Bernadette Gorman-White talks with Robby Anderson about the limited series adaptation of the Jon Krakauer true-crime book, Under the Banner of Heaven . There's, uhh, lots to talk about with this one. Listen on....

Mike and Robby take a walk through the early days of John Carpenter's career, with the two TV movies from the 70's, Someone's Watching Me! and Elvis , as well as his 1993 cancelled TV-series-turned-classic-horror-gem, Body Bags . Listen on....

On this episode of Hot Takes , Robby Anderson, Bernadette Gorman-White, Mike Burdge and Diana DiMuro talk through the twists and turns of Alex Garland's latest horror-show to drop, Men . Along the way, they give their theories and interpretations on the film, and it's ending, while also covering the divisive nature of not only these types of movies, but common criticisms of movies not being what an audience would expect. Listen on....

Robby Anderson and Diana DiMuro take an Inter-Dimensional Portal, courtesy of their Sling Rings, to the land of podcasting to discuss the latest Marvel event to drop, which ironically also happens to be the return of the guy that pretty much started this whole thing over twenty years ago: Sam Raimi. Listen on....

Someone forced a bot to watch over 1,000 hours of High School Movies… ...and then it wrote Netflix’s Senior Year. There’s something wholly unique and everlasting about the High School Movie genre. Most everyone, at least in our Western culture, relates to the teenage experience in the same way; separated only by the socioeconomic clique into which they fall. And since there’s a new incoming freshman class each year, it only makes sense that film studios remain invested in the HSM genre. The genre, in fact, is the perfect base with which to blend ANY OTHER GENRE, so why not take advantage of just how malleable the structure can be and churn out hit after hit? Well, the answer for why not is Senior Year . The concept behind Senior Year is a blend of several HSM tropes: the social hierarchy of cheerleaders, an outsider becoming popular, winning Prom Queen, and dating the most popular boy in school, among others. The crux of the film, however, hinges on a protagonist going back to high school, like so many HSM films that have come before; in this particular case, the outsider going back to her senior year is a 37-year-old woman (Stephanie, played by Rebel Wilson) who has been in a coma for the past 20 years. At the beginning of the film, we learn Stephanie moved to the states from Australia in her early teens. She vows, during a rough freshman year, that she will spend the rest of her high school career becoming popular and acquiring what she considers to be “the perfect life.” Once she’s achieved her goals, she’s promptly sabotaged by a rival cheerleader, the dreaded Tiffany, landing her in said 20-year coma. The premise for Senior Year is sound, and in more capable hands, this movie could have really soared. What it distinctly lacks is a point of view and a message worth sending home. From the beginning of the film (which opens with an adult Stephanie recording an apology to the friends she has wronged), one can’t help but already begin to compare it to every other HSM film. Instantly you’re reminded of 2010’s Easy A opening and closing bookends where Emma Stone’s Olive is recording and narrating, essentially, the story of the film itself. Easy A isn’t the only example of a film using this apology/self-tape plot device, in fact, this very presentation references one of my generation’s favorites, Never Been Kissed (but in that film, Drew Barrymore’s Josie issues her apology in a good ole fashioned newspaper). Obviously, these films are going to reference each other and tell somewhat similar stories (that’s what makes them both relatable and timeless), but you’ve got to be able to back those references up with at least SOME original thought, of which Senior Year has very little. When Stephanie wakes up from her coma, she’s told by the medical staff that while she has the body of a 37-year-old, she still has the mind of a 17-year-old. For an R rated comedy, one would think the writers would have a field day with the social and legal implications of this age discrepancy…but instead, the age gap is mostly used for Stephanie to force herself back into her senior year, use lingo from the late 90’s/early noughties, and continually wipe her middle fingers on her ass when she walks away. In fact, the adult Stephanie is much cruder and more immature than her earlier 17-year-old counterpart ( Mare of Easttown and the MCU Spider-Man franchise’s Angourie Rice). The Angourie version of Stephanie seemed mostly likable, if not occasionally socially obtuse, and had a better head on her shoulders than the Rebel version, but I suppose this change in character of arrested development was where some of the comedy was supposed to come in. Speaking of arrested development, it seems as if the entire cast (sans the new high school students) suffers from the same malady. Stephanie’s widower father (delightful, but bland, Chris Parnell) lives an almost identical life to the one pre-coma, and all of the key players in Stephanie’s high school career have conveniently remained in their hometown. When Stephanie was originally in high school, she lived somewhat of a double life: one with her OG best friends (Martha played by teen Molly Brown and adult Mary Holland, and Seth played by teen Zaire Adams and adult Sam Richardson) and the other with her “popular” friends (her then-boyfriend Blaine played by teen Tyler Barnhardt and adult Justin Hartley and cheerleading rival-turned-Blaine’s wife Tiffany played by teen Ana Yi Puig and adult Zoë Chao). Stephanie’s awakening brings all four of these people into her orbit to varying degrees. Martha just so happens to be their high school’s current principal, securing Stephanie’s re-entry, Seth is now the school librarian, Tiffany is on the PTA, and Blaine…well, Blaine (in a waste of a perfectly good Justin Hartley) is just horndogging it up on the sidelines. Tiffany and Blaine are now parents to the current reigning popular girl, Bri, who is most well known for her influencer social media handle, BriLoves. Zoë Chao as the adult Tiffany is doing all the heavy lifting in this film and is easily the only character that has any chemistry with any of the other actors. She has to play foil to all of them (as the disgruntled wife to her dopey husband, as the mom who is trying desperately to relive her high school years through her daughter, and obviously as the rival to Stephanie, Martha, and Seth). The rest of the actors obviously act in scenes with each other, but they’re just reciting the lines. For that matter, there are some actors who seem to have no purpose at all, like poor guidance counselor Mr. T (Brandon Scott Jones) and 2022 cheerleader Niel (Jeremy Ray Taylor). Besides a few attempts at some lackluster jokes (If your name is Mr. T, you’re going to understand the “I pity the fool” reference; you can’t convince me otherwise), these characters just exist to fill up space. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t begrudge this cast and crew the fun they, most likely, enjoyed on set. When watching a film that isn’t quite sitting with me, I always have to remind myself that this project provided this group of people with employment, and I can certainly get behind that. But when it comes to the sanctity of the spirit stick *cough* I mean, genre, I can also hope for these comedies to be, at the very least, funny. Lastly, the biggest discrepancy within Senior Year is the question of whether or not current high school students are too “woke.” Martha, as the principal, but also a key player in Stephanie’s high school career, argues that without winners, there can be no losers. So, in her modernized version of a high school, the cheerleaders are fully clad and cheer about consent and equality and there is no such thing as a prom court. Because without these types of social hierarchies, there’s no room for anyone to feel left out. When Stephanie comes back to school, however, she quickly is distraught with the lack of a social ranking. She had strived for the past three years (in her 17-year-old mind) to move past these hurdles, so why should anyone get a ticket to bypass them? Rather than deal with this moral dilemma (amidst the other deeper questions of how do we find self-worth), Senior Year decides instead to focus on the lack of sex appeal in the cheerleader squad with a healthy dose of Britney Spears and a revealing cheer routine where a “17-year-old” senior actively tries to seduce a crowd full of children and adults. It’d be funny, ya know, if it was funny. Senior Year was written by three men and directed by another, and I can’t help but wonder if they were the right fit for this type of film. Director Alex Hardcastle has directed a number of episodes from FX’s indie darling You’re the Worst (which I love), but this seems like a different ballpark from a show featured on terrible, independent adults. This group of adult men seems like they felt they had something to say about our current “woke” culture, especially in regards to how our youth is treated, but nothing quite lands. Regardless, Senior Year seems both aimless in current societal critique AND in current comedy, and that combination is a damn shame. The redeeming qualities at the end of the film are a lights out cameo by a HSM genre Queen and the musical use of a late-90s banger at the beginning of the credits (which I’ve had stuck in my head ever since I watched the film). But other than that, it’s a real snooze fest. I have the wisdom of my age to realize that not every comedy is going to land, but it would be nice to be able to trust that a film that has the star power of Senior Year could at least approach the final dismount. The disappointing realization is that even as a teen, this film wouldn’t speak to me. It has no defining foresight of how life is in high school, how life could be past high school, and no deeper insight into what it means to be a human navigating the world. When producing a film that will go into the HSM genre’s lexicon, you’ve gotta aim for three things: funny, iconic, and insightful. When you can’t hit any of these benchmarks, that’s when you throw in the towel. Sadly, Senior Year was shooting for Prom Queen, but it should have settled for most likely to be forgotten. Bernadette Gorman-White Managing Editor Bernadette graduated from DePauw University in 2011 with a Film Studies degree she’s not currently using. She constantly consumes television, film, and all things pop culture and will never be full. She doesn’t tweet much, but give her a follow @BeaGorman and see if that changes.

Mike Burdge and Bernadette Gorman-White embark on a journey through the filmography of actor and national treasure, Toni Collette, starting with her first six film appearances. Films covered in this episode include The Efficiency Expert (Spotswood), The Thief and the Cobbler, Muriel's Wedding, Cosi, The Pallbearer and Lilian's Story. Listen on....

Robby Anderson and Mike Burdge tackle the marvelously dread-filled movies, Sicario and Arrival , as they continue their exploration through the filmography of Denis Villeneuve AKA The Sweet, Sweet Denis, and ponder just what makes the director so well-fitted to tackle these tales of human horror and unease. Listen on....

Bernadette Gorman-White and Robby Anderson discuss the highs and lows of Marvel's latest series, Moon Knight . Listen on....

Robby Anderson and Bernadette Gorman-White soak themselves in the absolute cool weirdness that is Nic Cage, as well as the hypnotizingly insane action and comedy of his latest, semi-biographical-but-not-really film, The Unbelievable Weight of Massive Talent . Listen on....

A look at HBO Max’s Station Eleven WARNING: Contains spoilers for Station Eleven “This strange and awful time was the happiest of my life.” Based on the 2014 novel by Canadian writer Emily St. John Mandel, Station Eleven is set in Chicago (and beyond) during and after an outbreak of a flu-like virus, much like the COVID-19 pandemic. While that might sound too panic-inducing to watch, Station Eleven implies death more than graphically displays it. The premise of the limited series may be a global pandemic, but it's really a story about family, blood, or chosen, and how we deal with grief. It’s also about how art helps us process our experiences and emotions to heal. Created for television by Patrick Somerville (Maniac, The Leftovers, Made for Love), its episodes are directed by Hiro Murai (Atlanta), Lucy Tcherniak (The End of the F***ing World), Helen Shaver (Vikings), and Jeremy Podeswa (Game of Thrones, The Handmaid’s Tale). Matilda Lawler and Mackenzie Davis play different ages of our main character, Kirsten. Pre-flu, Kirsten is in a production of King Lear in Chicago. During a performance, famous blockbuster film star, Arthur Leander (Gael Garcia Bernal) has a heart attack on stage while performing as the titular character. Realizing what is happening, audience member, Jeevan Chaudhary (Himesh Patel), rushes on stage to try to help. Arthur dies and Jeevan sees how upset the young Kirsten is while waiting in the wings. As the news of the flu pandemic hits the public, Jeevan notices Kirsten is alone without her usual theater chaperone to take her home. He volunteers to accompany her to her house and that's when our story really takes off. Kirsten's parents aren't home and she has forgotten her key. Taking his sister’s advice, Jeevan and Kirsten buy loads of groceries and supplies and take shelter with Jeevan’s brother, Frank (the fantastic Nabhaan Rizwan) in his high-rise Chicago apartment. Station Eleven flashes forwards and backward between past and present throughout its ten-episode arc leaving us clamoring to know what happened in between. The present is shown as the aftermath of the pandemic twenty years later. Adult Kirsten (Mackenzie Davis) is now part of the “Traveling Symphony,” a group of actors and musicians who perform plays by Shakespeare on a travel circuit they refer to as “the wheel.” Lori Petty is Sarah, their conductor, and I could not have been happier to recognize her in a current role. The caravan of traveling performers gives Station Eleven a touch of Carnivale meets Tales from the Loop and The Leftovers. The Traveling Symphony, performing in costumes made of found and repurposed objects is reminiscent of characters in Beasts of the Southern Wild in look and feel. Station Eleven is a really beautifully shot series. As the Symphony travels to each settlement, they are welcomed back like heroes. Almost everyone in the Symphony knows what it was like before the pandemic, except for Alex, (Philippine Velge) who was raised since she was a baby by the members of the Traveling Symphony, in particular, Kirsten. The story of what happened to Kirsten between the time Jeevan offers to accompany her home to present-day twenty years later is told through flashbacks and glimpses of Kirsten’s own grief and trauma. During a production of Hamlet, Kirsten loses herself for a moment onstage thinking back to when she lost her parents. This does not go unnoticed by an audience member played by Daniel Zovatto, a stranger referred to as “The Prophet,” who tries to convince young Alex to leave the Traveling Symphony and join his movement (or cult depending on your perception) of children. The Prophet (who we eventually learn is named Tyler) often cryptically repeats the phrase, “There is no before,” to everyone who meets him, until Kirsten. Kirsten is the one who finally understands. Both Tyler and Kirsten have read one of only five printed copies of a graphic novel by the name of Station Eleven, written and illustrated by Miranda Carroll (Danielle Deadwyler). This book, given separately by Arthur Leander to both Tyler and Kristen, has made an indelible impression on both of them. It’s interesting to see how this piece of fiction is ingested and imprinted upon its two readers and how they interpret that work of art differently throughout their lives. While Tyler burned his copy as a child, he finds its story again by memory later in life. He now recounts that story as “the prophecy” to the groups of children that leave their families to follow him in post-pandemic America. Kirsten held on to her copy of Station Eleven; it's a treasured gift from someone she loved and lost, and she revisits it time and again as she moves from her home of Chicago to the Great Lakes countryside where she now performs with the Traveling Symphony. Tyler and Kirsten, each suffer trauma and find hope through the message of Station Eleven, whose very creation was fueled by its author's own trauma. Miranda lost her entire family to a hurricane as a child. She processed that grief by drawing and later working on her graphic novel, Station Eleven. When she meets and falls in love with actor Arthur Leander, she doesn't care if anyone ever sees her creation. The artistic process of creation was originally for her and her alone. It is not until years later when she and Arthur are divorced, that she finally finishes her work and shares it with him. This act of creating art for oneself works in contrast to that of the Traveling Symphony performing for others, but both instances show the power of art to heal, both the participants/creators of art and those that consume their work. Arthur Leander (Bernal) and his close friend Clark (David Wilmot) often argue about their talent as actors. They clash as each vies for recognition, acceptance, and love. It seems they are both continually struggling throughout the series to find that art that will finally heal them. Clark’s story progresses once he is tasked with returning to take care of Arthur's body and is rerouted to a small town airport outside of Chicago due to the pandemic. He works to form a community inside of that small-town airport and build a “Museum of Civilisation,” to preserve the past. His story is a cautionary tale of holding on too firmly to the past, while Tyler’s is one of too strongly letting go of everything to embrace the future. The answer lies somewhere in between, and Station Eleven takes us along for the ride as we watch them figure out the aftermath of the pandemic. Throughout that process, Kirsten learns to deal with her own fears and grief. She learns to let go of Alex, someone she loves, and she helps Tyler forgive and reconnect with those that love him. We vacillate between timelines and storylines to work our way through the series until we fully understand how all of these characters are actually linked together and what has happened to them along the way, leading to the series’ culmination. While a series about a global pandemic and its aftermath could be really dire and depressing, Station Eleven is hopeful and beautiful. I found watching the series to be extremely cathartic. It shows how art - music, theater, literature, drawing - can help build empathy and understanding. Speaking lines as characters in plays allows the characters of Station Eleven to say what they really want to say, to express to each other what they would not otherwise in real life. The themes of Station Eleven are universal regardless of the time period, but the series hits all the more forcefully because of when it was released. While it deals so predominantly with loss, it can’t help but foster a sense of hope that will stay with you long after it finishes. Diana DiMuro Associate Editor Besides watching TV and movies, Diana likes plants, the great outdoors, drawing and reading comics, and just generally rocking out. She has a BA in English Literature and is an art school dropout. You can follow her on Instagram @dldimuro and Twitter @DianaDiMuro

Mike and Robby are joined by Jeremy Kolodziejski to continue their trek down the filmography of Mr. J. Carpenter, and boy oh boy is this a good episode to guest on, with the conversation revolving around the director's back-to-back masterpiece releases of Escape from New York and The Thing . Listen on....

Robby Anderson and Diana DiMuro dive into the biggest multiverse movie event of the moment, with Daniels' Everything Everywhere All At Once . Listen on....