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  • Coherence (2013) – Yeah, But the Real Question Is: Is the Story Coherent?

    Coherence (2013) is one of those rare low-budget sci-fi films that punches way above its weight. It’s always intriguing to see a movie tackle supernatural topics like quantum superposition, and this one dives right in—crashing the party like it owns the place. For such a small production, the filmmakers did a fantastic job with tension, atmosphere, and mystery. Some commenters gripe that the acting feels off, but hey—how are you supposed to act naturally when you’ve never experienced anything like this, and probably never will?

    But we’re here to talk about the story.

    The era of results-oriented moviemaking

    As we’ve mentioned more than once, we live in an era of results-oriented moviemaking—where economic, creative, and deadline pressures are everywhere. And the first thing that usually suffers is the script. Good writing needs time, and more importantly, mental space for inspiration and refinement. This is especially true for stories like this, where the phenomenon being explored—like quantum superposition—is barely understood, even in scientific circles.

    Also, in today’s hyper-competitive market, studios often feel pressured to cram as many high-concept ideas into a script as possible—trying to appear smarter, edgier, or more thought-provoking than the competition. But more often than not, this backfires, leaving audiences confused rather than impressed. Instead of depth, you get a tangled mess of half-baked concepts that don’t have room to breathe or make sense. That’s not to say it isn’t fun to occasionally try and untangle even the hardest knot afterwards.

    So, how coherent is Coherence?

    Honestly, the script feels as solid as it needs to be, with no noticeable plot holes—and that might just be the benefit of not being a big-budget movie. The quantum themes are handled in a way that aligns well with what we currently understand about the subject, without going overboard or getting lost in pseudo-science. For me, the writing team’s skill became clear right from the opening dinner party—it was one of the most natural and believable group dynamics I’ve seen on screen. The dialogue, full of cross talk and seemingly unimportant anecdotes, felt incredibly authentic. That grounded, natural atmosphere made the supernatural elements that followed feel all the more jarring and effective.

    All in all, Coherence was genuinely enjoyable to watch, and I’d absolutely recommend it—especially if you’re into mind-bending stories with a grounded execution. Now, let’s point out the Major Arcana archetype that played the biggest part in the story, and to which the movie—knowingly or unknowingly—paid significant homage.

    The High Priestess – The Unknown

    In the tarot, the High Priestess sits between two towers—one of truth and one of illusion. One might argue that these towers are quantumly superimposed: coexisting in potential. They live side by side in the spirit, in the realm of the future—waiting for consciousness to collapse them into one reality or the other.

    The tower on her left, sometimes overlooked, represents illusionary inspiration: the comfortable lies, half-truths, and unknowns we surround ourselves with. Before the onset of free will, there were no towers—only truth. But with choice came ambiguity, and with ambiguity, illusion. In Coherence, the illusion isn’t just visual or situational—it’s existential. The characters don’t just confront alternate realities; they confront the unsettling possibility that they don’t know themselves at all. The High Priestess energy hovers over the entire film, challenging both characters and viewers to question what’s real, what’s not, and whether finding out is even desirable.

    Ira

  • The House (2017) – The Perfect Archetypal Script!

    The House (2017) is a suburban crime-comedy starring Will Ferrell and Amy Poehler, built on a interesting premise: two desperate parents turn “their” basement into an illegal casino to pay for their daughter’s college tuition. Despite that promising concept, the finished film received mixed reviews, with critics divided over whether it delivered on its comedic promise and if wagering a substantial bet on rather chaotic scenes paid off.

    I say, they’re just a bunch of jackasses who don’t appreciate a good script, right? The House actually had all the essential ingredients: the mundane setup, the darkness, the motivation, the rising tension, the envelope-pushing chaos, the fallout, the attempt to set things right, and the final push toward redemption. In other words, whether intentionally or not, it basically hit all the beats of the Major Arcana, our favourite storytelling model.

    So lets point them out then.

    Major arcana archeypes in The House

    The magician, the will and the manifestor ✅

    As a family, they successfully manifest their daughter’s college acceptance—and have the will to see it through.

    The devil ✅

    Bob, the town council member, denies the scholarship

    Justice – Free will to make decision ✅

    Scott and Kate (the parents) are forced to face the consequences and make a choice—how to come up with the tuition money, and what they’re willing to risk.

    The high priestess – The inspiration for the unknown ✅

    Scott and Kate are guided by their daughter’s yet untapped potential—quietly motivating their every reckless move.

    The Hermit – The isolation ✅

    After the scholarship is denied, Scott and Kate are left to navigate the problem alone—cut off, with no support in sight.

    The lightning – The idea ✅

    In a symbolically flashy Vegas setting with Frank, the wild idea strikes—run an illegal casino to solve it all.

    The empress – The infatuation ✅

    The group becomes enamored with their new venture—seduced by the thrill, blind to the consequences.

    The wheel of fortune – The ups and downs ✅

    Running an illegal casino in a suburban basement brings chaos—and the trio rides every high and low that comes with it.

    The star – The hope ✅

    With every small success growing into a bigger one, so does their hope of eventually getting their daughter into college.

    The emperor – The controller ✅ The Strength ✅

    Faced with spiraling chaos, they clamp down hard—asserting dominance, even if it means slicing off a cheater’s finger to send a message.

    The moon – The illusion ✅

    They don’t create real wealth—only the illusion of it, wrapped in flashing lights and false confidence.

    The hanged man – The balancing out ✅

    Bob, the town council member, confiscates their money—suspending their momentum and tipping the scales back.

    The hierophant – The sincerity ✅ The Sun – Heart to heart ✅

    After all the chaos—and some admittedly offputting bloodshed—Scott and Kate share a genuine moment with their daughter, and even Frank finds a bit of truth with his wife.

    The death – The apology ✅ The judgement – resurrection ✅

    Every apology is a small death of the ego—and Scott and Kate face theirs as they finally apologize to their daughter. After that, they’re reborn into their higher selves—which shows the very next moment.

    Meanwhile, Frank’s house burns down, symbolizing the death of his old self, while also sparking a small resurrection in his relationship with his wife.

    The world – The universe ✅

    Just when all seems lost, the universe steps in—Officer Chandler arrives and sides with them.

    The Two paths (lovers) – Determination ✅

    Together, they make their choice—to stand united and fight back against Bob.

    The chariot – The execution, the purpose ✅

    Fueled by determination, they charge ahead and carry out their revenge swiftly and with purpose.

    The temperance ✅

    After successfully dropping their daughter off at college, Scott and Kate finally slow down to savor the fruits of their wild adventure —the will, the hope, the strength, and the determination. The double parker didn’t even know what hit him.

    So, beneath the surface of this loud, messy comedy lies a surprisingly structured narrative that hits every major arcana beat. All the archetypes—The Magician, The Devil, The Emperor, The Star, and the rest—are practically embodied in The House’s chaotic journey. Maybe critics missed the bigger picture. This movie isn’t just a wild ride of absurdity—it’s a cleverly disguised tarot spread, and that’s why I think it’s way underrated.

    The True Story Score: 9/10, because of the rather hectic execution in some parts.

    Ira

  • 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

  • The Villain’s Wet Dream — A Bioweapon That Wipes Us All Out

    It’s a trope as old as the spy thriller: the villain develops a terrifying bioweapon designed to wipe out half—or all—of humanity. But let’s be real: this idea is less a plausible threat and more a villain’s fantasy. In reality, the creation and use of such a weapon is riddled with impossible challenges, paralyzing fears, and metaphysical complications that movies rarely explore.

    1. Too Dumb to Build It

    First off, creating a bioweapon capable of mass destruction isn’t just evil—it’s insanely complex. Most villains, and their minions, lack the scientific brains and resources to invent such a weapon. More often than not, they’re stealing or hijacking something that already exists. This isn’t just a storytelling shortcut; it’s a reflection of reality. Crafting deadly pathogens takes cutting-edge labs, top-tier experts, and years of work—not exactly the stuff of quick villainous plots.

    2. Biology Is Neutral — It’s the Spirit That Powers It

    But even beyond science, there’s a deeper truth, often overlooked outside spiritual circles: biology itself is neutral. A virus, bacteria, or toxin is just matter—neither good nor evil. What gives it destructive power is the energy, intent, or spirit behind it. Without that metaphysical force animating it, a bioweapon is just a lifeless tool. This spiritual perspective challenges the usual “cold, calculated” villain narrative and suggests that true menace comes from the villain’s inner darkness, not their lab equipment.

    3. The Metaphysical Size of the Villain

    Which brings us to the heart of the matter: how big is the villain metaphysically? The real threat isn’t the weapon itself, but the magnitude of the villain’s dark energy and willpower. The more powerful their spirit—the more intense their ego and destructive intent—the more dangerous they truly are. A bioweapon is just an extension of that force, not the source.

    4. Fear of Self-Destruction

    Finally, even if a villain somehow managed to create such a devastating bioweapon, would they actually use it? Negativity, in all its forms, is notoriously afraid of dying or losing control. Using a weapon that wipes out half the world risks triggering uncontrollable chaos—and potentially the villain’s own end. This fear of self-destruction restrains many villains, adding a layer of complexity missing in most movies, where the villain just presses the big red button without hesitation.

    In sum, the doomsday bioweapon is less a credible threat and more a villain’s fantasy—an exciting but fundamentally flawed plot device. Understanding these layers can help storytellers create more believable antagonists and richer narratives, while reminding audiences to take these high-stakes threats with a grain of salt.

    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

  • Understanding the Villains from the Concept That All Is One

    Let’s face it: villains are an essential part of every story. When they make their entrance, we often instinctively feel that their presence is justified—that they belong within the narrative’s world and purpose. Yet, all too often, villains come across as out of place or forced, lacking clear motivations that resonate with the audience. This disconnect can make the story feel unbalanced or unconvincing.

    To craft compelling villains—and to avoid these common pitfalls—we need to understand them on a deeper level. One powerful way to do this is through the concept of oneness, the idea that everything is interconnected. Embracing this perspective can reveal the intricate reasons behind a villain’s appearance and help us see them not as isolated antagonists, but as vital, integrated parts of the story’s whole.

    Mind creates

    First of all, we must remember the creative power of our minds. Our thoughts serve as the blueprint upon which our personal universe is built. When we replace an old belief with a new thought, we change the underlying energy—and our physical reality can do nothing but gradually, yet surely, manifest this new blueprint.

    Others are part of us

    Because they are part of our mind, our thoughts, and the blueprint—consequently our reality—they are nothing but part of us. We can freely choose what our thoughts about everybody else will be, and consequently watch them getting closer to or further away from us.

    If someone is affraid of something, we want them gone

    Because we are one with them, we feel their fear suffocating our soul. Naturally, we want to push them away, and if that fear doesn’t change, we desire to see them gone forever.

    People who are afraid often wither away, as the universe naturally lets go of them. The only way for anyone to truly flourish is through the opposite of fear—love.

    The same goes for selfishness

    So fear is, in a way, our reality’s integral choice to disconnect. But the same idea applies to selfishness, which is a far more deliberate decision.

    When someone makes that choice, they once again separate themselves from the rest of us—and as a result, they will wither away.

    The same goes for all negativity

    The same goes for all other negative acts—anger, hatred, greed, envy, and for example deceit—all serve to deepen the divide, pushing the individual further from unity and vitality, until only isolation remains.

    Villains are universal magic

    The villains are basically the universe’s way of getting rid of the unwanted—those who, through selfishness, fear, or other negative acts, have disconnected from themselves/ourselves. Their emergence in a story reflects the audience’s collective desire to confront and remove these disconnected parts.

    Or rather, present the proganists who made bad choices with trials and tribulations—challenges meant to help them realize that something is amiss within themselves and, if possible, to correct their course and mend their actions.

    Which is exactly what the whole storytelling actually is.

    Final thoughts

    So, when we see a villain on screen, now we know what’s their purpose. They represent hero’s shadow/negative self. And vice versa, when we see a hero being chased by villains, we can now understand why it came to that. It’s rarely that they are innocent victims.

    They have done something fearful or selfish, and the universe—meaning the audience, including yourself—is responding to that.

    You might ask yourself, Why do I want to see this character removed or challenged? This is the very question the audience is asking as well.

    As a writer, know that sooner or later, the audience will want to uncover those hero’s flaws or negative traits—and they will want to see them addressed and transformed. Don’t leave this arc unresolved.

    In this way, the emergence of villains will allways remain meaningful and justified.

    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