not a shark attack. It is Brody sitting at the kitchen table after Mrs. Kintner slaps him, completely wrecked, while his young son Sean imitates him. Brody starts making faces back at him, then asks for a kiss “because I need it.” That moment is why Jaws is not just a monster movie. It is grounded in family, shame, fear, and love.

We also dig into Matt Hooper, who arrives as science, money, expertise, and impatience with small-town nonsense. Hooper is arrogant, but he is right. He validates what Brody already knows. When he examines Chrissie’s remains, the whole scene plays on his face, because his reaction tells us everything we need to know.

Then there is Quint, one of the greatest character introductions in movie history. Before he even speaks, his nails on the chalkboard cut through the chaos of the town meeting. Robert Shaw makes Quint feel like a man carved out of salt, trauma, and stubbornness. He is not just hunting a shark. He is hunting something that has been chasing him since the USS Indianapolis.

The movie’s second half is where we really light up. Once the Orca leaves Amity, Jaws basically restarts as a new movie. Everything before that is the town: beaches, politics, denial, capitalism, community fear. Everything after that is Brody, Hooper, and Quint on a boat, trapped with each other and with the thing they have been circling the whole time. Brody is responsibility. Hooper is science. Quint is trauma. The shark tests all three.

The biggest High of the episode might be the USS Indianapolis monologue. In a movie famous for shark attacks, the best scene is a man sitting at a table telling a story. That says everything about how good Jaws is. The scene works because of Robert Shaw’s delivery, Richard Dreyfuss’s reaction, and the way it suddenly reframes Quint. His line about never putting on a life jacket again is horrifying because it tells us that, for him, drowning would be better than facing sharks again.

We also talk about the ending and why it is so satisfying. Quint is gone. Hooper appears to be gone. Brody is alone on a sinking boat, facing the water and the shark he has feared the entire movie. When he blows it up, it is not just spectacle. It is character payoff. The guy who wanted to close the beaches from the beginning has to solve the problem himself.

Our one Low is not really inside Jaws. It is what came after it. Jaws helped create the modern blockbuster, but Hollywood often learned the wrong lesson. The lesson should have been restraint, character, geography, suspense, and emotion. Too often, the lesson became: big concept, summer release, massive marketing, keep making sequels until nothing is left. The tragedy is that one of the most elegant popular films ever made became the template for a lot of much less elegant business decisions.

• Jaws 1975 review
• Steven Spielberg’s Jaws
• Roy Scheider as Chief Brody
• Richard Dreyfuss as Matt Hooper
• Robert Shaw as Quint
• Lorraine Gary as Ellen Brody
• Mayor Vaughn and the Amity beaches
• John Williams’ Jaws score
• The two-note Jaws theme
• Why the shark barely appears in Jaws
• The broken shark and Spielberg’s restraint
• Chrissie Watkins opening attack
• Alex Kintner shark attack scene
• Brody’s fear of water
• “You’re gonna need a bigger boat”
• Brody, Hooper and Quint on the Orca
• USS Indianapolis monologue
• Quint’s death in Jaws
• Jaws ending explained
• How Jaws created the modern blockbuster

But that is also what makes it so much fun to watch. 

In 1993, Mario did not really have a movie-ready story. He had a brother, a princess, a turtle monster, coins, pipes, mushrooms, Goombas, and a lot of jumping. So directors Annabel Jankel and Rocky Morton had to invent a live-action movie from a video game that was basically pure iconography. What they invented is bonkers, but it is also far more creative than people give it credit for.

In this episode, we revisit Super Mario Bros., starring Bob Hoskins as Mario Mario, John Leguizamo as Luigi Mario, Samantha Mathis as Princess Daisy, and Dennis Hopper as King Koopa. The movie was a box office disaster, got hammered by critics, and became the go-to example for why live-action video game movies were supposedly doomed. But watching it now, the story is a lot more complicated than that.

The first big argument we make is that the usual complaint against this movie, that it is too different from the games, does not totally hold up. Different from what, exactly? By 1993, Super Mario Bros. was a beloved franchise, but it was not some dense cinematic mythology. There was not a sacred three-act Mario text waiting to be adapted. The movie takes the basic material and turns it into a parallel-universe dinosaur dystopia where a meteor split reality in two, mammals evolved in our world, reptiles evolved in Dinohattan, and a missing meteorite shard could merge both dimensions. That is not faithful in a literal sense, but it is an actual idea.

Honestly, Super Mario Bros. was doing the multiverse before the multiverse became every studio’s favorite emergency button. Dinohattan is basically Jurassic New York, and the movie’s weirdness is part of what makes it interesting. It is not the Mushroom Kingdom from the games, but it has its own grimy, steampunk, fungus-covered personality. We talk a lot about the Blade Runner comparisons, but what stood out on this rewatch was how much the movie also feels like it is chasing the shadow of Tim Burton’s Batman. It takes something bright, silly, and childish, then tries to make it darker, stranger, and more adult.

That approach clearly did not work for everyone, but we have a lot of affection for it. Kids’ movies in the ’80s and early ’90s were just different. They were allowed to be creepy, gross, inappropriate, and occasionally traumatizing. Super Mario Bros. fits right into that era alongside things like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Batman, and The NeverEnding Story. The movie has strippers, fascist cops, fungus rebellion, de-evolution machines, and Goombas with tiny heads and giant bodies. Is that a weird fit for Mario? Absolutely. Is it boring? Not even for a minute. 

We also give the movie credit for how many game references it actually does work in. The rocket boots turn Mario’s jumping into something that can function in live action. Big Bertha becomes a human version of the giant red fish. The Shy Guy influence shows up in the masked construction-site goons. The flamethrowers nod toward the fire flower. The fungus becomes a strange version of the Mushroom Kingdom. Even the idea of the king being transformed into fungus feels like it has roots in Super Mario Bros. 3, where kings are magically turned into other creatures. The movie is not accurate, but it is not careless.

The casting is another place where the movie works better than its reputation. Bob Hoskins and John Leguizamo actually have a believable older brother / younger brother rhythm. Hoskins has that gruff, working-class warmth, and Leguizamo gives Luigi an earnest romantic energy that makes the Daisy storyline work better than it probably should. We talk about how the movie shifts the romantic focus from Mario to Luigi, which is technically a departure from the games, but it makes sense for this version. Luigi is younger and more openly swept up in the adventure.

And then there is Dennis Hopper as King Koopa, who is operating on his own frequency the entire time. He is not a giant turtle monster, but he is slimy, vain, germophobic, reptilian, and weirdly charismatic. There is a little Jack Nicholson Joker energy in the performance, especially in the way he treats villainy like a campaign speech. The mud bath, the “monkey” obsession, the de-evolution chamber, Iggy and Spike, the Goombas, all of it is ridiculous, but it gives the movie texture.

The real debate of this episode is whether the things people call LOWS are actually the movie’s HIGHS. The darkness, the weirdness, the bizarre production design, the loose relationship to the games, these are the same things that make Super Mario Bros. (1993) worth revisiting. We'd rather watch a failed movie with imagination than a safe movie with no pulse.

That said, we do get into the real lows. The opening animation feels weak for a movie based on a video game. There is a lot of obvious ADR, with lines stuffed into wide shots and reaction shots to patch the story together. Some studio edits are painfully visible, especially around the de-evolution scenes. Toad getting set on fire feels mean in a way the movie does not really need. “Hail Koopa” is probably a little too blunt. And the ending is rushed, with Koopa’s final dinosaur form looking especially rough.

The biggest low, emotionally, is that we never got the sequel. The cliffhanger with Daisy coming back in full commando mode is cheesy, but we'd have absolutely shown up for Super Mario Bros. 2. That is the strange legacy of this movie. It is not a great Mario movie, but it is a fascinating one. It is messy, creative, creepy, funny, and way more memorable than its reputation suggests.

• Super Mario Bros. 1993 review
• Bob Hoskins as Mario Mario
• John Leguizamo as Luigi Mario
• Dennis Hopper as King Koopa
• Samantha Mathis as Princess Daisy
• Annabel Jankel and Rocky Morton
• Super Mario Bros. live-action adaptation
• Why Super Mario Bros. was hated
• Super Mario Bros. movie box office flop
• Dinohattan and Jurassic New York
• Super Mario Bros. multiverse story
• Super Mario Bros. video game references
• Rocket boots and Mario jumping
• Big Bertha and the Shy Guys
• Goombas practical effects
• King Koopa de-evolution chamber
• Tim Burton Batman influence
• Blade Runner influence on Dinohattan
• “Trust the fungus”
• Super Mario Bros. sequel that never happened

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That is the real question of the episode: does Andrew become great in spite of Fletcher, or because of him? And the uncomfortable answer we keep circling is that it might be because of him. That does not make Fletcher right. It does not make his abuse noble. But it does make Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash a much more complicated movie than a simple mentor-from-hell story. This is a movie about ambition, control, humiliation, obsession, and the cost of becoming the person you think you’re supposed to be.

In this episode, we dig into Whiplash, written and directed by Damien Chazelle, and why it still hits like a snare drum to the face. The movie stars Miles Teller as Andrew Neiman, a young jazz drummer at the fictional Shaffer Conservatory, and J.K. Simmons as Terence Fletcher, the terrifying conductor who treats music education like psychological warfare. The movie won Oscars for Simmons, editing, and sound mixing, and honestly, all three wins make perfect sense. This thing is built like a pressure cooker.

The central debate is Andrew’s transformation. By the time we get to the final performance at Carnegie Hall, Andrew does become something different. He takes control of the stage, pushes past Fletcher’s sabotage, and turns “Caravan” into a declaration of war. But we also talk about how even in that moment of victory, he still hands control back to Fletcher. That final exchange of looks between them is thrilling, but it is not cleanly triumphant. Andrew gets Fletcher’s approval, and that might be exactly the problem.

We spend a lot of time on Fletcher because J.K. Simmons gives one of those performances that feels almost unfair to everyone else in the movie. He is part jazz instructor, part drill sergeant, part horror villain. The “not my tempo” scene is the obvious centerpiece, but what makes Fletcher so scary is not just that he screams. It is that he knows exactly when to lower his voice, when to charm, when to humiliate, and when to make an entire room afraid to breathe wrong. He does not simply teach through fear. He builds a world where fear is the tempo.

The episode also gets into Fletcher’s philosophy, especially the idea that there are “no two words in the English language more harmful than good job.” We do not dismiss that line outright, which is part of what makes the conversation interesting. There is something seductive about Fletcher’s argument. Maybe comfort does kill greatness. Maybe some people only reach their full potential when someone refuses to let them settle. But the movie also gives us Sean Casey, the former student whose story reveals the human wreckage behind Fletcher’s method. For every Andrew who might become Bird, there may be someone else who gets destroyed.

Miles Teller’s performance as Andrew is another major High. He has to start the movie with this open, almost boyish hunger and then slowly harden into someone who has internalized Fletcher’s cruelty. We talk about the family dinner scene as one of the clearest examples of that shift. Andrew is patronized by relatives who do not understand what he is chasing, and he finally snaps back with the kind of contempt Fletcher has been teaching him. The “Lincoln Center” gut check from his father is brutal because it cuts through Andrew’s self-mythology for just a second.

That father-son relationship, with Paul Reiser as Andrew’s dad, becomes one of the most emotional parts of the discussion. His father is not trying to crush him. He is trying to keep him human. The movie theater scene with the Raisinets is small, but it says so much about Andrew’s willingness to tolerate discomfort, to eat around the thing he does not want, to subtract pieces from his life if that is what the goal requires. By the final performance, watching Andrew through his father’s eyes changes the scene. From inside the music, it feels like triumph. From the hallway, through his dad’s face, it looks like losing him.

We also talk about Nicole, played by Melissa Benoist, and why that relationship matters more than it first appears. Andrew’s breakup with her is not just a young guy being arrogant. It is the movie showing us that he has already accepted self-erasure as the price of greatness. Later, when he calls her before the Carnegie Hall performance and realizes she has moved on, the scene lands because it shows what he chose. He wanted greatness so badly that he made himself unavailable to ordinary happiness.

The biggest question we wrestle with is whether Whiplash is an inspirational movie or a horror movie wearing the skin of one. We both come down on the idea that Fletcher is probably the reason Andrew reaches that final level, but that does not mean Fletcher is justified. That is the uncomfortable brilliance of the movie. It refuses to make the moral math easy.

We also get into the missing chart scene near the end and whether Fletcher sabotaged Carl, whether Andrew panicked, or whether it was all just another test. The movie leaves just enough room for doubt, which keeps the tension alive. Our one real Low is more of a nitpick: what exactly was Fletcher’s plan if Andrew did not come back onstage? The finale is incredible, but the logic of Fletcher’s revenge depends on Andrew reacting in the most insane, perfect way possible.

Still, that final scene is why Whiplash remains such a monster. The editing, music, cinematography, sound, and performances all lock together. It is exhilarating and upsetting at the same time. Andrew may become great, but we are not convinced he is okay. If anything, the ending feels less like happily ever after and more like the beginning of a very lonely life played at double time.

• Whiplash 2014 review
• Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash
• Miles Teller as Andrew Neiman
• J.K. Simmons as Terence Fletcher
• Terence Fletcher abuse and teaching methods
• Andrew Neiman ambition and obsession
• Whiplash ending explained
• In spite of Fletcher or because of Fletcher
• “Not my tempo” scene
• “Were you rushing or dragging?”
• “There are no two words more harmful than good job”
• Whiplash final performance
• Caravan at Carnegie Hall
• Andrew and Fletcher final scene
• Paul Reiser as Andrew’s father
• Whiplash family dinner scene
• Nicole and Andrew breakup
• Whiplash missing chart scene
• Jazz, perfectionism, and self-destruction
• Whiplash as a horror movie about greatness

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But The Happening (2008) keeps finding the least frightening version of every possible choice. Wind blows through trees. Grass sways. People stare blankly. Mark Wahlberg says science words like a man who has never been inside a classroom voluntarily. And somehow, a movie built around mass suicide, environmental collapse, and social breakdown becomes funny in ways it absolutely does not seem to understand.

That is why this episode goes Low. Not because the concept is worthless, but because the execution is so bizarre that the movie becomes less of a thriller and more of an accidental comedy about hot dogs, lawnmowers, lemon drinks, and the least convincing science teacher in film history.

In this episode, we try to answer the obvious question: is The Happening still terrible, or has time been kinder to it? After rewatching it, the answer is that it is still terrible, but in a way that is almost impossible to look away from. This is not some forgettable bad movie where nothing happens. Too much happens. People jump off buildings, feed themselves to lions, lie down in front of lawnmowers, and deliver lines like they are speaking a language recently invented by aliens.

We spend a lot of time talking about where The Happening sits in M. Night Shyamalan’s career. This is not a lazy “Shyamalan was never good” conversation. He had already made The Sixth Sense, Unbreakable, Signs, and The Village, so we know he understands suspense, dread, silence, and atmosphere. That is part of what makes this movie so confusing. He takes a concept that could work and then builds it around one of the least cinematic villains possible: the wind.

And that becomes one of our biggest problems with the movie. Wind, trees, and grass are not automatically scary just because the score says they are. You can only cut to ominous leaves so many times before the threat starts to feel like aggressive landscaping. Because the plants themselves cannot do much visually, the movie leans on the suicide imagery, and the best version of that comes right at the beginning. The construction worker scene is probably the movie’s strongest sequence. It is eerie, simple, and genuinely upsetting. Bodies falling one after another from a building is an image that actually works.

But after that, the movie keeps trying to escalate, and the deaths start getting more ridiculous than horrifying. The lion scene. The lawnmower scene. The shotgun house. The movie clearly wants these moments to be shocking, but they often play like slapstick with blood.

We also get into the whole neurotoxin explanation, which sounds science-adjacent until you think about it for more than five seconds. If the toxin shuts off self-preservation, does it also shut off pain? Reflexes? Panic? The basic human instinct to move when something horrible is happening to your body? The movie wants the rules to sound scientific, but every new death makes the logic feel shakier.

Then there is Mark Wahlberg as Elliot Moore, one of the strangest pieces of casting in modern studio horror. We talk a lot about how hard it is to buy him as a gentle, thoughtful science teacher. It is not just that he feels miscast. It is that every line seems to become more awkward once he says it. “Be scientific, douchebag” basically becomes the thesis statement for the whole performance.

Zooey Deschanel as Alma has her own problems too. While she is not inherently a bad actress, this movie gives her almost nothing that works. Her relationship drama with Elliot is supposed to give the story emotional weight, but it mostly feels like filler. The whole marriage subplot, the guy calling her, the tiramisu betrayal, the tension between them, none of it feels urgent or real. John Leguizamo’s Julian basically has to explain their marriage problems to us because the movie cannot make us feel them.

We also talk about Julian handing off his daughter Jess, including the very weird “don’t take my daughter’s hand unless you mean it” moment. In theory, it should be emotional. In practice, it feels like one more example of characters saying things no human being would say in that exact situation.

And then there is the hot dog guy. Wow. Somehow, he is the first character to seriously suggest that plants might be behind everything, but he also cannot stop talking about how hot dogs have a cool shape and protein. That is The Happening in one scene: useful exposition wrapped in total nonsense.

One of the biggest questions we keep coming back to is whether The Happening is secretly supposed to be a B movie. Shyamalan has talked about it that way, and though that explanation is tempting, we do not fully buy it. If it is supposed to be funny, the movie is too stiff. If it is supposed to be scary, it is too funny. The tone never settles, and that is what makes the whole thing so strange.

That said, we do find a few highs. The premise is strong. The opening scene works. And the Mrs. Jones section near the end is probably the closest the movie gets to matching its own weird energy. By the time we get to “you eyeing my lemon drink?” the movie has become so bizarre that the creepy old lady sequence almost feels right. It is awkward, uncomfortable, funny, and unsettling in a way the rest of the movie keeps trying and failing to be.

The ending is another major discussion point. Elliot and Alma walk into the wind, the threat just stops, the news explains the movie, Alma is pregnant, and then the Happening starts again in Paris. It is abrupt, convenient, and weirdly underwhelming. We even end up workshopping a better explanation than the movie gives us, which is never a great sign.

By the end, The Happening is not just a bad environmental horror movie. It is a movie full of interesting ideas, terrible dialogue, miscast leads, accidental comedy, and moments so strange they deserve to be preserved. It fails, but at least it fails memorably.

• The Happening 2008 review
• M. Night Shyamalan’s first R-rated movie
• Mark Wahlberg as Elliot Moore
• Zooey Deschanel as Alma Moore
• John Leguizamo as Julian
• The Happening killer plant theory
• Airborne neurotoxins in The Happening
• Environmental horror movies
• Why The Happening is unintentionally funny
• “Be scientific, douchebag” scene
• The Happening construction worker opening
• The Happening lawnmower scene
• The zookeeper lion death scene
• The shotgun house scene
• Hot dog guy plant explanation
• Mrs. Jones lemon drink scene
• “You eyeing my lemon drink?”
• The Happening ending explained
• The Paris ending in The Happening
• M. Night Shyamalan career low points

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Fifty years later, Scorsese’s film still has a pulse because it does not flatter the audience. It asks us to sit in Travis’s cab, hear his thoughts, absorb his disgust, watch him mistake obsession for purpose, and then deal with the fact that the world might reward him anyway. That is why this one goes High. Not because it is easy to watch, but because it gets harder to shake every time you revisit it.

This episode digs into Taxi Driver as one of those movies that may not fully hit the first time you see it. The argument here is that good movies provide answers, but great movies ask questions, and Taxi Driver is nothing but questions. What does Travis Bickle actually want? Is he trying to save anyone, or just looking for somewhere to aim all that rage? Is the ending real, fantasy, afterlife, media mythmaking, or some nightmare combination of all of it?

A huge part of the conversation centers on how Paul Schrader’s script builds Travis through voiceover without using it as a shortcut. The journal entries are not just exposition. They are a trapdoor into Travis’s head. Lines like “my life needed a sense of someplace to go” become the key to the whole character. Travis is not tethered to anything. He has no politics, no real relationships, no taste, no emotional vocabulary, and no understanding of how to live among other people. So when Betsy, played by Cybill Shepherd, appears to him as an angel in the filth, he turns her into a symbol before he ever sees her as a person.

That failed date with Betsy gets a lot of attention here because it is one of the most tragic and uncomfortable scenes in the movie. Travis has the right impulse at first. He works up the courage to speak to her, asks her out, and somehow gets further than he has any right to get. But then he takes her to a porn theater because that is the only version of “the movies” he knows. The episode’s take is that this is what makes Travis so disturbing and sad at the same time. He is not trying to offend her. He simply has no idea how warped his own normal is.

The discussion also spends time on the movie’s split structure: the first half built around Travis’s fixation on Betsy, the second around his fixation on Iris, played by Jodie Foster. Foster’s performance is described as especially upsetting because she is both performing adulthood and visibly still a child. The diner scene, where Iris behaves like a kid while trying to act like someone much older, becomes one of the clearest examples of how finely tuned the film’s supporting performances are.

And then there is Harvey Keitel as Sport, a character who is charismatic for about half a second before the horror of what he represents takes over. The episode points out how strange and important the scene between Sport and Iris is because it is the one major moment that steps outside Travis’s direct point of view. In a movie so locked into Travis’s head, that break matters.

The biggest High, though, is Scorsese’s direction. The episode keeps coming back to how subjective the filmmaking is: the Alka-Seltzer fizzing like pressure in Travis’s skull, the cab being washed by fire hydrant water like some failed baptism, the camera drifting away from Travis during his painful phone call because even the movie can barely stand to watch him. Taxi Driver is not just about a man losing his grip. It is shot like the grip is already gone.

Bernard Herrmann’s score also gets singled out as essential. It moves between smoky noir romance and pure psychological dread, almost like it is scoring two versions of Travis at once: the lonely guy who thinks he is in an old detective story, and the unstable man who might turn any street corner into a horror movie.

The biggest debate in the episode is the ending. One read is that Travis survives the shootout, gets turned into a hero by newspapers and public narrative, and returns to the cab still dangerous, still unresolved, still waiting for the next demon in the rearview mirror. The other read is that everything after the shootout has the quality of wish fulfillment: Betsy back in the cab, Travis admired, the world finally seeing him the way he sees himself.

The episode does not flatten that ambiguity. It leans into it. The rearview mirror sting is treated as the perfect final note because it suggests that whatever Travis experienced, he has not been cured, redeemed, or understood. He has only been rebranded.

Even the one Low is complicated: the desaturated shootout. Scorsese had to mute the blood to avoid an X rating, and while that compromise is frustrating, the episode admits the washed-out, pinkish, grimy look may accidentally make the scene feel even more nightmarish. That is the kind of conversation this episode has with Taxi Driver: not just “great movie,” but why the damage, compromises, contradictions, and unresolved questions are part of what make it one of Scorsese’s most disturbing masterpieces.

• Taxi Driver 1976 review
• Martin Scorsese’s direction in Taxi Driver
• Paul Schrader’s Taxi Driver screenplay
• Robert De Niro as Travis Bickle
• Travis Bickle loneliness and male isolation
• Taxi Driver and the incel reading
• Bernard Herrmann’s Taxi Driver score
• Betsy and Travis’s failed date
• Cybill Shepherd as Betsy
• Jodie Foster as Iris
• Harvey Keitel as Sport
• Albert Brooks in Taxi Driver
• Peter Boyle as Wizard
• Scorsese’s Taxi Driver cameo
• “You talkin’ to me?” mirror scene
• Taxi Driver ending explained
• Rearview mirror final shot
• Taxi Driver shootout and X rating
• New York City decay in 1970s cinema
• Is Taxi Driver Scorsese’s best movie?

Previous listeners: we know it’s been a while. One of these days we’re gonna get organ-iz-ized.

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After a very reasonable, not-at-all-concerning multi-year pause, Dom and Dee return June 5 with new episodes about the best and worst that cinema has to offer.

Some episodes are HIGH episodes: classics, masterpieces, and movies worth revisiting. Some episodes are LOW episodes: disasters, trainwrecks, and movies where you start wondering if anyone on set knew they were making a movie.

And sometimes, the best movies have lows, the worst movies have highs, and a few movies leave us completely confused by both.

Subscribe now so the first new episode is waiting for you when Movie HighLow returns June 5.

Send your HIGHS and LOWS to MovieHighLow@gmail.com.

In The Fanatic, you’ve got a character study, a thriller, and a dark comedy all fighting each other… and none of them really win.

And somehow, that’s what makes it so... fascinating?

We break down:

Why the tone is completely all over the place The strange (but committed) performance from John Travolta How the movie keeps undercutting its own serious moments And why this story almost works… but never quite gets there

👉 It wants to be disturbing 👉 It ends up being confusing 👉 And sometimes… accidentally funny

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We talk about the film’s broken kidnapping plot, Ben Affleck’s bizarre performance choices, Jennifer Lopez’s underwritten “tough” character, the movie’s wild tonal swings, and the sense that everyone involved is trapped in a project that got away from them. We also get into the larger story around the film, including Martin Brest’s career after the release, the movie’s overstuffed two-hour runtime, and the one stretch almost everyone remembers: Christopher Walken somehow wandering in and stealing the whole thing.

Is Gigli truly a disaster… or is there something weirdly fascinating hiding underneath?

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We also talk about Michael J. Fox’s performance and why it was so essential, the emotional weirdness of Marty becoming his mother’s crush, the brilliance of Hill Valley as a self-contained world, Alan Silvestri’s score, the joy of the Johnny B. Goode sequence, and why the last stretch at the clock tower remains one of the great endings in blockbuster filmmaking. Plus: a few nitpicks, some sequel talk, and a firm stance that this is one movie Hollywood should leave alone.

⚡ 1.21 Gigawatts of analysis. Let’s go.

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We get into James Horner’s haunting score, Cameron’s mix of practical and digital effects, Kate Winslet’s central performance, Billy Zane’s gloriously hateful villainy, the movie’s class politics, and the way Titanic balances historical tragedy with pure Hollywood melodrama. We also talk about where the movie feels most alive, where it shows its seams, and why Rose’s story ultimately carries more weight than the film’s more formulaic love-story mechanics.

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In this episode, we get into why the film still feels so unsettling and alive, from its warped visual language to the way it turns time travel into something tragic, paranoid, and psychologically unstable.

We talk about Gilliam’s direction and why his surreal style is such a perfect fit for James Cole’s fractured point of view, the film’s blend of post-apocalyptic sci-fi and time-loop storytelling, Brad Pitt’s unhinged and funny performance as Jeffrey Goines, and the role reversal between Bruce Willis and Madeleine Stowe as the story keeps shifting its sense of reality. We also dig into the airport memory, the Army of the 12 Monkeys misdirect, the movie’s layered rewatch value, and the small details that make it feel so strange and specific.

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We get into the movie’s wildest choices, from the idea of a shark personally targeting the Brody family to Ellen Brody’s near-psychic connection to the threat in the water. We also talk about the sequel problem, the way Jaws gets reduced from a landmark film into a hollow brand, and why this entry still has some camp value if you meet it on its own ridiculous terms. Along the way, we cover Michael Caine as Hoagie, the painfully forced romance, the recycled echoes of the original film, the infamous ending, and the handful of moments that are funny for reasons the movie probably never intended.

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This week on Movie HighLow, we revisit Big—the classic Tom Hanks film that somehow hits even harder the older you get. What starts as a fun “kid becomes an adult overnight” story turns into something way deeper.

🎡 A wish gone wrong

🧸 A dream job at a toy company

💔 And a reminder that growing up isn’t always what you think

We break down:

Why Tom Hanks’ performance is still unbelievably convincing as a kid in an adult body

How the movie changes depending on when you watch it

The balance between comedy, fantasy, and something surprisingly emotional

And… yeah… that relationship (you know the one)

🎹 Plus:

The iconic piano scene

The weirdness you definitely didn’t notice as a kid

And why this movie still works decades later

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This week on Movie HighLow, we break down Knives Out—the insanely fun, layered whodunit from Rian Johnson that surprised us way more than we expected.

🕵️‍♂️ A dead mystery novelist

🏡 A house full of suspects

🎭 And a detective with a very questionable accent

At first, it feels like a classic whodunit… …but then the movie flips the formula on its head.

We get into:

Why this might be the most fun murder mystery in years

How the movie gives the audience more information than the characters (and why that works)

Daniel Craig’s surprisingly hilarious performance

Why Ana de Armas becomes the emotional core of the story

And how this script rewards you even more on a rewatch

🎬 Plus:

The “live-action Clue” vibes

That insane ensemble cast (seriously, everyone shows up)

The twist… and the twist behind the twist

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This week on Movie HighLow, we’re diving into Jacob’s Ladder (2019)—a remake of a cult classic that… doesn’t quite justify its existence.

🪖 A war medic haunted by trauma

🧠 Hallucinations that blur reality

😈 And a story that never quite lands

At first, it feels like it might work…

…but the deeper it goes, the more it falls apart.

We get into:

Why the movie feels rushed from the start

The problem with revealing too much too early

Why the twist doesn’t hit the way it should

The overuse of CGI horror vs practical effects

And the biggest issue: it doesn’t bring anything new to the story

🎬 Plus:

Some surprisingly decent visuals and shot composition

A few ideas that almost work

And why this might just make you want to rewatch the original instead

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This week on Movie HighLow, we’re diving into Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind—a film that’s as heartbreaking as it is brilliant.

💔 A relationship falling apart

🧠 Memories being erased

❄️ And two people who can’t seem to stay away from each other

This isn’t your typical love story. It’s messy. Honest. Painful. …and uncomfortably real.

We get into:

Why this feels more like real relationships than most movies

Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet completely flipping their usual roles

The genius of Charlie Kaufman’s screenplay and non-linear storytelling

How the memory-erasing concept actually works (and why it feels believable)

And why the middle of this movie is where it truly becomes unforgettable

🎬 Plus:

The small, painfully real moments that hit the hardest

Why this is one of our all-time favorite films

And the question that sticks with you long after it ends…

👉 Is it better to forget… or to remember, even if it hurts?

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This week on Movie HighLow, we’re diving into The Irishman—Martin Scorsese’s long, quiet, and brutally honest look at the cost of a life in the mob.

🧓 Aging hitmen

🤝 Loyalty vs betrayal

⚰️ And a life that ends not with violence… but loneliness

This isn’t Goodfellas. It’s what comes after.

We get into:

Why this feels like Scorsese’s “final word” on mob movies

The legendary performances from De Niro, Pacino, and Joe Pesci (in a very different role)

The emotional weight behind the Hoffa storyline

Why the ending hits harder than any shootout

And yes… the de-aging (what works and what doesn’t)

🎬 Plus:

The small moments that make the story feel real

Why this movie is intentionally slower and quieter

And the idea that this isn’t about crime… it’s about consequences

👉 In the end, this might be the least glamorous gangster movie ever made.

And that’s exactly the point.

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.

Check out:

•  Martin Scorsese NY Times Op-Ed - https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/04/opinion/martin-scorsese-marvel.html 
•  Irishman "deepfake" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyRvbFhknRc
•  The Shining starring Jim Carrey - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HG_NZpkttXE
• "Home Stallone" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2svOtXaD3gg

This week on Movie HighLow, we’re diving into The Wicker Man (2006) — a movie that somehow failed as a thriller… and accidentally became a comedy classic.

🐝 Nicolas Cage vs. bees

🐻 A bear suit for no reason

👊 Punching his way through an entire island

What was supposed to be a dark, psychological remake turns into something completely different… and honestly, way more fun.

We get into:

Why this is the definition of “so bad it’s good”

The absolute insanity of Nicolas Cage’s performance

The unintentionally hilarious dialogue and moments

The bizarre third act that completely goes off the rails

And whether this movie is secretly more entertaining than it has any right to be

🎬 Plus:

The infamous “NOT THE BEES!” scene

The twist (and why it kind of works… and kind of doesn’t)

And how this became one of the most meme-able movies ever

👉 This isn’t a good movie.

👉 But it is a great time.

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.

References:

• "Nic Cage Losing His Shit" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zySHepF04c   
•  Nic Cage Interview talking about his process/using fake cocaine (also referenced in show) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1sziPDrRJc
• "Mega Wicker Man" (long standing YouTube favorite) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJ-5Mg_12zo
• "Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans" (one of many legitimately great Nic Cage Movies/Performances) - https://amzn.to/2GmZAPL

This week on Movie HighLow, we take on Battlefield Earth (2000) — a sci-fi epic that somehow became one of the most infamous flops of all time.

👽 Psychlos

🐀 Man-animals

📉 9 Razzies (yes, NINE)

What was supposed to be a massive sci-fi franchise starter turns into a confusing, overlong, and honestly exhausting experience.

We get into:

Why this movie feels way longer than it is

John Travolta’s wild performance (and endless villain laughs)

The infamous “Dutch angle” overload

The bizarre tone that never quite lands

And the moment that almost makes it worth it:

👉 “DO YOU WANT LUNCH?!

🎬 Plus:

The confusing plot and uneven world-building

Why the concept actually had potential

And how this movie became a textbook example of what not to do

👉 It’s not fun-bad.

👉 It’s not good-bad.

👉 It’s just… bad. (…with a few unintentionally hilarious moments)

🎧 Listen on your favorite platform:

Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/movie-highlow/id1894669466

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/5F6GMoqeJcahbZtk592a9a

📲 Follow Movie HighLow:

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/moviehighlow

On the very first episode of Movie HighLow, we start with a HIGH—and it doesn’t get much higher than The Dark Knight.

🃏 A Joker with no rules

🦇 A hero pushed to the edge

⚖️ And a city forced to choose what it stands for 

This isn’t just a comic book movie.

It’s a crime story.

A character study.

And a film that completely changed what blockbuster movies could be.

We get into:

Heath Ledger’s unforgettable Joker performance

Why this version of the Joker is so different (and so terrifying)

Harvey Dent’s arc and the idea of heroes vs villains

Christopher Nolan’s grounded, realistic approach to Batman

And whether the movie really has any flaws

🎬 Plus:

The philosophy behind chaos vs order

Why the movie still feels relevant today

And the moments that made this an all-time classic

👉 Gotham deserves a better class of movie… and this might be it.

🎧 Listen on your favorite platform:

Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/movie-highlow/id1894669466

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/5F6GMoqeJcahbZtk592a9a

📲 Follow Movie HighLow:

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/moviehighlow