Arcaneya

Category: Movies

  • Megalopolis (2024) – The Caesar Salad of a Plot

    I totally understand why Francis Ford Coppola would spend $120 million of his own money on a passion project like Megalopolis. The idea of transforming New York into a New Rome is packed with creative potential, and the film certainly doesn’t disappoint in its worldbuilding. It features striking characters, realtively deep conversations, and believable political tension that pays homage to ancient Rome. But when it comes to storytelling, the film feels scattered and unfocused.

    Ok, we have a beautiful new world—but no real story. So instead of creating a story around a lead character, the Coppola seems to have picked a handful of familiar tropes, mixed them together, and built some sort of a narrative around those. The result feels like a Caesar salad of the cheapest kind—some parts are indeed juicy and flavorful, but much of it ends up being tossed out just to get through it.

    Here’s a quick breakdown of the tropes that, in my opinion, worked — and those that didn’t and then we’ll discuss why.

    ✅ Worked well:

    • Forbidden love
    • Love triangle
    • Power struggle / hunger for money

    ❌ Fell flat:

    • Hero with supernatural powers from the get-go
    • “The special one” or the Messiah figure
    • The resurrection

    An especially unrelatable protagonist

    Cesar is the quintessential “special one” — not only does he have the extraordinary ability to stop time (for some reason that Coppola was fascinated about but adds nothing to the story), but he also cheats death itself, ultimately surviving a gunshot to the face without a scar. When was the last time we saw a character so powerful and invincible from the very start?

    He’s portrayed almost as a messiah figure, a visionary savior meant to reshape the world, but this mythic status ultimately makes him feel less like a real person and more like an untouchable symbol — powerful, but frustratingly unrelatable for anyone in the audience.

    The questionable love

    Julia’s love for Cesar doesn’t begin as a genuine connection but rather as admiration for his extraordinary powers, something she openly expresses. She seems captivated more by the idea of Cesar as a messianic figure—the “special one” who holds the fate of the world in his hands—than by the man himself. This isn’t true love, yet the film never addresses this and portrays her feelings as sincere, which makes it all especially confusing.

    The double disconnect

    I would call this a double disconnect. Even if I could somehow relate to Cesar—which I cannot—there’s an additional hurdle: the love he receives from Julia feels fake and unearned. This second emotional gap makes it even harder for us in the audience to invest in his journey, as the relationship, which should humanize him, instead reinforces his distance and untouchability.

    Instead of feeling happy for the two and enjoying the moment, the audience is left wondering: Do I also have to bend time and cheat death to earn this kind of beautiful love? Or maybe, how many guys like that even exist for me out there?

    What’s the answer to that?

    Well? Weeeellll?

    The non-symbolic ressurection

    In most stories, resurrection is symbolic—a transformative moment where the hero sheds their ego and steps into a greater version of themselves. It’s about growth, humility, and confronting one’s inner limitations. But in Megalopolis, Cesar’s resurrection skips the introspection. It doesn’t mark a shift toward a higher self—it simply reaffirms that he is the chosen one, the exceptional being above all others.

    These are the storytelling elements I thought were worth pointing out. The rest of the movie, like I said, is a salad to nitpick. More precisely—an unsalvageable salad with no redemption arc though I’m never a disbeliever. It’s just that I didn’t even order a salad — I came for popcorn and a soda.

    Ira

  • Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014) — Clever, But a Half-Assed, Superficial Character Arc

    Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014) kicks off like a slick lovechild of Men in Black and James Bond—with clever writing, sharp pacing, and just enough attitude to make it stand out. It blends the secret-agent cool of classic spy thrillers with modern disdain, flashy action, and cheeky charm. The setup promises a fresh twist on the genre: a street kid entering a world of tailored suits and lethal manners. And for a while, it all clicks—right up until the story seems to lose patience with its own potential.

    Eggsy’s character development starts off promising:

    • Hero has flaws ✅
    • Hero gets motivated ✅
    • Hero goes through trials ✅

    But somewhere along the way—maybe because Valentine, our villain with a tech empire and zero patience, had itchy trigger fingers—the rest of his arc gets rushed, skipping over some crucial beats:

    • Hero never repents, apologizes, or undergoes real transformation ❌
    • Hero never confronts or addresses his flaws ❌
    • Hero never truly fails at anything and needs to recalculate (unless you count refusing to shoot the dog) ❌
    • No “dark night of the soul” or other pondering❌

    And because of that, the rest of his development feels rather superficial. This is essentially how it unfolds—though whether it’s justified enough to even call it development, I’ll leave for you to decide:

    1. Before visiting the tailor, Harry shares a quote with Eggsy:

    “There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”
    — Ernest Hemingway

    It’s a clear nod to the idea of transformation—the death of one’s old, ego-driven self. But as noted, Eggsy never truly goes through that transformation on screen.

    1. Soon after, he gets the iconic suit—symbolically stepping into the Kingsman role.
    2. He witnesses Harry’s death, which maybe suggests a potential spark of determination to step up and take his place.
    3. He later outsmarts Arthur by spotting the scar behind his ear and cleverly switching the glasses of brandy.

    And just like that, the film basically presents Eggsy as having reached his mastery. We’re told he’s ready when Valentine’s plan escalates and the Kingsmen need him.

    For a global intelligence agency, Kingsman seems remarkably short-staffed at the climax. The absence of other agents when the stakes are that high felt less like plot and more like an insult to the audience’s intelligence.

    Luckily for them, they were in a movie where Eggsy is the star—so they gambled on his plot armor and sent him in.

    And that was that.

    Ira

  • Baywatch (2017) — The Apology at Midpoint: Nah, It Doesn’t Work

    We’ve already discussed how the story structure in Baywatch (2017) feels all over the place. One clear sign of this is Brody’s surprisingly sincere apology before even the midpoint—when, in most stories, genuine apologies are reserved for the closing moments, marking the resolution of character arcs. This early apology prematurely defuses conflict and disrupts the tension that should be building. Midpoints are typically designed to complicate the story, not to smooth things over. Therefore Brody’s apology feels out of place, weakening his arc and leaving the audience less invested in his further development.

    So, how should the writers have handled this moment, especially when the characters clearly find themselves in shambles—when an apology feels necessary?

    Anything but apology

    Anything but an apology. At this point in the story, the protagonist should be doing everything but saying sorry. He’d be desperate—pleading, begging, or trying to manipulate the situation to his advantage. Maybe he tries to charm his way out of trouble, uses bluff or bravado to mask his insecurities, or even blames others to deflect responsibility. Perhaps he leans on alliances or calls in favors, desperately trying to tip the scales back in his favor. This raw, unrepentant struggle not only heightens the tension but also deepens the character’s complexity, making his eventual growth more earned and impactful.

    The protagonist is too weak

    The key reason for storytellers to keep in mind is that, at this point, the protagonist is simply too weak to apologize. An apology literally requires the courage to kill the ego—in a moment of true vulnerability and strength—that the character hasn’t acquired yet.

    The insincere apology

    At most, the protagonist might force themselves to apologize at the midpoint, but like anything forced, it comes off as obviously insincere—and should be perceived that way by the other characters as well. This way, the tensions are also kept high and the eventual reckoning inevitable.

    Delaying the real apology until the final act gives it weight. By then, the character has faced consequences and wrestled with their flaws, so the moment feels earned.

    Know “the rule” to break it

    Of course, there are exceptions. If a story truly needs a character to repent early, it can work—but only if the writer understands what’s being sacrificed. Breaking the rule only works when you know the rule. That kind of choice should be intentional, not accidental. Otherwise, you end up like Baywatch (2017)—writing yourself into a corner and leaving the rest of the story with nowhere to go.

    Ira

  • Baywatch (2017) — Plot Overboard: Where Were the Lifeguards? Can We Save It?

    The plot of Baywatch (2017) was supposed to be a fun update of a campy ’90s TV show, but it ends up drowning in its own vanity. The film fails to deliver on almost every level: the character dynamics don’t feel right, the structure is all over the place, and the character arcs either go nowhere or offer little emotional payoff. What could have been a breezy, self-aware summer comedy sinks under its scattered tone and its obsession with style over substance.

    One of the film’s core problems is its confused sense of who the lead actually is. Zac Efron’s Matt Brody is set up as a classic redemption arc, but the story constantly sidelines him in favor of Dwayne Johnson’s Mitch, whose overpowering presence turns the narrative into an identity crisis. Is this Brody’s journey or Mitch’s showcase? The film never quite picks a lane, and as a result, neither character fully lands.

    If on the other hand, we imagine Brody firmly in the lead and Mitch sidelined into a mentor archetype, the story immediately feels more grounded. This structure not only offers a clearer character arc but also creates room for meaningful growth, tension, and emotional payoff.

    A disgraced athlete

    The film could have opened with a far sharper sense of character by introducing Brody alone on a sunny pier, trying to hustle a few bucks by challenging local swimmers to a show-off race—offering them a ten-second head start just to make it “fair.” It’s a small, slightly pathetic moment, but a perfect window into a disgraced Olympic star clinging to ego and spectacle.

    Mitches intro

    As Brody crosses the finish line and pockets a handful of bills—clearly small change—the camera shifts to Mitch, perched confidently atop the lifeguard tower. Observing Brody’s antics with a mix of amusement and disdain, Mitch dismissively calls him “pathetic” to Summer, then casually invites her to join the upcoming trials.

    The inspiration/motivation in Summer

    As Brody passes the tower, Summer smirks and teases, “How much did you make?” Their playful banter reveals Brody’s interest in her and naturally leads to his decision to join the lifeguard trials, providing a clear and personal motivation for his growth.

    The mentor is reserved

    Brody performs surprisingly well in the trials—still rough around the edges, but undeniably skilled. Yet Mitch remains hesitant, unconvinced by Brody’s attitude. It’s only when Mitch’s boss steps in, that Brody is reluctantly accepted onto the team.

    The fallout

    Trying too hard to impress Summer and look cool, Brody jeopardizes Mitch’s quiet investigation into drug activity. His reckless behavior blows their cover, creating real tension with Mitch and forcing Brody to face the consequences of his ego.

    The begging

    When Mitch threatens to kick him off the team, Brody doesn’t apologize—he begs. Listing off why he needs this chance, it’s a raw, desperate moment that, unlike the original film’s rushed apology, keeps the tension alive.

    The reckoning

    When a second fallout occurs and Mitch is ready to cut Brody loose for good, his boss steps in and blocks the decision, citing protocol and pressure from above. Frustrated and feeling undermined, Mitch chooses to walk away instead. Which would be in accordance with the original idea.

    The struggle and repentance

    Mitch’s departure hits Brody hard. With the team fractured and pressure mounting, he struggles to hold things together—and fails. It’s a harsh reality check that strips away his ego. For the first time, Brody isn’t trying to impress anyone; he just wants to make things right.

    The apology

    It’s only after Brody finally offers a sincere apology—not just for messing up, but for the kind of person he’s been—that the team fully accepts him. With trust finally earned, they regroup to take down the drug operation. And when Brody ends up trapped in an underwater cage during the final showdown, Mitch’s return lands perfectly—not as a savior, but as a partner stepping back in at the right moment.

    The return of the goddess

    Summer’s interest in Brody only becomes genuine once he has truly changed. Their eventual kiss isn’t just a typical romantic moment—it’s the natural outcome of Brody’s growth, his earned trust from the team, and the real connection they’ve built. This balance gives the story its emotional heart, making the romance feel meaningful rather than forced, and providing a satisfying conclusion to both the character arcs and the overall narrative.

    Ira

  • Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023): The most underwhelming ending in history of franchises

    Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny delivers everything fans could hope for — thrilling action sequences, nostalgic callbacks, and Harrison Ford’s outstanding performance as an aging yet still spirited Indy. The film balances humor, history, and heart, successfully transporting viewers on one last globe-trotting quest filled with mystery and excitement. For the most part, it’s a satisfying addition to the legendary franchise.

    However, considering this was meant to be Harrison Ford’s final outing as Indiana Jones, the ending was as underwhelming as a birthday party where the host drops the cake—with the candles still lit. Instead of a powerful farewell that honors the character’s legacy, the movie opts for a quiet, almost anticlimactic conclusion. Indy’s fate wasn’t his to decide — Helena knocks him out and drags him back to the present, while the final emotional reconciliation with Marion feels orchestrated off-screen, stripping Indy of any real agency in his own story.

    This lack of meaningful closure undercuts the emotional depth the franchise has carefully built around its beloved hero over five legendary installments. Indiana Jones — a character defined by his courage and decisive action — is reduced to passivity when he should be at his most engaged and reflective. For a franchise that has thrilled audiences for decades and left an unforgettable mark on cinema history, this ending feels like a surprisingly flat finale.

    So the question is: what would a more meaningful ending look like? The filmmakers actually had an incredible opportunity to deliver a deeply emotional and satisfying farewell — one that truly honors Indiana Jones’s legacy — right there in the palm of their hands.

    A Suggested Rewrite for a More Fulfilling Ending

    Imagine if, instead of wanting to stay in ancient Sicily just for the sake of it, Indy confides in the great Archimedes that he’s really trying to escape the chaos in his life — especially the troubles with his wife. Archimedes then becomes a voice of reason and heart, counseling Indy:

    “It is love that truly bends time and amends the past. Your journey isn’t over until you choose to heal what you left behind.”

    This moment would give Indy the emotional clarity and agency to decide to return to the present, not out of force, but out of hope and love. It would also transform the Dial of Destiny from a mere plot device into a destined symbol of his personal redemption and healing.

    Such an ending would provide powerful and poetic closure — showing that after a lifetime of thrilling adventures and chasing legendary artifacts with the power to bend time and space, Indy’s greatest discovery isn’t a material treasure, but the power of love and the courage to express it.

    Ira

  • Jurassic World Dominion (2022) – they sure stomped on the plot

    When Jurassic World arrived into theaters in 2015, it wasn’t perfect, but it had enough awe, nostalgia, and teeth to win audiences over. But with each sequel, the franchise’s score — and storytelling quality — has taken a noticeable dive. By the time Dominion arrives, the dinosaurs are still running, but the plot feels like it’s out of breath. The premise of humans and dinosaurs coexisting had real potential, but Dominion squanders it with disjointed storytelling, hollow villains, and the baffling choice to turn a once-promising character like Maisie into little more than a tool to move the story along.

    It’s always sad to see a beloved franchise lose its way. So instead of dwelling on Dominion’s missteps, let’s imagine the story it could’ve told — one that honors the legacy and gives the dinosaurs (and especially characters) the spotlight they deserve.

    For example, let’s center it around the classic girl-meets-boy dynamic, which I don’t think we’ve seen yet with the dinos.

    Lose the opening data dump

    First of all, lose the data dump the the beginning. Nothing kills momentum faster than front-loading a story with walls of exposition. Trust the audience to catch up — let the world unfold naturally, through action, tension, and character. If you have to explain everything upfront, maybe the story’s not ready to be told.

    Ramp up the intensity

    The idea of giant beasts roaming freely through cities completely kills the tension the franchise built up. Instead, imagine dinosaurs contained in secure reservations, with tight monitoring and red alerts blaring whenever one gets too close to humans. That controlled danger keeps the stakes high without turning the story into a chaotic free-for-all.

    Split the world in two camps

    One pushing for strict restrictions and safety protocols, and the other—think Greenpeace-style activists—fighting to give the dinosaurs more freedom. This clash creates real conflict and raises ethical questions, grounding the story in something meaningful instead of just random chaos.

    Increase the debate

    A dinosaur, finally freed by the activists, accidentally stumbles into a town, destroying houses and tragically killing some people. Suddenly, the debate isn’t just theoretical — it’s urgent, messy, and heartbreaking. This forces both sides to confront the real consequences of their choices.

    Give us protagonist who is human/flawed

    Which means starting out fearful. Someone who flinches at every roar, hides when danger comes, and wants nothing more than to stay safe. Maybe because of some bad experience in the past. But slowly, moment by moment, they grow. Not because the fear disappears, but because they learn to move through it. By the end, they don’t just survive the world of dinosaurs — they earn their place in it. A teenage girl would make that part most appropriate with her archetypal scream.

    Make protagonist live her normal life

    Since the premise is a world where humans live alongside dinosaurs, let the protagonist actually live in it. Let her go to school, deal with curfews triggered by a nearby raptor sighting, complain about dino-proof lockers, and maybe awkwardly meet a crush while ducking behind a reinforced bus stop. Show us the everyday normal in this new world — the blend of awe, fear, and routine. That’s where the story starts to feel real.

    The magician archetype

    Although fearful, she’s still magical, like the magician archetype. Have her stand in the middle of Grandma’s doorway with a big gift for her birthday. She smiles sincerely, heart in her eyes, sparkling with potential. She is the gift.

    Grandma: “What’s in it?”
    Her: “It’s the dino radar. ‘Cause you live out here…”

    Also, what’s a more commonplace event than dinner at Grandma’s, complete with an intense debate about the new circumstances?

    Make her boyfriend the opposite

    Her crush? He’s the opposite — bold, fearless, the kind of guy who sneaks into restricted zones just to get a little closer to the dinosaurs, grinning the whole time and take selfies. But it’s not just for show. He likes them — really respects them. Behind the daredevil exterior is someone who feels connected to these creatures, and that’s what draws him toward the environmentalist camp.

    Mirror their differences on the world stage

    The divide between her and her boyfriend is echoed on a larger scale — the government is split too. One side pushes for aggressive control: culling populations, tightening borders, treating dinosaurs as dangerous pests. The other argues for coexistence and protection, pointing to the black market and poaching as the real threat.

    In his eyes she should see who she is

    She takes the cautious path, pushing for stricter control over the dinosaurs. But the harder she fights, the more she sees it’s hurting him — and, in turn, hurting her.

    Have them try to make love in the reinforced cabin in the middle of woods, while she jumps at every little sound outside.

    She’s also too controlling in their relationship, which pulls them further and further apart.

    Introduce the villains, her shadow self

    He spots a small, untagged dino in the woods and convinces her to follow. She’s tense, urging caution, but he’s curious. Suddenly, a tranquilizer shot rings out — poachers. They watch, hidden, as the hunters capture the dino and load it into a truck. He insists they follow them to the conceiled black market.

    The break up

    He expects her to help him free the animals. But she hesitates — it’s too risky, too reckless. They argue. He accuses her of being afraid to do what’s right; she says he’s too impulsive to see the danger. Neither backs down. The tension snaps, and they go their separate ways.

    The break down

    She tries to return to normal—school, curfews, routine—but can’t shake what happened. One day, she quietly tells her friend everything. As she talks, the weight of it hits, and she breaks down. Her friend just listens. It helps, a little.

    Government wins culling legislation

    The control side wins — legislation passes to begin widespread culling. Officials call it a safety measure. News outlets celebrate stability, others are appalled. To her, it feels hollow. A pyrrhic victory. The fear won, but at what cost? The guilt sits heavy: she argued for control, and now it’s happening — not with caution, but with force.

    Then she meets him – the dino

    One day, after some sobbing she is sitting alone near the woods. From the trees, a dinosaur steps out, slow and cautious. She freezes, unsure, but doesn’t scream. The creature doesn’t threaten. Instead, it stops, watching her. Then, almost impossibly, it lets out a gentle compassionate sound.

    She looks up, meeting its eyes. She doesn’t feel afraid. And she loves what she sees staring back. The sparking eyes of her new best friend.

    The sense of freedom and the contrast

    One day, the dinosaur seems unusually calm, almost waiting. She climbs on its back, and it gently carries her to a hilltop. They watch the sunset in silence. It’s peaceful, but the new culling law hangs over her. She’s grateful for the moment — and quietly unsure how many more there will be. They fell asleep with his head in her lap.

    Collapse the world on her head

    Government agents discover she’s hiding the dinosaur. Suddenly, her quiet world collapses — they’re hunting her now, and so are the black-market hunters. She’s caught between two dangerous forces, forced to run and protect the one creature she cares about most.

    She’s determined to fight back

    Determined to fight back, she teams up with her dinosaur companion. Along the way, they gain the unexpected help of a nearby T-Rex, whose presence turns the tide in their favor. Together, they sneak into the black market to free the captured animals — all while staying hidden from government agents. At the last minute her boyfriend magically joins her to help with the efforts.

    Let the dino go, also her boyfriend

    At the end, she knows her dinosaur friend can’t stay—too dangerous for both of them. With a heavy heart, she says goodbye as it prepares to run off with the herd. It’s not just a farewell, but a release.

    She says goodbye to her boyfriend as well, giving him complete freedom with no heavy heart at all.

    She gets arrested and held at the police station for a while.

    They both come back

    One day, government agents search her apartment for evidence of the dinosaur. Suddenly, her dino friend appears in the backyard. The agents raise their guns, but she steps in front of the dinosaur to protect it. They threaten to arrest her. Just then, her boyfriend arrives with legal papers granting her an exception, forcing the agents to back down.

    Meanwhile, back in the government, the appeal succeeds—officials agree to postpone the culling. It’s a temporary victory, giving her and the dinosaurs more time, and a sign that change might still be possible.

    She and her boyfriend might then just for what it’s worth – optimistically ride the dinosaur into the sunset.

    Ira

  • The Suicide Squad 2016 – Or rather “Suicide inducing” – can it be fixed?

    The concept of imprisoned criminals working for the government held great promise but was largely wasted. Like many big-budget productions of this era, the movie fell victim to corporate pressure in its scriptwriting, directing, and editing.

    The end result was a mess—especially storywise. The plot felt rushed and disjointed, trying to juggle too many characters and conflicting villain arcs without giving any of them enough depth. Instead of a cohesive narrative, the film ended up as a patchwork of chaotic scenes that failed to build real tension or emotional investment. So, could it have been put together more coherently?

    Without the corporate pressure and with a bit more diligent storytelling, the fix almost presents itself by itself.

    Lose the opening data dump

    Instead of a smooth setup, the film jumps into rapid-fire character introductions, almost like you’re flipping through a deck of trading cards. This rushed approach strips the Squad of the chance to develop natural, spontaneous motivations or chemistry, making their actions feel forced and disconnected rather than earned.

    Raise the “suicide” stakes

    The film never really shows why the team is called the Suicide Squad—after all, these prisoners are supposed to be expendable, sent on deadly missions with little chance of survival. Yet, surprisingly, hardly any of them actually die in the movie, which undermines the sense of real danger and stakes. Thankfully, this crucial aspect was better addressed in the soft sequel, where the expendability of the characters finally felt real and carried real weight.

    Pump up the Joker character

    The problem with the Joker character was that the writers just left him hanging in the air. There’s no real sense of who he is or why anyone would follow him. Now imagine if they had shown a scene with him in a room full of people—each one deranged in their own way but still likable (important), dressed wildly, laughing like him, completely devoted. The Joker cult. Suddenly, he makes sense. That kind of chaotic atmosphere would have given his presence weight and purpose, turning him from a cringe-worthy oddity into a truly menacing force.

    The Joker isn’t scary just because he’s crazy—he’s scary because his madness spreads. It infects people. That’s what makes him dangerous.

    Show Joker outsmarting everybody

    Let’s face it — there probably shouldn’t be a Joker movie without an intense scene where he outsmarts his opponents like nobody else can. The Joker’s genius lies not just in chaos, but in his unpredictable intellect and cunning.

    He isn’t scary because he is loud and obnoxious, but because he knows something you don’t.

    Streighten up the enchantress shadow archetype

    The film confused the Enchantress’s shadow archetype by turning her into a generic destruction-driven villain rather than embracing the classic manipulative enchantress role. Instead of being a subtle, seductive force who bends others to her will, she’s reduced to a blunt, world-ending threat. Straightening this out would mean highlighting her powers of mind control and manipulation, making her danger more psychological and nuanced rather than just explosive and destructive.

    Give enchantress a proper motivation

    Her motivation should focus on conquering a world that has forgotten her, seeking to be worshiped forever rather than just destroying everything. This desire for power and recognition would make her a more complex and driven villain, rooted in pride and a need for lasting influence.

    Turn Joker culists into enchanted army

    The crucial fix would be to make Joker—the one who doesn’t bend to noone—fall under the Enchantress’s spell. This twist would not only deepen his character but also transform his group of cultists into a truly enchanted, dangerous army. Instead of the brainless cannon fodder army that we’ve witnessed. It would also give Harley Quinn a much richer relationship with Joker, caught between her devotion to him and the supernatural influence controlling him.

    This way, the Joker would have had a proper place in the story. Without it, he basically came across as a pathetic nerd trying to sneak into a cool high school party.

    Make Squad members repent for their sins

    …before you award them their full powers.

    It was such a wasted opportunity. Who better to bring to the point of repentance than disgraced prisoners—outcasts with blood on their hands and regrets buried deep? The story could have allowed them to confront their pasts, wrestle with their inner demons, and gradually earn not just power, but purpose. Only then could the universe, the writers, and—most importantly—the audience in their minds truly reward them with their full expression. Without that journey, their transformations feel unearned, and the emotional payoff never lands.

    In the end, Suicide Squad had all the right ingredients: a bold premise, iconic characters, and a chance to turn a group of villains into something oddly heroic. But under the weight of corporate meddling, confused motivations, and missed opportunities, it collapsed into noise. The tragedy isn’t that it failed—but that it could have been something truly unique.

    Let’s just say that Harley’s smeared lipstick is a story element so I can grade it 2/10.

    Ira

  • Man of steel (2013) – An Overrated Pile of Space Waste

    Storywise ofcourse. But what good are decent cinematography, visuals or acting if your story isn’t solid?

    It actually had a strong premise for meaningful character development: a superpowered extraterrestrial who wants to help but is held back by his father’s doubts and fears. The idea of a reluctant hero destined for greatness once he overcomes those restraints had tremendous dramatic potential. Instead, the story shifts into a demolition derby—city-leveling battles with Kryptonians that, while visually impressive, overshadow the more human and emotional aspects of the narrative. Also, if everyone is infinitely powerful, is anyone really infinitely powerful?

    But that’s not even the worse of it. So here is the list of the most blatant storytelling sins that I’ve gathered:

    They turned Superman into a MacGuffin*

    SuperManGuffin, basically. They hid the krypton codex into the poor guy. And it’s super important all right — because now the entire Kryptonian civilization somehow hinges on him, and they’ll stop at nothing to get to him.

    But why would Jor-El — his own father — do something like that to a baby? And more importantly, why would the writers do that to him?

    Because now his entire identity becomes meaningless. He’s not important because of who he is or what he chooses to stand for — he’s important because of some codex no one in the audience even cares about.

    But here’s the real story problem:

    Villains represent hero’s shadow self

    Villains—in this case, the Kryptonians or whoever they may be—should represent Superman’s shadow self: a reflection of his negative choices, or at most, the karmic baggage of his parents’ past.

    If he’s a force for good in the universe, as he clearly is, the universe should respond in kind. And yet, we still have these guys coming after him with relentless aggression. Sure, they’re technically after the MacGuffin—but still.

    How hard would it really be to write Superman making a bad choice—one that actually leads to the emergence of villains?

    His motivation didn’t even come from him

    No, Superman’s motivation didn’t come from trying to impress his mom, father, Lois, or something similar, that would come from within. But instead, his father Jor-El basically told him what to be.

    “The people of Earth are different. I believe that’s a good thing. They won’t make the same mistakes we did—not if you guide them, not if you give them hope. That’s what this symbol (S) means,” said Jor-El, rather half-heartedly.

    It was almost as if even Russell Crowe knew that wasn’t the way to truly motivate someone. And this whole idea of the “S” somehow representing hope? As far as I can tell, it’s not an H.

    Why did they write Jor-El into the story that way, anyway? Would it really have been so impossible to make Superman a hopeful character without ever knowing his father? Or couldn’t they have introduced him in a different, less intrusive way? Because the way they handled it only dragged the story down even more.

    The data dumping sin

    Clark wanders into a buried Kryptonian scout ship. Jor-El’s hologram appears and just downloads the entire history of Krypton, his origin, and his purpose — all at once.

    The audience gets wall-to-wall exposition:

    • What Krypton was
    • What the Codex is
    • Why he was sent to Earth
    • What Zod is doing
    • Why Clark matters

    And boom — the mystery, the tension, the self-discovery? All gone in 5 minutes of AI hologram monologue.

    And at the end of it, the truly impossible happens.

    The Superman suit from the christmas past

    Jor-El presents Superman with his signature suit—no inspiration, no action, no character development leading up to it, so it ends up being symbolic of nothing.

    And worst of all, it’s somehow just sitting there on a 20,000-year-old Kryptonian ship buried in the Canadian ice. How exactly is that possible? Complete with the House of El crest and everything?

    Sometimes I wonder if I’m being intentionally hit with this kind of cognitive dissonance just so my conscious mind shuts off—and they sneak in some Coca-Cola programming or something.

    Zod hates Clark for no reason

    When you stop and think about it for more than five seconds, why do Krypton people hate Clark? He is one of them and they should trust he would want to cooperate at least a bit.

    Instead? It’s just “Join us or die,” like a generic villain script written with the caps lock stuck on.

    Zod literally attacks the one being who he thinks holds the only chance at rebuilding his people.

    Zod’s TED talk in Clark Kent’s dreams

    And here we go again—another massive info-dump, with Zod unloading his side of Krypton’s lore while Clark is supposedly unconscious.

    I call that the “Dream That Isn’t” sin.

    Everyone says, “Show, don’t tell,” but once you’ve written yourself into a corner a couple of times, the only option left seems to be a data dump just to get the plot moving again.

    However, at this point, it didn’t even matter—the showdown between “gods” was about to begin, heartless and massively destructive.

    Well, at least they managed to acknowledge the obvious Superman character development conundrum: how do you present meaningful trials and tribulations for a character who’s already great?

    And for that, i give the story 2/10.

    Ira

    *MacGuffin – A term, coined by Alfred Hitchcock, describing a story item important to the characters and plot development but not at all to the audidence.

  • Unfrosted 2024 – Bad or just misunderstood?

    “Unfrosted,” Jerry Seinfeld’s movie and directorial debut about the 1960s rivalry between cereal manufacturers Kellogg and Post, was met with some harsh criticism. Jerry himself played the lead role of Bob Cabana, the fictional head of development at Kellogg during that era. Negative feedback focused on the pacing, the humor, the script — and just about everything else. Which leads me to say:

    Cereasly?

    Because I, on the other hand, enjoyed every minute of it. I thought it was brilliant. The humor was sharp and the fast pacing made perfect sense — it mirrored the script’s theme of racing toward the next big breakfast innovation. As for the script itself, I saw it as a storytelling masterclass that was either misunderstood or simply underappreciated.

    Here’s why I thought it was brilliant:

    Storytelling principle: Ending should bring us closer to god

    Let me explain. One man’s effort toward a goal often brings him nothing but exhaustion — a fatigue that typically surfaces around the midpoint of the story (if it follows that structure). It’s not until he turns toward something greater — fate, faith, or even God — and lets go of control that his chances for true success begin to rise.

    In Unfrosted, the ending centers on the success of the Pop-Tarts. So, to make that payoff resonate with this principle (which is a solid storytelling choice), the script wisely implies throughout that their success was, in fact, destined.

    And it was executed expertly:

    • The creation of Pop-Tarts wasn’t the result of one man’s effort, but a culmination of many characters following their passions and doing what they loved.
    • One character even somehow breathed life into his creation — a subtle suggestion that a higher power, or “God,” was near.
    • All their contributions were eventually unified by Bob’s sudden burst of inspiration, triggered by a chance encounter with some kids dumpster diving.
    • Even the name “Pop-Tarts” emerged after a series of almost absurd coincidences — as if destiny had a hand in all of it.
    • All while Bob himself was losing more and more control. He was captured by the “Organized Milk” mob, thrown unprepared into a meeting at the White House, and during the cereal funeral, when Mrs. Schwinn asked if he had planned the “cereal honors,” he simply replied, “I don’t know.”

    So, who other could than be behind it all? 🙂

    Moving forward, in a clear contrast, Post’s efforts in the other camp became apparent when they came up with the uninspired brand name ‘Country Squares’ that flopped.

    Other key story elements were there too — but I’ll save those for another article. Honestly, I don’t think this script could have been put together any better. And I believe that one day, people will come to appreciate it a lot more.

    Ira

  • Snow White 2025 – The Rachel Zegler’s debacle – Should Snow White dream about prince or not?

    We all remember Rachel Zegler’s comment about “not doing the prince thing” the second time around — referring to Disney’s live-action remakes.

    How unheard that a princess should dare dream about a prince?

    It’s safe to say Rachel put at least half of the moviegoing world on high alert with her comment — and into deep contemplation.

    And the verdict? Well, it came with the box office results.

    So, prince it is! But why?

    It’s not that there’s anything wrong with the idea of a more independent princess, right?
    However, stories aren’t really about that. Stories aren’t about perfect people.

    Stories are about flawed characters in search of perfection — in search of themselves.
    Young princesses are still naive, doubtful, and fearful. They dream of security, of someone to take care of them.

    But most importantly, like any other human being, they dream of love. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Ofcourse if you’re a princess, that love usually comes in the form of a prince.

    The search for love is the guiding principle. In truth, it’s a search for yourself — for the love that is you. Finding a prince and receiving his kiss is just a confirmation that you’ve found it.

    Everything leading up to that moment is the story. And what you do with it once you’ve found it — well, that’s another one.

    The third story – Rachel’s

    In this case, there’s also a third one: good old Rachel Zegler’s story—the one that began with mocking the original film.

    Because no, making fun of something is not love. It’s something else entirely. It’s the attempt to become what one is not. It’s a venture into darkness, where evil resides. We’ve all done it—many times. Some are still caught in it. But those who have emerged from it now have a story to tell.

    Have a nice day,

    Ira