March turned out to be an amazing month. Mostly, I got to spend time doing live performances of nonfiction at several venues. There was First Person Live out in Arlington Heights featuring a fabulous crowd. Then I got the chance to do a very personal story for Is This a Thing? at O’Shaughnessy’s Pub on Ravenswood in the city. It’s the latter that actually inspired one of my current projects, but more importantly, it’s been a while since I did something so cathartic. People laughed, they cried, and some felt like someone saw them in a way they hadn’t ever been observed.. 

The sad thing is I wasn’t entirely sure the story would go over. Although I spent several weeks preparing, the full narrative never really felt right. Mostly it seemed like ripping open old wounds then intending to fling blood (metaphorically speaking) at the audience, occasionally praying things would seem absurd enough for a chuckle. On the drive over, though, something finally clicked, and the whole performance came together on stage. But since I was worried about bombing, I didn’t record.
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The lesson there is to roll tape no matter what. After all, I’m still quite terrible at playing the social media game. Such a video would certainly help there. However, it’s easy to anticipate failure when one has a perpetually pessimistic perspective, and I had no desire to document defeat. That expectation is what tends to keep me grounded. Always doubting if something is good enough tends to help refine material. The trick is not getting overly critical to the point one becomes self-defeating. 

​That’s why it’s nice when certain victories arrive unexpectedly. My contributor copy of a Sherlock Holmes anthology recently came in the mail. It contains my short story “A Case of Clay”. The story centers on a knocker-up whose romantic partner vanishes after robbing a ship which seems to only contain crates full of a strange clay. It comes to a satisfying, albeit grim conclusion. In addition, the publishers seemed to enjoy it enough they asked me to pitch something for their next anthology. While there’s no guarantee that will get accepted, having the opportunity feels good.

​Meanwhile, I’m getting ready for live shows in April. I’ll be performing at Serving the Sentence on April 14th in Rogers Park. Me and several other splendid storytellers are given a sentence as a prompt we must use in whatever kind of tale we tell, whether fiction or factual. Afterwards, on the 26th, I’ll be featured in 20x2 at the Gman Tavern in Wrigleyville. That’s essentially where twenty performers are given 2 minutes each to deliver their take on a specific prompt. And just for fun, on April 1st I’ll be at Grandpa’s in Glenview to do some nonfiction. 

And of course, work is coming to a close on the next Beerfinger album “The Wreck of Hope”. The main delay, besides being the only person in the band, has been just trying to get things right instead of rushing to the end. I don’t want to settle for good enough on this one. As much as I do my best, some tracks in the past could have used a second polish. In addition, as I’m taking my time, I keep coming up with extra ideas which means I’ve added four songs to the album in the last few weeks. All that’s left is recording vocals on the new tunes. I am honestly aiming for an April or May release at this point, so fingers crossed all goes well.

Thanks for checking in. Keep safe, stay weird, and always steal shot glasses from bars that have bad service. 

Lottery players would kill for the same odds hinting at calamity for the dead today and the doomed tomorrow. Such guaranteed victory is alluring to any gambler. Perhaps that’s why online sites such as Kalshi now take stock market style bets on real life events. After all, if it’s so obvious something is going to go one way or another, capitalism strongly suggests only a fool doesn’t try to make a dollar on an assured outcome.
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For the time being, this prediction betting platform has yet to start taking bets on political violence. However, that hasn’t stopped them from aiming at whatever cash they can collect by encouraging gambling on global affairs which could turn into military firestorms. So long as the blood remains an ethereal aspect of tomorrow, the grossly cynical inhumanity of what they’re doing is apparently ignored vis-à-vis the old adage out of sight, out of mind. 

Still, Kalshi already has a page dedicated to the powder keg that involves the U.S. seizing control of Greenland. They’re also already letting people gamble on the regime change in Venezuela. Once they find the right semantics to word a bet in the least offensive way possible these cash-ghouls will likely sink their teeth into other simmering catastrophes.

It’s hard to imagine founders Luana Lopes Lara and Tarek Mansour aren’t drooling over the prospect of money mountains they could rake in allowing gambling on the potential riots looming in Minnesota. The only reason not to permit any such bets is simply because the pay out might be crippling. Of course, the real money isn’t made cashing out to those with foresight. It’s the optimistic suckers who bet against reality. Their money will feed the gluttonous greed of the capitalist beast.

That said, such bets would be risks bordering on offensively foolish. It’d be like betting against a bear in a pit fight with an infant. Consider, there’s a grim foresight that permeates the Trump era of the United States. Although this makes gambling on the future almost a sure thing, the grotesque obviousness of certain situations, the seemingly inevitable outcomes on the horizon can be psychologically crippling. Living through this dystopian nightmare, while occasionally farcical, is often like staring down a slow-moving train creeping towards an avoidable wreck. Every day we wake up in a chemical fire caused by such preventable catastrophes.

The most recent misfortune in this appalling clown show, all of which is designed to amuse a screaming tangerine toddler, is the tragic murder in Minneapolis of Renee Nicole Good, “a 37-year-old mother of three… prize-winning poet… who was there as a legal observer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) activities.” On January 7th, 2026, an ICE thug shot and killed Renee in an incident that is as horrifying as it was completely unnecessary.
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This jackbooted goon, one of the many incompetent, unqualified, and likely ill-trained brutes terrorizing immigrants as well as citizens throughout the United States is the latest predictable escalation in the Trump administration’s war on our collective sanity. It fits right into a pattern that has featured worsening outcomes for months. Consider, that the moment reports came in of Renee’s murder, the President immediately hopped on Truth Social, his preferred bully pulpit to declare she was a “professional agitator” and that regarding the officer who shot her, “it is hard to believe he is alive, but is now recovering in the hospital.” 

Homeland Security Secretary and proud puppy killer, Kristi Noem, was quick to sycophantically echo the President’s dishonesty, while cosplaying as some kind of cowgirl commando. Both insist video evidence shows Renee ran over an ICE agent with her car, and he fired at her in self-defense. It’s tempting to say anyone who watches the actual video can see the plain falsehood of that claim. However, today in the Oval Office, in an attempt to prove his position, the President showed a video to the press. When journalists pushed that it can be plainly seen the ICE officer was not in danger, Trump disagreed.

It's worth pointing out that the photo accompanying The New York Times coverage of that conversation is very telling. Natalie Harp, a presidential aide clearly hired by Trump central casting Bring Me a Barely Legal Blonde, holds up a laptop displaying the video. It appears to be one of the worst views of the awful incident, so clearly there’s an obvious aura of disingenuousness about this attempt to prove the administration’s bogus assertion. Even if the video presentation went on to include better angles, the main fact is that Trump will never acknowledge any reality that does not fit the one which benefits him.

The best angle is hard to watch because it features a human being getting murdered by a coward. There isn’t any context where death is fun to observe. Speaking as someone who has watched material such as the infamous recording by the Dnepropetrovsk Maniacs a.k.a. “3guys1hammer”, there is something hauntingly odious about the death of Renee Nicole Good, especially in this disturbingly post-truth era old yam tits keeps driving us deeper into.

This was a completely avoidable tragedy based on every metric possible. ICE clearly escalates the situation, but that’s only because the President has made this Temu gestapo a jewel of his administration. They are meant to be the strongarm of a weak silver spoon narcissist aspiring to be a tin pot dictator.

Strength isn’t simply a matter of physicality. Strength is also the psychological fortitude to admit limitations, bear the brunt of being wrong, and continue onward in a new direction, having corrected course. Trump is demonstrably incapable of all those things. A weak individual to the core, the President is a house of cards glued together with bullshit that flinches in the presence of a strong wind, so he has surrounded himself with a horde of opportunistic Yes-people to shelter him from being blown apart by the absolute truth of his utter incompetence. He would rather vilify the victim of violence by his goon squad than admit ICE is a reckless risk to the people’s well-being.

I say that because this is clearly the point. It’s not simply a matter of trying to force people to conform to his confabulations. That’s the price of admission to his cult of personality—the loyalty test demanding people swallow heaping helpings of bullshit with a grin. Trump is also making it clear there will be zero accountability for the violence perpetrated under his name. That’s why he’s pardoned the January 6th Insurrectionists, and why right-wing propaganda is quick to accept any narrative from this administration that justifies murder.
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Consider how Representative Wesley Hunt hurried on to Newsmax to declare, “The bottom line is this: when a federal officer gives you instructions, you abide by them and then you get to keep your life.”

As if this pack of dogs are straight out of the Judge Dredd comics, given the authority to kill whenever they see fit. The intent is clear: the sanctioning of state violence against anyone who seems like opposition. Furthermore, the obvious playbook the administration is following involves creating powder keg scenarios, blaming the victims when predictable violence ensues, and using the tragedy as an excuse to justify more oppression. In other words, they cook up a riot then use it as an excuse to put a boot on the neck of the general population.
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Knowing this can result in a paralyzing sense of damned-if-ya-do-damned-if-you-don’t. The administration wants people to shut down due to depression. They want people to kowtow when ICE agents pass by, genuflecting in submissive thanks for not getting shot for nothing. They want people to feel like resistance will only make things worse, so let’s quietly endure things.

That’s certainly the attitude of the useless so-called “leadership” of the Democrat party. Senator Chuck Schumer in a brazen display of toothless rhetoric has repeatedly joined Hakeem Jeffries in giving stern warnings to the administration. Look out fiends! They’ll be sending angry letters soon, while telling their constituents to chill, wait for the midterms months away, and when elections are over, they promise then they will make things better.

Meanwhile, the delusional dimwit running this country is already expressing the need to cancel elections. In typical, Trump fashion he recently floated the idea publicly, though he quickly added he wouldn’t actually do it. It’s a maneuver he uses constantly, proposing a notion, claiming he’s not really serious unless it sounds like a good idea in which case he’ll have always meant it. It’s a mix of testing the waters as well as getting people used to him saying hideous things. By the time he’s canceling elections, it will be too late.

There is a perpetual fallacy in the Trump era that insists the system, particularly of checks and balances, will hold. Given time, the ship will right itself. The deceptive hope being offered is that resistance has an inevitable victory ahead. We, the people, just need to make it to the election and democratically dispose of this dictator. It’s a nice fantasy, however, a man with the intelligence of a brain damaged infant is still in charge. Not to mention, he has a history of ignoring the outcome of elections he doesn’t care for.

Even worse, the orange sewer goblin shitting on the Constitution may be the useful fool of more intelligent individuals. The Heritage Foundation penned the playbook for the current administration with Project 2025. In which case, the President is a moronic loose cannon being aimed at the institutions he’s taken an oath to protect.

Then consider how Mitch McConnell once “called Trump a ‘despicable human being’ and said he was ‘stupid as well as being ill-tempered.’ Trump’s behavior after the election, McConnell said, ‘only underscores the good judgment of the American people. They’ve just had enough of the misrepresentations, the outright lies almost on a daily basis, and they fired him.’” Yet, despite publicly stating Trump was at fault for the January 6th Insurrection and deserved impeachment for that coup attempt, McConnell voted against holding the orange menace accountable. He instead made a political calculation to maintain a Republican majority because he knew the shame of impeachment would irreparably stain the party.

Thinking about this, it’s easy to see why some people are giving up. The emotional toll of resistance is not something depicted in movies. Even when the fight gets rough, it’s a scene. One brief instant in a two-hour drama. The right monologue moves the main characters, and morale restored, they plunge back into the fray. Of course, fiction frequently comes with a guaranteed happy ending. The only guarantee these days seems to be that things are getting worse. It’s a recipe for substance abuse if nothing else. I gave up smoking a few years ago, but lord knows I've been longing lately to smoke a cigarette, joint, and shotgun.

​Yet, there’s a strange upside to the obviousness of these incompetent clowns. Their contemptible mix of brazen arrogance combines with an insufferable audacity that has them dancing out in the open when they should be taking cover. There’s no shadowy conspiracy at play, even when it sounds like one. Rather, the administration is an amalgamation of useful fools alongside sycophants placating a drooling dunce, and shameless opportunists, none of whom are capable of running things effectively.

Populist demagogues like Trump are only effective as a carnival sideshow. Eventually the distracting deluge of dishonesty can’t hide the truth. And the murder of Renee Nicole Good is a prime example of this. Despite the administration’s best efforts, the truth is clear: an ICE agent needlessly shot someone, killing her for no reason whatsoever. Even Tom Homan, a shaved milk gorilla playing border czar, has been cautious enough to state, “If [ICE] are acting outside of policy, I'm not aware of it. There'll be an investigation. They'll be held accountable.”

Using the same horse sense that allegedly keeps him open for a bride, he can clearly feel the winds shifting. This is not the hill to die on for his side, and while it may only amount to one battle for Trump’s opposition, it is a badly needed victory waiting to happen. I’d much rather this cause didn’t have martyrs paving the way to a world without Trump, but for lack of a better expression, we have to make the best of a deplorable situation or else Renee Nicole Good died for nothing.

As such, Governor Tim Walz, perhaps foreseeing Trump’s next move, has already issued a warning order for the National Guard saying, “I remind you, a warning order is a heads-up for folks, and these National Guard troops are our National Guard troops.” Such forces have already been Trump’s attempt to float a quasi-martial law, using them in ways they have never been intended. And that too has resulted in avoidable tragedy with the death of Sarah Beckstrom and the almost fatal wounding of Andrew Wolfe in a shooting.  

Kozy Krampus is a fabulous collection of relaxing horror stories perfect for any fright fan desiring a casual read. According to publisher Underland Press this anthology “contains 29 stories of the nocturnal monstrosities that slither down our chimneys while the coals cool and quiet, of the awkward terrors that lurk within pretty boxes with prettier bows, of the doom that creeps into our bowels as we cram yet another slice of sticky, gummy, oh-what-the-hell-is-this? fruitcake into our mouths… These are the horrors visited upon us by family, festivities, and futility.”

​It's an amazing assortment of unhinged horror that turns the ordinary nightmares associated with the holiday season into cosmic dread. Enjoy a pantheon of familiar and lesser seen monstrosities who prowl the yuletide calendar as well as cults you never imagined turning that time of the year into scares aplenty. Yet, all the while, there’s a charm to these tales that makes them ideal for a read beside the fireplace.

Kozy Krampus includes my own tale “The Cheshire’s Killer Cousin”. It’s a delightful bit of madness that feels like a Hallmark movie if they allowed a pint or two of blood alongside grim frights. The story centers around a bed and breakfast stalked by a creature from folklore that most people are unfamiliar with. So, if you’re searching for something fresh this Halloween season, or a fireside read to make the winter months more sinister, grab a copy of Kozy Krampus!

John Candy: I Like Me should come with a flood warning. There is a definite possibility of audiences experiencing a biblical deluge of tears. Though the name may not mean much to folks under the age of 24, witnessing the iconic comedian’s story is still likely to pull heartstrings opening flood gates in the process. Yet, just as many laughs lie along this soggy road which makes it worth however many watery eyes I Like Me produces.
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This documentary from Colin Hanks takes a look at the life of a legend. Granted, every biographer wants audiences to believe their subject is iconic, worthy of note, or at the very least an unknown pinnacle whom more people need to know about it. In a strange way, John Candy fits all of that. Having passed away at the age of forty-three roughly thirty years ago in 1994, there is hypothetically an entire generation that never got to enjoy his humor. 

That makes this exploration of his career not simply a celebration of his accomplishments, but an opportunity to highlight his contribution to the art of laughter. Even lifelong fans such as myself can easily begin to spot the way his style has permeated the landscape of contemporary comedy. Editors Shane Reid and Darrin Roberts deftly assist such illuminating moments by occasionally juxtaposing snippets of Candy alongside performers who have been inspired by him. Perhaps that’s why one of the executive producers is Ryan Reynolds; his comedic stylings clearly colored by Candy’s clowning.

​For the most part, the story sticks to a common formula. Though I Like Me starts with a heartbreaking eulogy by Dan Aykroyd, it soon follows the standard route of birth, beginnings, career rise, and his unfortunate demise. However, having begun the documentary with Candy’s funeral puts a strange spin on everything. The movie becomes a peculiar countdown to that instant echoing a sentiment that haunted the man his whole life.

Since his father died at 35 from complications due to heart disease when Candy was only five, he held a perpetual belief his own time would be short. As such, he aspired to live the most and do the most with whatever seconds he was afforded. The looming end in ’94 is a constant reminder of how he reached the stars with only a few short years before leaving this world. 

It’s that kind of peripheral melancholy which turns the documentary into a powerfully bittersweet experience. This isn’t simply a story about a beloved performer who died rather young. John Candy: I Like Me is a call to anyone watching that life is dreadfully short, with no warning regarding the end. One must make the most of that time.

In that respect, the film does an admirable job of recounting the comedian’s career in delightful detail. From his early days in Canadian improv to SCTV then finally on to Hollywood, there’s a genuine sense of watching someone find their creative footing. At the same time, it isn’t simply the story of one person. I Like Me casually highlights the people who helped Candy grow in confidence as well as occasionally shoved him into the limelight when he hesitated. It’s a great reminder that no artist takes flight alone.
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That community which helped raise him up provides many of the accounts. Famous faces mingle with family to share stories about John Candy most have never heard. During a Q&A following the screening at the Chicago Theater, his son Chris Candy reiterated something suggested in the documentary; that he was discovering new things about his father, finishing a portrait that has long remained incomplete. It’s a touching image of a person battling the stress of fame, the fear of mortality, certain insecurities, and all the while doing his best to be kind to everyone around him, bringing smiles whenever possible.

All of this is accentuated by archival footage alongside behind the scenes moments from movies and television, not to mention family films. One of the problems with someone as grand as John Candy is almost having too much material to choose from. Fortunately, this isn’t the first documentary from Colin Hanks.

​In 2015 he released All Things Must Pass: The Rise and Fall of Tower Records. Later he delivered Eagles of Death Metal: No Amis (Our Friends). The skills he’s accrued are plainly on display. I Like Me is devoid of wasted moments. It cuts to the heart of the subject without ever losing sight of Candy’s humanity. This is about the man behind the legend as well as the persona fans adored. And the presentation makes a case for the two being not too far apart—the classic double-edge sword of a performer being so honest onscreen it’s hard to get a break from expectations.

I’ve always said one shouldn’t trust any biography or memoir that is too flattering, and although this doesn’t dwell on darker elements, they are presented. That isn’t to suggest in any way some nightmarish revelation awaits. Rather, the film acknowledges Candy was prone to excessive alcohol consumption while never dwelling on it. Still, unlike Disney’s excessively sanitized doc The Beach Boys, there are acknowledgements of certain stones that paved the way to an early end. Then the film respectfully moves on once the points are marked. Sad as they may be, fortunately, there’s nothing horrific, simply the acknowledgement that things weren’t always pure golden sunshine. 

Overall, John Candy: I Like Me is a lovely celebration of a comedy legend. It highlights the hilarious points in a stellar career that spanned the improv stage, television, and film. Fans of his will delight in observing beloved gems from works like SCTV, Uncle Buck, and Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Those less familiar with the icon will likely find themselves on the verge of an enviable joy: getting to experience him for the first time. Though it may cause tears due to its overwhelming humanity, John Candy: I Like Me is full of laughter. More than anything, he sounds like a rare human being well worth getting to know, and sadly, this is the only way left. Yet, it's still a delight even when it stings the heart.

Recently, I was lucky enough to have some worked picked up by a publication called Tractor Beam. As part of their second issue, The Garden, they wanted optimistic soilpunk sci-fi. That meant stories which provide solutions for this dying world as well as emphasizing why this planet is worth saving. It seemed like an interesting challenge, if nothing else a break from my usual pessimism and dark humor. So I started doing some research, and it wasn't long before a story came together. 

Their excellent editorial staff helped me polish the piece some more. Overall, I'm happy with the final result. I especially like the art they commissioned to accentuate the story. The artist is someone named Anna Degnbol. Check out their site, maybe find some art to brighten your own dim hole, or commission something rather than contributing to the growth of AI slop. That shit is theft and killing creatives. But I digress. Anna Degnbol has some amazing art, and her work really adds something inviting to this story I wrote. 

"Growth" is a simple story about trying to pass down a passion. It takes place in a future where humanity has shifted things environmentally for the better, but the next generation is starting to feel like there's no need for them to continue the hard work anymore. In essence, we've reached the tipping point and they don't get that this is a job that never ends. At the same time, this is about how that same effort, for all the good it does, can complicate a person, turning them into someone rough around the edges. 

I don't want to say too much. The story can speak for itself. And it doesn't take terribly long to read. Of course, should you enjoy my offering, but even if you don't, take a minute to peruse the rest of The Garden. There are several splendid stories, each sharing a unique perspective on this optimistic notion. As much as I'm shamelessly self-promoting myself, there's other fabulous folks here to enjoy too. So take a minute to explore Tractor Beam No.2: The Garden.   

Superman will not please everyone. The internet is already rumbling with negative opinions of the James Gunn adaptation. The film is overstuffed, Superman is too weak, and it’s too political, mingling with a thinly veiled contempt for the movie’s lighthearted qualities. Frankly, I can’t help feeling sorry for such folks. Their point of view didn’t allow them to experience a delightful adventure.

This rendition of Superman is a solid popcorn picture through and through. While it stylistically takes a whimsical tone close to the Silver Age, the film flies around very serious themes. Some of which do echo recent modern incarnations such as Brian Azzarello’s Lex Luthor: Man of Steel as well as All-Star Superman by Grant Morrison. Overall, this allows the movie to say some important points about heroism and humanity without sacrificing any elements which make the story fun.

Writer-director James Gunn dips into nostalgia in all the best ways. Instead of baiting viewers with sentimental triggers, things like the music composed by John Williams for Richard Donner’s 1978 adaptation flavor fresh moments of fabulous superhuman splendor. Such scenes aren’t meaningless nods back, but instances where Superman does the things that make him iconic. 

The core aim is to deliver a comic book tale that seems ripped from the pages of DC. Along the way several topics touch on very real-life current events. At risk of speculating on the minds of others, people perturbed by such moments are oddly uncomfortable with Superman being kind to others, wanting to stop a war, and embracing his reality as an adopted son of Earth (or as some might say, an immigrant).

​James Gunn doesn’t deliver a brooding man of steel uncertain if he should endeavor to make the world a better place. His depiction presents a young hero struggling to live up to the ideals in his own head. And one of the fascinating ways this comes across is the storytelling in action sequences.

These segments are frequently a glorious display of CGI combat. The spectacular battles are the stuff of modern myths while remaining pleasantly inspired by comic book visual styles. Better yet, Gunn manages to give everything a coherent view. There’s no way to miss the meatier moments. Yet, the most intriguing aspects are the way characters are conveyed during these encounters. 

Nathan Fillion’s fabulous portrayal aside, Guy Gardner’s flippant attitude easily comes across in what he manifests with his Green Lantern powers. So does the image of Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult) as puppet master. Moreover, the exciting action seen throughout Superman isn’t merely a display of the man of steel’s might; it frequently shows him trying to minimize damage, save others from collateral chaos, and struggling not to take the easy route—just smash things out of existence.
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Therein lies the subtle genius of this depiction. Superman here isn’t weak so much as restrained. Instead of an invincible being hammering problems out of existence one punch at a time, he’s trying to be strategic to avoid hurting anyone. As such, his abilities never come across as a power fantasy, the example he sets is not one of physical strength, rather strength of character. What’s more interesting is that his way doesn’t always work out for the best. The optimistic outlook of the character is aspirational even for him. That dose of uncertainty lends an odd bit of humanity which makes this version more relatable.

It's helped by fabulous instances sprinkled throughout the film. From a kind of mock interview with Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) to a heart squeezing conversation with his father Pa Kent (Pruitt Taylor Vince), Superman shows people struggling to do their best in a world without the certainty of what to do. All the while, it provides a sense that some things demand a response regardless of the backlash. That’s because the world is a dark enough place already. Our escapism doesn’t need to point towards deeper darkness. It needs to indicate the light, little as it may seem to be there.

Peppered throughout are a variety of easter eggs. Some go by in a blink like a certain highway exit sign, and others are there for the those who have delved deep into the DC archives. While there are treats for serious comic book fans, Superman does a great job of never alienating the audience. Anyone unfamiliar with an entity or offhand reference won’t feel lost. The main narrative is straightforward enough with plenty of concise smooth expositions to keep audiences on track. In fact, a certain lack of familiarity may allow some segments to hit harder, such as… well, let’s not risk spoilers even by implication.

Still, allegations of an overstuffed movie aren’t without a small degree of merit. The Daily Planet news team is composed of several characters, many of whom barely get more than three lines in the whole picture. That isn’t to say they don’t come across, but their inclusion does feel closer to fan service than plot necessity. 

Although, saying that brings to light another excellent aspect of Superman. Comic book movies have largely gotten away from showing ordinary people. Citizens are, at best, simply screaming mobs fleeing whatever cataclysm ensues. There’s a touch of Sam Raimi’s Spider-man (2002) featuring glimpses of ordinary people going about their lives while the story unfolds around them.

​Narratively, though, every player is a piece of the puzzle. Very few individuals are thrown in casually. Each serves a purpose pushing the plot forward or fleshing out a main character depending on their individual interactions. As such, the entire story is surprisingly tight. Not to risk spoilers, but things as simple as Krypto thinking its time to play fetch, comical in a throw away moment, have a deeper impact later on.

Comedy has long been a staple of the James Gunn comic book adaptation. His humor keeps the grim moments from gaining too much weight, while the lighthearted approach allows Superman to soar overall. Disarming jocularity then permits the man of steel to be remarkably vulnerable. Consequently, the movie remains fun throughout.

The cast, of course, helps bring together this amazing mix of the mirthful alongside the mythical. Nicholas Hoult (Nosferatu) solidly presents a Lex Luthor orchestrating a nefarious plot fit for a supervillain. Rachel Brosnahan (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) gives Lois Lane the right bit of bite alongside her own reluctant vulnerability. Anthony Carrigan (Barry) is stupendous the short time he’s on screen, a real testament to the sharpness of the script combined with a splendid performer. David Corenswet (Twisters) delivers a remarkably relatable Superman alongside the bearing of someone pensive struggling to raise the bar for everyone. He makes the moments when Clark Kent seems to be collapsing the most effective. 

And Krypto is the best. I cannot elaborate on why without spoiling the film in various ways. Suffice it to say, if anything happens to that dog down the line—so help me Rao—me and Mr. James Gunn are gonna have some words hand-delivered by chainsaw.

People will always find things to complain about. That isn’t to say everyone should love this movie. The plot rarely reiterates itself, which I find refreshing, but some folks get lost without it. Although Hollywood is to blame for spoonfeeding plot points repeatedly, it’s nice to see a movie where the audience is trusted to follow a narrative most children probably can.

​Some have grumbled about Wendell Pierce (The Wire), an African American, being cast as Perry White. To them I say, it’s odd how I haven’t heard the same complaint about Otis, a loyal Luthor henchman played by Terence Rosemore (Outer Banks). Funny how a black man can take a traditionally white role when the part calls for subservience, but there are peeps a plenty when an African American becomes the boss. 

Normally, I wouldn’t question the quality of other reviews. Any art is subject to personal perspective, and if people can make their case, a certain respect is due. However, from what I’ve read in an effort to see if, perhaps, I missed something I should really consider, so much of the negativity about this movie seems like a mix of right-wing outrage, comic book fatigue, and general contrarian rage bait.

For years, people have complained Superman is too powerful. Now, they dislike this movie because he isn’t powerful enough. The film has too many characters, though such a complaint rarely surfaces regarding The Guardians of the Galaxy franchise. And if you can follow those movies, the plot here isn’t any more complicated or convoluted. Still, in all fairness, Superman has always been divisive. He’s such a cultural icon whom people have expectations and dislikes which are deeply rooted. As such, I’d say your best bet for enjoying this movie is to go expecting nothing except popcorn fun.

James Gunn offers a delightful human interpretation of the last son of Krypton. The Silver Age tone helps blunt some of the serious themes, though they no less stab at the heart. This is a romantic appeal to optimism, a staple characteristic of the man of steel. Visually, from the color scheme to the special effects, this is everything one could want in a bright, vibrant blockbuster; the cinematography allows scenes to be colorful yet dirty. Meanwhile, an excellent cast anchors the film despite plenty of comic book outlandishness. 

Superman is pure escapism. It offers a chance to believe in a better world. All the while, it does so wrapped up in a wild adventure fit for any comic book. I hope you have as much fun as I did watching this, but if not, sorry that fun is your kryptonite.

Bring Her Back could shock the numb with sensation. Few films have as visceral an emotional component to them. Even veteran horror hounds burnt into senselessness by gallons of nightmare fuel will easily cringe at several instances. Yet, there’s more than gore behind this unsettling story. Bring Her Back resonates on an emotional level that’s hard to lose long after the movie has ended.

​Stepsiblings Andy and his visually impaired sister Piper discover their deceased father in the shower. Reeling from this loss, the close pair are put into foster care. They’re looked after by an eccentric, though in her own way kind, Laura, who also introduces them to another child in her home, the mute Oliver. As the stepsiblings adjust to their new life it becomes increasingly clear something is disturbingly off about their foster mother. Oliver’s horrifying behavior, including self-mutilation, and Laura’s tendency to chip cracks into the children as if psychologically hammering at Andy, particularly to develop a divide between him and Piper, become more pronounced. It soon becomes clear that something very sinister is happening. 

What makes Bring Her Back so intensely affecting is the steady revelation of its main character’s intentions. Laura, played powerfully by Sally Hawkins (The Shape of Water), is clearly up to something devious from the get-go, yet the exact nature of her enterprise, though seemingly supernatural, only comes into focus bit by bit. This continuing dive down an intriguing rabbit hole leads to a grim revelation that is as horrifying as it is understandable.

The film gives enough sense of what may be coming at the beginning to peak curiosity. It then delivers tidbits that are often way worse than anything someone could imagine. Still, anyone able to guess what’s happening is still intrigued by a desire to see precisely how things unfold. That’s because those breadcrumbs lead the audience past insights into events, such as character motivations and parts of their past, which deepen a connection to the story. Laura is dealing with her own profound tragedy making her actions hauntingly relatable. She isn’t wicked so much as desperately broken.

​Meanwhile, the siblings, Andy in particular, provide their own heart squeezing instances of personal pain. Bring Her Back is able to then orbit themes of loss, loneliness, and abuse in profoundly affecting ways. Part of this is thanks in no small part to Billy Barratt (Responsible Child) delivering a sharply subtle performance. There’s something haunting about watching this child fall to pieces that only intensifies the gorier moments. 

Alongside him is Sora Wong making her big screen debut with affecting charm. She’s the kind of protagonist one wants to see protected, so when disquieting darkness descends there’s a real desire to root for her safety. Bring Her Back is never the kind of cynical fright flick where watchers are left cheering for the villains. In fact, there’s a strange case to be made there are no villains in this feature, especially considering the heart shredding truth behind Oliver. This nightmarish role played by Jonah Wren Phillips (Human Error) is as tragic as it is disturbing.

​Bring Her Back frequently maneuvers the audience into position through emotional resonance, luring them into relatable instances before delivering brutal blows. These can be painful revelations about the past, but they can also be flinches induced by flashes of gore. Blood may not flood; however, the filmmakers offer divinely disturbing instances that will nightmarishly linger. Bring Her Back is an admirable lesson in less is more. The use of gore here is precise and sharp rather than a sweeping shotgun stroke coating the room.

Directors Daniel Philippou and Michael Philippou masterfully craft a relentless atmosphere of dread. This is the kind of movie that leaves a watcher feeling beat up by the end. That said, Bring Her Back is a visually genius movie on multiple levels. 

There are moments where the camera is out of focus allowing the audience to experience the world the same as visually impaired Piper. Furthermore, whenever the view of Oliver is distorted, like when rain runs a river down a window, glimpses of something disturbingly inhuman can be seen. Finally, the filmmakers compose wonderfully poetic instances as some shots grandly elevate the events on screen.

Bring Her Back is everything modern horror needs to remain relevant. It is a cinematically extraordinary film. It is an emotionally affecting story that tackles several potent themes. The cast ably delivers powerful performances that enhance the dread filled atmosphere while simultaneously squeezing the heart. Overall, there are scenes that can only be described as cringes and flinches guaranteed to infect with lingering nightmares. Everything about this movie is sinister and unsettling, yet its potency stems from a relatability that makes it disquietingly haunting.
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Horror fans are guaranteed a gem. Casual fright flick viewers are encouraged, though forewarned this film is a shredder. People terrified by Disney Halloween specials—this will drive you out of your mind… so please record yourself if you happen to risk watching Bring Her Back. 

It has been quite a while. Explanations are obviously in order. The simplest is the best yet only half the story.

Everything begins about one year ago. One of my best friends died of liver cancer. His diagnosis was terminal from the get-go. Even though he didn’t tell me as much, I happen to be too familiar with cancer from repeated encounters to not glean some sense of things to come. A little light research only added fire to the fact things would be burning down around us in the months ahead. However, nobody realized that he would exit more quickly than anticipated.

Whatever expeditated his demise, he slipped out of this world (I’d like to think) peacefully around about June 4th, 2024. I drove him to the hospital the days before, and we were still making plans regarding what we’d do when he got out. Both of us believed he was only popping in for a quick bit of treatment. A day later his system went into steady decline.

Since he’d always been a fan of Beerfinger – we often joked over drinks about what band tours would be like, which of course, he would manage as road master – so I hurried to complete the last album Lessens. If nothing else, it’d give him something to listen to while stuck in the hospital. Working on it also provided a distraction for my own downward spiraling thoughts. Consequently, parts of that album are not as well produced as I’d like them to be. I’ve been tempted for a year to remove Lessens from platforms it appears on, remaster tracks, and put it back up again. Only after my friend died, I saw little point in doing so.

It took several months to start enjoying work on any of my various projects. That isn’t to say I didn’t throw myself into certain tasks. He died in June, and I basically burned out in July, taking on every creative endeavor I could think of. I wrote multiple articles for Film Obsessive, produced several short fiction pieces, and got back into doing live performances. Perhaps a bit of that cliché about life’s shortness was hitting hard at the time. Maybe I wanted a distraction from feelings of grief.

There’s no one answer because it’s a whole overlapping Venn diagram of correct answers. The Kübler-Ross model for five stages of grief is no longer, as I understand it, the accepted outlook on mourning. It’s more of a mess where people pinball from one emotion to another, and having experienced it firsthand, I feel there is some credibility to that notion. Anecdotal evidence may not be the best, yet that doesn’t stop it from hitting hard when it delivers experiences which drive you mildly insane for a few months. I didn’t realize manically depressed I was until the Fall.

At the same time, I’d been struggling with chronic pain. My back is essentially a crazy quilt of soft tissue damage stitched together by inflamed nerves. This makes it hard to do a variety of things. Playing guitar is not exactly a pleasant activity anymore, and writing can also be like inviting a hot poker to spear my back. This all sort of amalgamated into a dark cloud overshadowing any desire to make things creatively.

Time passed, as it will regardless of any individual’s situation, and though some wounds never heal, they stop bleeding enough for one to feel less drained. Physical therapy gave me some relief, reducing chronic agony to irritating aches, and life regained some sense of normality. Then around about December I started fiddling with the guitar just to have fun—B standard tuning and something just clicked.

I wrote four songs in one night. Originally, I intended to only put out an EP. However, the more I refined these tunes the more material I produced. I’ve learned over the years, especially this last one, to give myself breaks from big projects. So, the months slipped by as I gradually produced Along the Winter River.

It is not an exploration of recently past calendar pages. Though maybe it is in ways I have yet to recognize. What I do know is that the sound of this album is much better than the last. I may still pull Lessens and redo the songs which annoy me the most. That said, I’m rediscovering the joy of creating things. In some ways as a distraction but in other respects because it’s in my blood.

In the last few months, I’ve made more of a conscious effort to seek live performance opportunities. There are currently a few around the corner. I’ll be at O’Shaughnessy’s Public House performing as part of IS THIS A THING? on June 9th around 7p.m. Then over at Mrs. Murphy’s and Sons Bistro June 12th delivering nonfiction for THIS MUCH IS TRUE. I have two major short fiction publications on the way. Meanwhile, I still have regular reviews and analysis articles appearing over at Film Obsessive. Recently, I got to interview Anthony Michael Hall which was pretty cool.  

And while this may all seem like bragging, the point is that everyone falters when things get rough. It’s all about getting back up again. How you do that is unique to yourself, though don’t let anyone tell you there’s a wrong way. While hard drugs might be debatable, the fact remains that although life is indeed short there is no schedule. When it’s over, it’s over, but until then there are no deadlines. So, learn not to rush… let yourself breath… and find the way you can flow again. Maybe it’ll take you ALONG THE WINTER RIVER.

Sorry… that was a bit melodramatic. However, I couldn’t help myself. If you are curious, the album is what I like to think of as Chicago sludge. It’s a primarily hard rock driven record composed of elements akin to Henry Rollins, Tom Waits, Nick Cave, and various sludge metal bands such as Acid Bath, Down, and Crowbar. Of course, influences should never be mirrored perfectly. As such, though there’s a taste of things like the Deftones in one tune, it remains distinctly Beerfinger. At least I’d like to think so.
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The first single is currently available on Bandcamp. There’s also a low-budget lyric video on YouTube—link below. The album itself should arrive on other platforms soon. So stay tuned, keep safe, and stay weird!

Until Dawn tosses out some tempting terrors. Though this video game adaptation plays fast and loose with its source material, there are horrifying highlights. While its strengths may not be in capturing its inspirations, Until Dawn delivers enough gruesome delights to be fun for fright fans seeking something new.
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The story follows a group of friends on a solemn road trip. They’re attempting to put the past behind them by retracing the last known steps of a missing close comrade. At the final stop, a fresh clue leads them to Glore Valley. This mysterious isolated location soon traps them in a nightmarish loop. Death comes ripping in increasingly murderous, inhuman forms, but time keeps repeating, resurrecting them for fresh ruin. Yet, their bodies and sanity can only take so much before breaking irreparably. The only way to escape is to make it until dawn.

This is definitely the kind of movie that delights in saying its own title. Fortunately, Until Dawn rarely strays into the ironic realm of metacommentary. What could easily have been a Cabin in the Woods (2011) knockoff strives to do its own thing. That isn’t to imply the film is without generic aspects. The filmmakers do their best to deliver familiar notes in sharp stinging jump scares that’ll catch veteran horror hounds off guard as well as a delightful intensity to certain set pieces.

For instance, the slasher villain of the story throws victims around with wince inducing ferocity. There’s brutality to every encounter which makes them engagingly gruesome. In addition, the hapless band of comrades constantly being killed are proactive from the first. At risk of spoilers, these kids don’t cower when the slasher comes killing, they fail hard trying to fight back. And that homicidal juggernaut’s retaliation is gloriously gory.
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That isn’t to say Until Dawn isn’t peppered with perpetual idiot plot instances. The film does rely a little too much on moronic decisions clearly intended to put people in peril. Plus, the proactive nature of main characters somewhat diminishes as the movie inclines toward montages to fit in more slaughter than story. 

Thematically there’s an attempt to tell a tale about trauma. Given the landscape of contemporary horror, that’s a common metaphor these days. The problem here is how it feels tacked on as opposed to a real narrative core. Until Dawn spells out its intention in a flashback halfway through then again during a villain’s monologue at the finale. Robbed of any subtlety, the movie essentially becomes a vehicle for slaughter setups.

Granted, some of these are spectacular. At one point—apologies for implicative spoilers—they even get comically extreme. Not to mention humorously surprising. During the press screener I hosted, the audience more than once howled and applauded in delight when some unexpected gory end erupted on screen. Until Dawn knows when to change gears, shifting between mirthful and malevolent, to keep the audience interested.
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As such, it’s odd the filmmakers failed to better capture the video game. There are some easter egg elements. Rarely do these come across as strong plot points. Many of them, even creature and killer designs, could have been swapped out for myriad other murderous marvels. Consequently, fans of the video game might feel they didn’t get an adaptation so much as a horror movie with a misleading veneer. 

There’s an argument to be made the film took its liberties so hardcore Until Dawn devotees stay in the dark. They won’t have any foreknowledge of what’s going to happen next. How satisfying that decision is for fans who want to see the game they love on the silver screen remains to be seen. It’s likely to be divisive at best since there’s also room to argue this isn’t Until Dawn in anything except title.

Sure, certain visual elements and scenes connect the film with the game, but too often the latter does them better. Case in point, the wendigos featured in the movie have a degree of creepiness. They don’t hold a candle to the video game’s haunting abominations.
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As such, fans of the franchise might do best divorcing themselves from the notion this is a quality adaptation. It’s more of a series of easter eggs implying a thin connection. But going into the feature, treating it like a standalone horror movie that just happens to have the title Until Dawn paves the way to at least enjoying some satisfying scares and slaughter. 

Peter Stormare (Swedish Dicks) is wonderfully creepy as one would expect. His character could almost use more screen time. Odessa A’zion continues her ability to steal scenes the same as she did in Fresh Kills (2024). Despite this being a slasher romp, she manages to have some seriously potent moments. Frankly, I think she should have been the lead. That isn’t to say Ella Rubin (Anora) does a bad job. Her performance just lacks the punch necessary to be memorable, which is a recurring problem with most of the cast. They deliver believable acting, yet just enough to keep the audience engaged until the real star attraction.

Until Dawn is all about the slaughter. It is never afraid to be bloody. Kills sometimes arrive startlingly quick. This is an excellent example of how horror movies can be a funhouse ride of frights. Veteran horror aficionados may likely have seen more nightmarish depictions of demise, but that doesn’t mean a snob shouldn’t get off their high horse to simply have fun with the casual fright fans who will be wickedly watching doom descend on these unfortunate folks.
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Anyone looking for a casual Saturday night scare should assemble the tribe for beer and pizza. Until Dawn is initially only going to be in theaters, but I think you get my point. This flick could be a fabulous night out for fear fans, even if that means shredding it afterward because it wasn’t a proper close adaptation. Those willing to treat Until Dawn as its own movie, though, will have fun watching it once. 

Y2K is a B-movie beauty. Leaning into the absurdity inherent in such flicks, this disaster comedy aims for amusement over scares. Yet, that doesn’t stop laughs coming from some ridiculously over-the-top violence. However, there’s also a charm to this tale of teens rising to the occasion. Its biggest flaw may be that Y2K is overly inclined to nostalgia gags, but there’s enough timeless humor to keep audiences entertained.
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The story focuses on loveable losers, Eli and Danny, played by Jaeden Martell (It) and Julian Dennison (Deadpool 2). After crashing a major New Year’s Eve party, life seems headed in the right direction. That is until midnight strikes, and the dreaded Y2K virus infects all manner of machines. Teens are soon being torn apart by sentient appliances. Consequently, the few survivors realize they must bridge their clique divides to keep alive. After all, as the robot apocalypse intensifies, they may be humanity’s last hope. 

It’s certainly an interesting premise. Anyone who lived through the era will easily remember myriad claims circulating about the catastrophic events Y2K was supposed to cause. Then, in an epically anti-climactic moment, nothing happened. Building off the strange disappointment doomsday never occurred, Kyle Mooney and Evan Winter have composed a comical catastrophe all their own. It’s a clever amalgamation of writer-director Mooney’s interests. His tendency to draw from Saturday morning cartoons, nostalgia, and the VHS era is apparent in the film’s various elements.

The opening portion of the film feels like several teen romcoms seen too many times before. However, Y2K manages to keep things from getting stale thanks to a combination of concise plotting mixed with Julian Dennison’s natural charm. Though the film initially follows the formula of 90s teen romances like Can’t Hardly Wait (1998), it gets to their overall point much quicker. Snappy one-liners allow the misfit lead characters to leap into the heart of coming-of-age comedies, seemingly reaching the pinnacle of social success, right when apocalyptic events ensue.
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Although a small chunk of this portion feels too similar to Superbad (2007), the echoes fade away as Y2K quickly becomes its own film. Furthermore, this part of the picture does a solid job of establishing various other elements. From stoner nu-metal kids to romantic entanglements, this section is great at providing nostalgia gags as well as giving those unfamiliar with certain references a chance to get a sense of these characters. Essentially, the film provides personalities, even if they are somewhat caricatures, which are comical in various ways. In addition, there’s a real idea of the era put into play—differences between the past and present mined for jokes as well as striking similarities. 

When the actual horror story sparks it explodes in a wave of absurd slaughter. Describing any of the initial kills would be a cruel spoiler. Suffice it to say, Y2K brilliantly walks the fine line between humor and horror even when blood is spilling by buckets. In addition, the well-orchestrated opening gives audiences a reason to laugh or cry when certain killings occur. For instance, Eduardo Franco (Stranger Things) as Farkas is such an obnoxious nu-metal shitgibbon, audiences will root for his demise.

Speaking of spoilers, Y2K contains one of the greatest comedy cameos of all time. I’m not saying it’s the best ever. Few things can top Robin Williams in Shakes the Clown (1991). However, not only is it comedy gold, it ramps Y2K back up right as it loses steam. Anyone who spoils this for you deserves a flogging with a frozen hose.
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While that part is a pleasure, Julian Dennison easily steals several scenes. His expert comedic timing combined with an easy charm makes his character instantly likeable. Jaeden Martell fits the role of shy awkward guy perfectly, and Rachel Zegler (West Side Story) does a solid job as Eli’s dream girl. What really makes her role interesting is the performer’s ability to switch tones depending on who she’s talking to, more open with Eli because he knows the real her then cliché popular girl with her high school high status friends. Lachlan Watson (Chucky) absolutely nails the nu-metal persona they play. Their portrayal of Ash seems like they grew up in the 90s. 

Oddly enough, the high quality of nostalgia fueled comedy is a double-edged sword. Y2K features several laughable gags designed around past references. However, leaning so heavily into them tips the film towards a narrower audience. Although certain aspects of the flick, from its B-movie absurdity to its teen drama, are relatively universal, some of the best jokes will only land for those familiar with the references. Consequently, Y2K is likely more enjoyable for anyone who lived through the 1990s.

Still, that doesn’t detract from other aspects. There is an amusing and refreshing embrace of practical effects throughout the horror comedy. To a certain extent it seems done for humor, but it’s also pleasing for anyone inclined to the VHS era of 80s shlock horror. 

Kyle Mooney does a solid job shooting this film. He steers Y2K with a steady hand. The movie is energetic and engagingly cinematic. Furthermore, he employs his SNL experience to compose context for certain gags that occasionally make knowing the references less relevant. Plus, this film continues the earnestness seen in his previous picture Brigsby Bear (2017). With these two movies, he’s established a pattern of insightful explorations of relationships through pop culture, albeit in surprisingly different ways. And he adds to this feature by playing Garrett, a sweet stoner who dispenses some fantastic gags.  

​Y2K is an amusing horror comedy. Embracing B-movie absurdity, it delivers a humorous disaster tale enhanced by romcom plug-ins alongside coming-of-age code. Sometimes this strays into formulaic territory, but wonderful performances, particularly by Julian Dennison, always keep things amusing. The nostalgia gags may fly over a few heads, however, those familiar with the references are sure to be the most entertained. Plus, there’s enough universal comedy to leave others laughing. Y2K may not be a legendary comedy for the ages but it’s definitely a must see once.