This is how Predator: Badlands begins.

A lone wolf type rides a futuristic speeder bike across a bleak, one might say desert-y, landscape. He’s dressed in battle armor with all sorts of gizmos and gadgets. On the “I come prepared for all possibilities” scale, it falls between Batman’s utility belt and Inspector Gadget’s entire body. As usual, Boba Fett did it better.

He walks into a cave right out of House Hunters: Geonosis.1 Stalactites galore, chasm-front views, enough sand to drive Anakin Skywalker a little mad.

There’s no dialogue. Not even subtitles. All mood. We don’t need no stinking words, a truth the writer in me grudgingly accepts. Some things you just innately understand. If the only open urinal is between two guys, you use a stall, or the sink.

This guy is on the hunt, and he’s not looking for space bison.

He has a brief exchange with an unseen person in the cave, our first dialogue. It’s tense. Weapons bristle. One of them calls the other ‘brother.’ Family drama expressed via deadly combat is Star Wars 101. Though perhaps it’s a different sort of ‘brother.’ Maybe the hunter tracked Desmond Hume to a wasteland cave where he’s been riding a stationary bike while jamming to a “Mama” Cass Elliot record.2

It’s neither, unfortunately. I could use more Desmond Hume energy in my life.

The unseen speaker is the hunter’s brother, for real. They chop it up, Star Wars style: they have an actual laser sword fight.

They don’t use lightsabers because of IP infringement. And also reasons of aesthetics; if a lightsaber is 90% light, 10% sword, the Badlands equivalent is the exact opposite. Swords edged in lasers. It’s ridiculous but also awesome, which is an encapsulation of the Badlands experience.

Imagine a commercial selling these swords to bright-eyed Predators to-be; the tagline: when sharp isn’t sharp enough.

Those are just the Star Wars things I noticed in the first 3 minutes.

Predator: Badlands doesn’t steal from Star Wars so much as it obliquely references it almost constantly, to the point that I couldn’t help but notice all the similarities. Granted, it’s probably impossible to be truly innovative in the action sci-fi space now, almost 50 years after Star Wars created the mold. Even when Badlands attempts to do something unique, Star Wars got there first.

That’s not to demean Badlands. The story isn’t new or fresh, but it is very fun. (Another unintentional Star Wars callback?) Allowing for the fact that I can’t help but see the world through Star Wars colored glasses, I think even casual Star Wars fans—people who still call Grogu ‘Baby Yoda’ and don’t understand why people are upset about the order in which Han Solo shot his blaster—will recognize the familiarities. Even if they can’t articulate it as such. Like when you hear a few notes of a song you vaguely recognize but have no memory of.

As I see it, the reasons for this are two-fold.

1. Star Wars owns this corner. Any other film in the action-space genre is either borrowing from it (intentionally or not) or goes so far out of its way to not be Star Wars that the not-Star Wars of it takes on outsized importance. Star Wars is living rent-free in a lot of genre movies’ heads. (Someone somewhere is about to ‘what about Dune’ me. They’re not the same. Dune is hard sci-fi with enough action to satisfy the plebs. The only thing hard about Star Wars is its unseemly dietary practices; as in—hard to watch.3)

2. Predator: Badlands is the least Predator movie in the Predator franchise. It’s a light-hearted action romp. A far cry from the first film, which systematically slaughtered the cast while also introducing us to fresh concepts like the sexual Tyrannosaurus. Badlands doesn’t feel like a continuation or extension of canon. You know what it is—a Kidz Bop rendition of Predator. Approachable, safe, familiar yet oddly different, good chance it’ll ruin the original forever.4

That second point is doing most of the work. By abdicating its very nature, Badlands settles in as a quasi-generic sci-fi action movie, which makes it uniquely vulnerable to the first point.

That’s a lot of backhanded compliments and shots across the bow for a movie I enjoyed. Badlands is a good time movie. And that’s the problem, if there is one with a movie I genuinely liked. It’s too easy of a watch.

A Predator movie should evoke a certain amount of dread. The title itself suggests the natural state of things. I love the 1987 classic, a sure-fire top 5 all-time action movie, but it is also quietly scary. Not in the same way that The Hills Have Eyes or Magic Mike is terrifying.5 It’s just that a movie in which a space alien harvests the skulls and spines of grown ass men is not messing around.

Predator: Badlands keeps the basic premise—galactic big game hunters—but jettisons everything that makes for a satisfying Predator experience. Instead we get a pleasantly bizarre blend of Predator, Star Wars, and Alien. It’s like drinking kombucha. Weird, but the weirdness is strangely appealing and its own kind of pleasure.

The root of all this is structural. Badlands makes the predator a protagonist. It goes to pains to make us sympathize with him—runt of the litter, daddy issues (hello Star Wars my old friend)—and it works. We like him and want good things for him, even if that means one day he’ll travel to earth and casually separate people from their skeletal structures. Badlands has cake and eats it, and grins with frosting smeared all over its mandibles. But you can’t do that without irreparably changing the original terms of the deal.

Star Wars alone offers two notable examples of this.

• Boba Fett. His mystique was his greatest asset. We lost most of that when we got his full backstory. The rest was jettisoned when he came out of the Sarlaac looking like he’d been stealing most of the monster’s meals.

• Darth Vader was cinema’s greatest villain. You can’t tell me with a straight face that some of his ruthlessness wasn’t lost forever when we discovered he a) was once a snot-nosed kid with a kink for space angels; b) grew into a rat-tail wearing teenager with serious stalker-perv vibes; c) had his balls burned off.

Previous Predators weren’t even characters in the traditional sense. They were forces of nature cloaked in mystery and invisibility. You can remove the mask, but there’s no putting it back on once you do. Badlands sacrificing the thing that made Predators interesting in exchange for more time in front of the camera is the most Star Wars thing ever.

Badlands makes Predators safe.

I loved it. But I’m also a coward who hates scary movies and loves Star Wars. I’m 100% the target audience. You may feel differently about it.

It’s basically impossible to consider The Force Awakens on its own merits 10 years later.1

People tend to be split on the follow-up installments of the Sequel trilogy. Either they love The Last Jedi and despise The Rise of Skywalker, or they hate TLJ and tolerate The Return of Palpatine.2 Most agree the trilogy was a failed endeavor.3

I prefer the word tragedy.

There are worse things than disappointing Star Wars. I mean, just look around. You can probably name a dozen things without thinking too hard. Bad movies are literally the least of our problems. Spare emotional RAM is a luxury.

It’s easy to get hyperbolic about this stuff because it actually doesn’t matter. Also the internet rewards spicy takes and we’re all fighting over the same few minutes of attention. But I legitimately consider the Sequel trilogy a tragedy. Lower case ‘t’ but still.

This is the flip side of investing too much of yourself in stories. Similar to Horcruxes, it hurts when something comes along and mishandles your precious.4 It’s important to maintain perspective though, especially for me, who once unironically wrote about myself:

I was born 9 months after Star Wars premiered in 1977, which naturally suggests my mom’s womb quickened on its own after she saw the film. I get it—these movies make me feel things too. I’m not saying I’m a Chosen One, only that I wasn’t ready to be born into a world without Star Wars.

There’s no avoiding it though. The last two-thirds of the trilogy overshadows the exciting, propulsive beginning and takes the spark out of its lightsaber.5 Consider this single fact—a final digression before we get to the meat, promise—The Force Awakens was written by the guy who wrote Toy Story 3 and the guy who wrote The Empire Strikes Back; The Rise of Skywalker was written by the guy who wrote Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice.6 Put nicely, there was a general degradation in quality.

Watching The Force Awakens—henceforth TFA because I’m not being paid by the word here—in 2026 is an exercise in the kind of duality that plagues clairvoyants and the type of people who triumphantly declare “I knew it” when things go wrong: the weight of foreknowledge. You’re trying to enjoy the film for what it is—fast, fun—but the viewing is hampered by knowing that ultimately, none of this matters. Promises remain unfulfilled—or unfulfilling. The potential is forever squandered.

Star Wars has had two periods of great anticipation, both of which coincided with a new trilogy after a long cinematic drought.

Nothing can ever top the hype for The Phantom Menace. It literally can’t be replicated. We were a different people then, and the world a slower place. I watched the first trailer using dial-up at my girlfriend’s house because we didn’t have internet at mine. It took roughly an hour to download—streaming hadn’t yet been invented, which makes this story feel even older—and had a display resolution of 108p.7 It’s a good thing a lot of that trailer involves Tatooine because the footage was hella grainy.

TFA didn’t enter into a content vacuum like Episode I but, having witnessed firsthand the marketing firepower for both, the build-up came surprisingly close. Of all the things the Prequels introduced, the most surprising was the realization that Star Wars could actually be bad. More than once, even! That sounds incredibly shortsighted and obvious, but previous to 1999, Star Wars had only ever been awesome. Even when it was watered down by Ewoks and cocaine, still great. The possibility that it could be anything but never crossed my mind. That’s probably true for most of us.

When I think about TFA, mostly what I remember is that intermediary period between when the film was announced and when it released. The internet was fully formed by this time, which meant I could drink at any geeky watering hole that’d have me. The excitement was palpable. I spent most of the time leading up to Episode I in a kind of fugue state. I couldn’t accept that it was actually happening. TFA was different. And not just because Han Solo was returning.

Teaser trailers are only reliable for vibes, and sometimes not even then. The best part of the Prequels was 100% the trailers. (And also the Duel of the Fates music video; you know a song’s a banger when it makes Episode I seem epic.) Episode II’s teaser is a masterclass in atmosphere that the movie itself completely lacked.

Trailers lie. True story.

TFA’s teaser is just that—a tease. A taste. Quick cuts backed by a John Williams soundtrack is generally enough to send blood rushing to certain regions of my body. What the teaser promised was something not really found in the Prequels—urgency. Movement. Tension. Those are things you can’t fake with a trailer. Either it’s already in the shot or it’s not.

When I was a kid, adults sometimes talked about remembering where they were when they heard JFK was assassinated. The level of specificity was surprising, like a polaroid they carried around in their head. It fascinated me. And then it happened to me.

I have two such where-I-was memories: 9/11, and the day the first real trailer for TFA released. Let’s move past the obvious questions about how my brain allocates its limited resources.

(In case you’re curious—I was at work both times. The second memory is obviously a lot happier. My friend and I sequestered ourselves in a conference room to watch the trailer several times on the digital projector. I then went back to my desk to watch it a few more times. I then downloaded the trailer as an mp3 to listen to. In case my current employer is reading this, I’d like to clarify this was at a previous employer. I’d obviously never do such a thing now.)

The first full trailer for TFA blew my mind out the back of my skull. It confirmed what the teasers had suggested—a return to the spirit of the originals. Star Wars was back, baby!

One of my favorite things about TFA has nothing to do with the movie, and everything to do where the fanbase was heading into it, a moment in time immortalized through John Boyega’s reaction to the first trailer. Boyega was—and hopefully still is—a huge Star Wars fan. He brought a toy to the set for Harrison Ford to autograph. He is one of us, which makes his reaction to seeing himself in a Star Wars so wholesome. I’d be losing my mind too.

TFA released in theaters on December 18. I saw it 4 times before the month was out.

Taken independently of everything that comes later, TFA is the very definition of a good time hang. It's ridiculously fun. So much so that I'm willing to overlook the blatant A New Hope copy/paste. They were trying to remind people why we all loved Star Wars by remaking Star Wars. There are far worse sins.

I wept during the first screening. I’ve gotten choked up at the same spot every subsequent viewing.8 Whatever deficiencies TFA has, it isn't lacking for heart. And ultimately, that's why I love these movies. They make me feel things on an almost spiritual level. I know I'm being manipulated by lights and sounds and a heavy serving of John Williams, but something about that specific alchemy has always moved me. Some people love race cars or fishing. I cry about space wizards. Know thyself.

The best part of TFA is the sense that we’re getting something fresh, despite the too-familiar trappings deployed to ensnare nostalgia. Finn and Rey are so youthfully frenetic, especially in the first act—which coincidentally, or not, is the least Star Warsy part of TFA—that you can't help but be charmed. The dialogue crackles. There’s not a poop gag in sight. It's everything that was missing from the Prequels.

For a time, being better than the Prequels was everything. But it also wasn't enough.

The Sequel trilogy’s original sin can be found in its first installment. Why are there Stormtroopers running around again, and what’s with this Great Value brand Empire? Wasn’t there an entire trilogy already about beating these guys? Not to mention the Luke Skywalker of it all—how could he let this happen? Are we to believe this giant emaciated Palpatine cosplayer is actually stronger than Luke Freaking Skywalker? C’mon, man.

Great questions. And while I think there’s something very real about the idea that evil can never truly be defeated, that heroes stumble and fall, and that old foes—hello, Nazism—have a way of coming back, TFA did the Sequel trilogy no favors by resurrecting those old tokens without any thought to the why’s and how’s, and instead kicking that can down the road. By abdicating this duty in favor of half-formed mysteries, TFA saddled the last 2/3 of the trilogy with responsibilities it never should’ve had.

When I revisit TFA, it’s with these thoughts in the back of my mind, mixed with anguish that the good of it—Finn, Rey, Kylo, and, of course, Han—is really great. It’s not hard to lose myself in the movie. I’m still vulnerable to bombastic scores and lightsabers. But I can never truly escape knowing that this fantastic promise ultimately fizzles out. The best way to enjoy TFA now is by tapping into that John Boyega trailer energy, and clinging to it like a talisman, and pretending that all the possibilities that seemed to exist still exist.

Finn spends the beginning of TFA trying to escape Jakku and getting increasingly annoyed that nobody else is interested in leaving. In his defense, the planet doesn’t have much going for it. Its only industry involves trading scavenged equipment for Jell-o looking protein squares, an exchange subject to the whims of an alien who looks like he eats most of the Jell-o and is surly about having to trade any away.

The film wants us to share in Finn’s resolve to leave because obviously Star Wars only starts on the desert planet—it doesn’t end there. The adventure can’t truly begin until they experience hyperspace. That’s Star Wars 101. But the best part of TFA is everything involving Jakku. The scavenging and the neat food physics and the burgeoning Finn/Rey relationship, yes. But also because everything was still in front of us.

Take me back to Jakku.

Wow—you’re still here? You must’ve really enjoyed this! To show their appreciation, people used to stand outside my window and shout about my brilliance. Alas, my neighbors kept calling the cops. This will have to do:

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Yeah. Kind of a big deal, and not in the ironic, Ron Burgundy sense.

My friends and I recently launched our own webcomic—perhaps you’ve heard—and wanted some advice from a master. Mike was very complementary about our strip and gave us a few pointers. It was one of those things I lived but still can’t quite believe actually happened.

Much of my focus the last 6 months has been on rebranding this site and starting the webcomic, endeavors that presuppose a future in which people still have an interest in entertainment and are not completely consumed with survival. Something most of us have always taken for granted, like Palpatine always returning, somehow.

Now in my late 40s—eek—I’ve gotten accustomed to The Way Things Are, which is really just a sequel to The Way Things Have Always Been. Work, yes, but also fun stuff like movies and games. Most of the human experience has involved a fierce struggle just to keep on living. War, famine, disease, plus that dreadful period where everyone was wearing powered wigs and hose. In contrast, my life has mostly been one of quiet stability.

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I’ve always thought I’d do okay in solitary confinement.1

That’s an easy thing to say, sitting here, eating a Tootsie Pop2 while refreshing Reddit to see if America discovered any new cliffs to jump off. I’ve never done time, hard or otherwise, unless you count sitting through Donnie Darko.3

I just enjoy my own company. My interior spaces are lavish and well-appointed, and forever beckon. This publication is mostly a looking glass into those private amusements. Narnia with a peephole. Though maybe Porky's is the better comp.

I’ve come to realize that solitary confinement is a desert island scenario with fewer amenities, and that the ultimate expression of both is the time loop.

As depicted in films like Groundhog Day, a time loop is when someone is trapped in a day-shaped vortex, from which there appears to be no escape. The day repeats endlessly, suffocating the protagonist with sheer mundane repetitiveness.

I'll be honest. I don’t hate the idea of getting trapped in a time loop.

There are definitely loops to avoid. I love Edge of Tomorrow, but even if you’re a fan of Emily Blunt combat yoga, that’s not a place you want to get stuck.4 Ditto Boss Level or Happy Death Day. If the loop exists specifically to kill you in lots of crazy ways, count me out. But if you could land in a mundane loop? One with decent Wi-Fi? Maybe pre-2016? I mean… twist my arm. I could use a lot more regular tedium, and far less fresh hell served daily.

Against such an eventuality, I have closely studied time loop films for textual clues. I’m like Bear Grylls but without any discernible survival skills.

After extensive study, I’ve determined there are 4 distinct phases of time loop acceptance. Know the signs. The life you save just might be your own.

Phase 1: Tomorrow Never Dies

The most unbelievable part of Groundhog Day is how long it takes Bill Murray to realize consequences no longer apply. Maybe it’s the gamer in me, but it would take me exactly two loops to embrace the central time loop tenet: every day is exactly the same.

When Bill finally awakens to this truth, he immediately starts enjoying his new existence. Seems like a good place to start.

Almost every decision you and I make is based on there being a tomorrow. Don’t eat too much delicious junk. Don’t bet it all on one spin of roulette. Don’t challenge someone to pistols at dawn. A time loop throws all our natural instincts out the window. The chickens will not be coming home, to roost or otherwise.

Time loops force us to live in the moment because we have no other option. Though a world without ramifications can get super hedonistic, super fast.

We take Batman’s side in The Dark Knight, but there’s no denying the Joker’s allure. The way he completely disregards conventions is breathtaking and, in a way, aspirational. His chaos manifesto fits perfectly with a time loop. The things normal people get up to when they think nobody is watching is shocking. People would be doing all manner of crazy shit if nothing stuck.5

Palm Springs posits that what keeps the time looper from doing truly heinous stuff is that they will remember doing it. That’s baggage they’ll continue to carry, no matter how many times the day resets. That checks out. I’m the guy who can’t bear it when a computer NPC thinks I’m a jerk. How much more if it was a real person.

At the same time, I’m also the guy who fires rocket launchers into crowded streets in Grand Theft Auto, just because it’s funny. Some level of hijinks should be expected.

Who hasn’t contemplated a bank heist? Staking out the place, gathering intel, figuring out escape routes. Even just as an intellectual exercise, a puzzle with moving parts, it’s interesting to think about. Can you pull off the perfect crime?

Is it possible to kick-off a food fight at an upscale restaurant and, if so, what is the exact tipping point? A specific number of diners, or is it a type of food? Is there any scenario in which the staff get involved?

Can I evade police pursuit with evasive maneuvers and power slides? Basically: Do my Grand Theft Auto skills translate to the real world? In that vein—if I drive my car into the ocean during the chase, can I swim to freedom by escaping their search radius? Let’s real-world test GTA’s logic.

The next phase is a clear escalation of this “anything goes” mantra.

Phase 2: Me Love You Long Time

In his stand-up special Delirious, Eddie Murphy makes a joke about the sexual proclivities of the rock ‘n roll band that opened the show.

“The BusBoys will f*** anything that moves. Come to my house, the fish stop swimming.”

BusBoys have got nothing on dudes caught in time loops.

At least in theory.

The movies make it seem really easy to talk your way into a stranger’s bed; you just need to accumulate enough information to bluff your way past their better judgment. I’m not saying it can’t happen. It probably helps to be Bill Murray or Andy Samberg—relatively attractive, incredibly hilarious.

So shoot your shot. You might consider this an opportunity to develop a shot. Maybe a personality. Go big or go home alone. Somebody cue the “Shout” montage from Wedding Crashers.

However.

Maybe I’m moralizing, but battering your way into someone’s holy of holies using intel you’ve pried loose over hundreds of previous encounters strikes me as more than a bit sociopathic. At least a peeping Tom has some skin in the game—he might get caught.

A time loop quickly becomes game-like: repetitive elements, progression of skills, people locked into a few responses. That’s not to strip away anyone’s personhood, but the loop does cap their agency; they’re trapped just as much as the time looper, they just don’t know it. Most of us tend to see ourselves as the main character in our own stories. A time loop codifies it. The world really does revolve around you.

Seducing someone in a time loop is materially no different than mastering the jump ability in Super Mario—it’s all about timing learned through repetition. Once you’re on that path, how do you not see other people as something to game? And therefore no longer as people?

Time loops get super messed up when you start thinking about the ramifications where other people are involved. People think they can just wild out, Vegas style—whatever happens in the time loop stays in the time loop—and that is certainly true. But I can’t believe running around, dicking down everything in sight won’t have some long-term consequences. Humper beware.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this phase leads directly to the next.

Phase 3: Suicide Squad

A couple of weeks ago, I accidentally cut myself with a razor knife. Blood everywhere. It was like the hallway scene in The Shining. You think I’m joking but apparently your index finger contains 90% of your blood, and also the blood of everyone in a 3-mile radius.

I had to sit down.

Movies like Die Hard have trained generations to believe you can get shot and just Energizer Bunny that shit. But the equivalent of a bad paper cut took me out. It was a sobering moment, shattering all my action hero fantasies. I just don’t like seeing inside stuff on the outside.

Little surprise, suicide is where time loop movies lose me. I’m just too squeamish to kill myself. I get nervous just doing things that might be dangerous, like driving too fast or eating Taco Bell before a meeting. Scaredy-cat is the medical term. Maybe you’re different. Hello darkness my old friend, and all that. If so, welcome to paradise.

These movies are very flippant about death. It makes sense—death loses its sting when it doesn’t stick, and is therefore really funny. Also, 90% of the fun in Edge of Tomorrow is watching Tom Cruise die. Largely because it’s Tom Cruise. I’d argue the movie doesn’t land the same if it’s Tom Hanks, Tom Hardy, or Tom Holland getting run over. Tom Selleck strikes me as a fun alternative; how long before he shaves his legendary mustache—suicide of a different kind—just to inject some variety?

Movies depict time loops as quietly excruciating hellscapes that drive people to continually attempt suicide.6 The time looper wants the carousel to stop because they just can’t take the routine.

The one undeniable fact of time loops: eventually they drive everyone a little mad.

Phase 1 & 2 are all about fun and games. Phase 3 is where depression sets in, when the pleasures of the flesh and the simple joy of police chases fade. You’re left facing an uninterrupted procession of todays, each identical to the last.

Remember in Attack of the Clones, when the giant emaciated alien proudly showed off all the Jango Fett clones to Obi-Wan Kenobi? He said something like, “A million more on the way.” Obi-Wan was horrified, possibly because of the alien’s spindly spider-limb vibes, but mostly because they copy-pasted a human a million times. It’s unnatural.

Imagine staring down that barrel, but with days. But it’s actually more than a million. It’s infinity. The volume alone threatens to crush the psyche. People start looking for exits.

Phase 4: These Go To 11

Having gone through the gauntlet of pleasure and pain, the time looper arrives at the final stop.

Phase 4 forces the looper to address a simple yet heavy question: What would you do if you had literally all the time in the world? Once the novelty wears off and you’re bored with the obvious stuff. What’s left?

Mastery. The simple satisfaction of getting really good at something through regular practice. Not to get too high brow, but I’d suggest the habit of losing yourself in the process offers the only true escape from the time loop, however fleeting.

Skills and memory are the only things you can carry forward from one loop to the next. As a writer, that’s a painful reality. Having all the time to hone your craft, and none of the distractions that get in the way, but needing to start on page 1 every day. I hate losing a paragraph. Trying to commit your magnum opus(es) to memory so you don’t lose it is terrifying.

Everyone has things they wish they could learn—guitar, Italian, car-surfing, programming, knitting—but lack the time or have other priorities. In a time loop, all excuses cease to exist. You either do the work or you don’t.

What’s fun are the really esoteric skills. You have to be incredibly bored to master full-contact juggling or booger sculpting.

All time loopers wind up here and find contentment, if not peace. In the process, they learn acceptance, and something-something personal growth, and then they finally escape the loop.

I guess the moral of the time loop story is: if you have all the time in the world, eventually you’ll become a better person just for lack of other options.

Time loop movies are a specific kind of fantasy, but they only work because they speak to a universal human condition.

It’s fun thinking about what we’d do, in the same way that it’s fun to imagine winning the lottery. But here’s the Tony Robbins of it all—we don’t have to get stuck in a flimsy sci-fi plot to experience Phase 4 living. We could just decide, and do it.

BRB, going to try Jedi mind tricking my wife into making chocolate chip cookies.7

Wow—you’re still here? You must’ve really enjoyed this! To show their appreciation, people used to stand outside my window and shout about my brilliance. Alas, my neighbors kept calling the cops. This will have to do:

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There’s something about a cavalry charge that just gets the blood pumping.

It’s tempting to chalk it up to a modern fascination with an antiquated way of war, but they were waxing poetic about equestrian combat in the 1800s. People galloping toward certain danger and, perhaps, winning the day simply because they have the cajones to ride a horse full-speed at a freaking army is an undefeated premise.

It’s like driving a car 80 mph into a brick wall while not wearing a seatbelt. There’s only two possible outcomes: death, or heroically smashing through the wall.

In a trilogy full of powerful moments, the charge of the Rohirrim at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields has always stood near the very top. When all hope seems lost, the Rohirrim take the field and keep evil at bay, not with magic or fabled weapons but simply through reckless courage. It’s awe-inspiring. And a reminder to keep fighting even if the odds don’t appear to be in your favor. I decided to break down this sequence, partly to discover its secrets, but more to marinate in its wonders.

For science, I first compared the theatrical and extended editions of the charge. The extended edition is only 6 seconds longer (4:02 vs 4:08). Even watching them back-to-back, nothing jumped out as obviously different. The extended cut probably just has more random horse porn. That both editions are nearly identical seems an acknowledgement of the scene’s flawless nature. Peter Jackson couldn’t cut anything.

The theatrical edition commits one of its most egregious sins here, cutting away during the charge’s climax to inform us Denethor has gone mad—like we needed that reminder—before returning for the final 16 seconds. The extended cut gives us the full monty, all at once, and we’re better for it.

Here’s the full scene, from the extended edition, for your reference and enjoyment.

All timestamps are from the extended edition.

Minas Tirith in flames

The gates have been breached. The Gondorians fall back behind successive defenses, but it’s only a holding action. The battle is lost. Hide your kids, hide your wife, and hide your husband ‘cause they raping everybody out here.

High in the city, Gandalf the White faces the Witch-king of Angmar. It’s no contest. Gandalf’s staff is shattered by sorcery and he’s thrown from his horse. You’ve never seen a more visceral example of impotence. HIMS should use it in their next commercial.

2:32:10: The Witch-king raises his sword for the killing blow. A war horn interrupts.

He immediately flies off. It’s almost like he recognizes that horn. Like he knows the orcs are in deep shit.

2:32:23: Incredibly, melted potato-face is the only orc who notices the blaring war horns.

The bar for advancement in Sauron’s army must be very low. Just have some situational awareness.

2:32:26: Potato-face steps toward the camera, giving us a closer look at his ugly mug. He resembles the cannibalistic offspring of five generations of albino orc incest.

The other orcs have finally turned toward the sound. They’ve clearly been trained to respond whenever Potato-face abruptly stops and wanders a few feet away.

The Rohirrim haven’t even appeared yet and we’ve already gotten two notable enemies to react.

2:32:28: With the light literally and metaphorically rising, the Rohirrim crest a distant hill.

Is this convenient timing or a new strategy? At this point in the trilogy, they’re undefeated attacking an overwhelming force with the sun at their back. Imagine King Théoden on the other side of the hill, waiting for the perfect moment to appear. Even if it grants no strategic advantage, points for style.

A totally pedantic detail, but this is the timestamp I’m using for the start of the charge because it’s when the Rohirrim appear.

2:32:34: Still cresting.

2:32:40: STILL CRESTING.

12 seconds of horsemen emerging from behind a hill. That’s a very long time to show something that should be boring. Taylor Sheridan employs more horses than anyone working in Hollywood. He doesn’t do anything as patient, instead opting for quick cuts backed by country-rock. Different demo, sure, but at the end of the day it’s dudes riding horses. One is majestic, the other meh.

I tend to roll my eyes when cinephiles bemoan how streamers have eroded film as an art form, but when I look at this shot, they have a point. Often epic fantasy means dragons and elf-lords and, yes, titanic battles. But part of what makes this scene so incredible is how it builds.

2:32:41: Close-up look at the ranks of horsemen. There’s no sense of urgency, not even a hint of concern. From their body language they could be riding in a parade instead of facing an army many times their size.

2:32:45: Zoom in. Close enough to distinguish differences. To individualize the mass.

Let’s graft some personalities onto these five guys, from left to right:

• Young dude in his first fight. His helmet is too big and his cloak covers his torso, as though he’s trying to hide.

• The Donut That Rides. His armor looks fancier than the two right-most guys, and he has a horn around his neck. A seasoned vet called out of retirement, was very lucky his armor still fit.

• Professional soldier. Wearing the nice armor and carrying a standard. Voted most likely to survive.

• The old man. No helmet, just a chainmail cowl to go with his chainmail shirt. Squinting because of the cataracts. Definitely going to die, hopefully not from falling off his horse.

• Regretting his life choices guy. Note how he leans on his spear, the way his helmet hangs forward. Militia, someone who went on a bender the night before. Just look at that handlebar mustache. He spins vinyl and smokes Marlboro Reds.

2:32:47: The Rohirrim halt on the ridge.

King Théoden separates from the pack, riding forward for a better look.

Apologies to Potato-face—apparently in Middle-earth, the best way to assess danger is to move a few feet away from your men and stare at some unknown detail.

Just realized that Théoden and Potato-face are unknowingly having a staring contest.

2:32:53: Théoden getting his first look at Minas Tirith.

Shock and horror.

I think he’s also disappointed at how soundly Gondor is getting beaten. Minas Tirith is an impressive fortress. Even against a massive force, they should’ve been able to hold out a little longer, a little better. Alas, Denethor.

Théoden probably imagined fighting alongside Gondor, not risking his forces in a suicidal attempt to lift a siege. Forget the Westfold—where was Gondor when orcs showed up on their own doorstep?

2:32:54: This left-to-right pan takes 4 seconds. The field is filthy with orcs. The film doesn’t give us an exact count, but it’s a helluva lot. We know the Rohirrim number about 6000. They’re outnumbered by magnitudes.

There are long odds, suicidal odds, and we-should-just-go-home odds. This is the latter. Turn the horses around. Game over, man.

2:32:59: Éowyn and Merry realizing they’re about to die.

The dude beside them is taking a nap. These Rohirrim, man. They have ice in their veins. I’m suddenly inspired to create a horse lord as my next D&D character.

2:33:12: Éomer getting his first look at the field. There’s definitely a split second reaction of “holy shit, that’s a lot of orcs.”

It’s been over a minute since the Rohirrim horns first reverberated across the battlefield. And they’re still arriving. Talk about build-up. The anticipation makes the actual charge so much sweeter.

This scene could be used as an example of foreplay.

2:33:16: Potato-face getting the orcs into a defensive position, pikes in front, archers in back. As someone who plays a lot of strategy games, it’s a solid plan.

Love the orc in the front row, first from the right. For some reason he screams Muppet to me. I think it’s the too-big helmet, and the way his eyes seem to stare through the slit.

Or it could be because he’s holding a giant letter ‘T.’

2:33:20: This orc is fired up! He groans like he’s hungry as he rushes forward. Not only is meat back on the menu, it’s gonna be fast food. Get in my belly!

I wish we’d gotten a scene where this orc squares off against The Donut That Rides. They could’ve fought over the last drumstick.

2:33:22: You don’t really notice until you’re pausing every few seconds to write about this scene, but the costume and makeup on the orcs is crazy good. They’re all distinct.

Man, what a great movie.

2:33:24: Théoden sets his chin with resolve and a little disgust—for Pete’s sake, Gondor—and rides back to his men with instructions.

There’s no hesitation, no question of what they’ll do. They could easily turn around. They’re on fracking horses! But, as we’ll touch on shortly, Théoden lives for this. He’s a death poet.

2:33:33: Nothing, just love this shot from the Rohirrim lines.

2:33:45: Théoden with the pregame speech.

Théoden: Arise, arise, Riders of Theoden! Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered… a sword day, a red day, ere the sun rises!

See what I mean? Death poet. I once wrote a 10-minute article explaining why Théoden is the best Lord of the Rings character. It’s 99% because of stuff like this.

The soundtrack begins to swell, as though it can’t help but get hyped by Théoden’s words. Who can blame it? He’s the ultimate motivator.

2:34:01: The camera pulls back to give us a good look at why it took so long for the Rohirrim to fully crest that hill. They’re outnumbered, but they’re not nothing.

2:34:03: The Rohirrim lower their spears. It’s go time.

2:34:06: Orcs brace for the charge.

Imagine riding a horse at full speed into that.

2:34:17: Théoden clapping spears with his sword while galloping past.

If swords and spears are substitutes for a man’s virility, is this like high-fiving with penises?

2:34:22: Still clapping wood.

2:34:25: STILL CLAPPING.

2:34:28: STILL.

2:34:30: Théoden peels off, having christened a substantial portion of the front rank with the glory of his sword. It took roughly 13 seconds from start to finish. Say one thing for them, the Rohirrim really know how to draw out a moment.

Because he’s never met an apocalypse he didn’t want to test his mettle against, Théoden fires up the troops as only he can.

Théoden: “Ride now! Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin and the world’s ending!”

Dude is dealing.

2:34:33: Théoden: “Death!”

I’ve never been in a situation like this, have never been in any true life-or-death scenario, unless you count the time I told my wife her microwave cake was disgusting, but I just can’t imagine shouting “death” as a war cry.

Are they yelling for the death of the enemy? Welcoming the possibility of their own? Both? Théoden is very fatalistic. I think the prospect of so much glorious carnage has gone to his head.

2:34:34: Ah, these guys again.

The young dude is fired up. Who can blame him? Yes, King Théoden—sign me up for some of that! “Death!”

Meanwhile, the old dude is clearly thinking this was a horrible idea.

2:34:36: Éowyn cannot believe she’s surrounded by so many people anxious to ride to their deaths. She could’ve saved them all a lot of trouble and just served some of her famous stew.

2:34:37: Théoden: “Death!”

He’s whipping them into a frothy lather, swinging his sword around his head like it’s a loincloth.

2:34:40: A final “death” call and response.

Look at these extras. The guy on the left looks like the kid from Mask, the Cher movie. The dude right of Théoden is orgasmic; all the wood slapping and death shouting really spoke to him. The poor bastard on the far right is on the front line without a helmet. I hope he’s enjoying these last few seconds of life.

2:34:40: In the end, Éowyn’s fear and doubt are swept away. None are equal to Théoden’s dark poetry. He’s the most powerful force in Middle-earth.

2:34:50: One last pan, showing the Rohirrim, enraptured and ensorcelled, ready to fling themselves upon Mordor blades, as the sun shines.

The moment is upon us. The music swells, urging us forward.

There’s nothing left to say. “Death” really says it all.

2:34:51: Théoden: “Forth Eorlingas!”

Okay, maybe there was one last thing to say.

2:34:54: The horns! They’re horning!

Maybe it’s because it’s the end of all this build-up, or maybe I missed my calling as a medieval horn-man, but I love this part so much. There’s something stirring about the sound of the horns, a promise of rescue, perhaps, or of reckoning.

The horns ushered in this moment, signaling to both Gondor and Mordor that the cavalry had arrived. And now they call the charge.

2:34:58: The horses are moving! The charge has begun!

I pegged the beginning of this scene to when the Rohirrim first started cresting the hill, back at 2:32:28. We’ve had exactly 2 and a half minutes of build-up. The anticipation is through the roof.

The guy second from the left is still grinning. It’s a crazed smile. He’s either high or aroused. I get it, I’m a little of both myself right now.

2:35:06: So many horses. A wall of horseflesh, bristling with spears. It would be so terrifying facing an army like this.

2:35:16: SO MANY HORSES.

Look at that white dot leading out front. Théoden is one crazy dude.

He’s probably still shouting “death.”

2:35:17: I don’t know why but the guy fourth from the left always cracks me up. He’s carrying the kind of axe you’d use to cut firewood. A pitchfork would’ve been a better choice given its reach. But as we’ll see, the weapons are just for looks.

At one point Gimli calls orcs a “rabble” but the Rohirrim are pretty motley themselves.

2:35:23: Waiting to fire. The only thing missing is an old orc who losses his grip and fires early. You can’t tell me Peter Jackson didn’t add that scene as a premature ejaculation joke.

2:35:28: Horses in a full gallop. Is there a more effective way of illustrating a breakneck pace than a close-up of horses running with teeth bared? It’s undefeated.

Between his long mane and the wicked-looking axe, this guy has strong Viking vibes. He’s my second-favorite extra. But more importantly—WHAT IS THE GUY BEHIND HIM DOING?

His eyes are completely covered. LMAO.

2:35:34: More galloping. Look at all those horses!

I read somewhere that this scene used about 250 extras and a lot of CGI to make it look like a massive force. Works pretty convincingly. Reminds me of Rogue One, where Cassian Andor says to “make 10 men feel like 100.” But like, bigger.

2:35:37: Potato-face gives the order to fire. The charge technically started about 30 seconds ago but we’re only now getting to our first bloodshed. The patience of this scene is unparalleled.

2:35:42: Horse and rider fall under the onslaught. The charge continues unabated.

2:35:45: Another volley, followed by a close-up on an orc who must be played by Peter Jackson’s nephew or something. Why is he singled out? So many orcs look much cooler.

I just realized he’s the other white orc. FFS, Peter.

2:35:46: I know it’s just CGI but man, these dudes falling to arrows is really well done. It’s hard to capture with a screen cap, but in motion it’s so visceral and violent.

The charge was heroic before, but racing into missile fire puts it on another level. The charge can’t be broken. It’s a force of nature, with a horrible gravity all its own.

2:35:55: Potato-face legit shocked that three volleys didn’t break the Rohirrim. He’s too used to fighting Gondor. Horse lords are made of sterner stuff.

2:35:58: The moment is nearly at hand. The charge has taken on spear-like dimensions, ready to cut deep into enemy lines.

While we’re here, it’s worth point out that Théoden’s original strategy—formed roughly 2 minutes ago—involved splitting his force into three.

Théoden: Éomer! Take your Eored down the left flank. Gamling! Follow the King’s banner down the center. Grimbold, take your company right after we pass the wall. Forth and fear no darkness!

This is one of the only camera shots distant enough to see what’s happening at a macro level. Where’s this flank Éomer is supposed to be taking? Everyone just formed up behind their king and charged with reckless malice.

Théoden’s poetry is a double-edged sword.

2:35:59: Éomer unnecessarily tossing his spear to himself—while galloping on a horse—is such a flex, on the level of Bucky’s knife flip, but even more excessive. Still awesome.

AND HOLY SHIT! Look to Éomer’s left—the hero that was promised! Rohan’s version of Daredevil, the blind dealer of death himself.

I have so many questions, starting with: How many other scenes is he in, unnoticed in the background? When Grima Wormtongue watched Éowyn from the shadows, was he watching Wormtongue from an even darker corner?

Btw, someone blindly riding a horse full speed into a wall of orcs is the logical outcome of spending too much time in Théoden’s presence. “Death!”

On the real: How did this happen? Did the cowl keep falling in the extra’s face and he just went with it? Did Peter Jackson think it was funny? (To be fair, it totally is.)

From here on I’ll be pausing every second looking for our hero.

2:36:02: This orc’s internal monologue: “Holy crap—is that guy blind?!”

2:36:03: This guy seems to be Potato-face’s number two. The charge hasn’t even hit home and he’s already breaking. He’s looking in all directions for an escape, but there’s none to be had.

Blind Justice is at hand, and his sword is thirsty.

2:36:04: The guy on the left was my favorite Rohirrim extra, but he’s since been demoted to second-favorite after I discovered blind-guy in the course of writing this.

This is what I love about this guy: The Rohirrim are charging toward the orcs at a full gallop, and at the last second this guy engages his horse’s nitro and blows through their ranks. He wants to be the first to spill orc blood.

Théoden’s poetry, man. I told you. Call your doctor if it lasts longer than 4 hours.

Meanwhile, the guy next to him is so chill, I assume he died of a heart attack during the charge. He’s a big boy, his heart couldn’t stand the bloodlust. But his body continues into battle. It’s what he would’ve wanted.

2:36:07: LMAO! This direct-to-camera reaction as the orc lines crumble is my new favorite thing from these movies. I’m now imagining this guy is named Dim Zalpbert and is a character on an orc sitcom called The Dungeon. He gives us one final reaction as his zany adventures come to an end.

The Rohirrim haven’t even killed anyone yet and they’ve already won. Théoden’s lyrics are the most powerful force in Middle-earth. There’s a reason the Balrog was hiding in Moria.

At the risk of extending the joke too far—there’s an argument to be made that Saurman bewitched Théoden to keep the Rohirrim from running roughshod over Middle-earth. Tolkien is pretty black-and-white with his characters so I’m stretching pretty far to make that assertion. But based on all empirical evidence, muzzling Théoden ensured Middle-earth’s safety.

2:36:08: Blurry because the horses are moving faster than the speed of light.

Props to these orcs for not bailing and instead staring their own deaths in the face. Or maybe they’re just confused about the assignment—the orc second from the right is holding an oar.

2:36:14: Utter chaos. I tried to get a decent pic but everything’s blurry.

The music briefly cuts out, giving way to a soundtrack of thundering horses, thudding bodies, screaming men. It peels back the implied heroism a traditional score imparts and lays bare the ugliness of the violence.

I think, all things considered, I’d rather get stabbed than run over by hundreds of horses.

2:36:19: Horses as battering rams. Who knew?

The Rohirrim aren’t even bothering with their weapons. They’ve found an exploit and are totally cheesing this fight.

2:36:24: The second rank is crumbling after seeing the first get completely annihilated by a wall of horses. “What can orcs do against such reckless hate?”

2:36:28: God bless Karl Urban. He doesn’t get a ton to do as Éomer, but this shot of him battle-mad and raging is easily his top moment (threatening to cutoff Gimli’s head is a distant second). He’s totally bought in.

I guess it’s easy to be fired up when Blind Justice, Rohan’s greatest warrior, is your wingman. Look at him—he’s not even holding a weapon. His hand is in the air as if to wave goodbye to all the souls departing horse-trampled bodies.

2:36:34: The cavalry cutting deep into the orc lines. They still have a long way to go based on this visual.

You have to wonder at what point their momentum completely dies out. Not to get all scientific—this is not the place for that—but the horses have to be losing speed with each successive orc they run over. That’s simple physics, right? Genuine question, I got a C in Conceptual Physics.

I’m picturing Théoden running out of gas halfway through and coming to a complete halt surrounded by orcs. And then they pull him out of the saddle and murder him. Seems logical to me.

It’s probably a good thing I didn’t write this story. It’d end a lot more tragically. But would also be funnier, so there’s that.

The film cuts from this triumphant moment to Denethor. It’s like farting in a quiet theater.

So that’s my thesis on this issue. There are lots of other epic scenes that might be considered—off the top of my head: the original Death Star trench run, the end of Endgame, the Moria fight in Fellowship, Darth Maul vs the Jedi, that time Superman and Batman bonded over their moms having the same first name—but the Rohirrim charge stands above the rest. It’s certainly more moving than everything I just listed.

Even if it’s actually kinda funny when you slow it way down and look at the extras.

This ended up being way longer than I expected. Who knew it was possible to wring 4000 words out of a 4-minute sequence?

If this ends up being popular, I’ll write about the next Rohirrim sequence, when Théoden’s one strategy—”death!”—runs into a wall.

Wow—you’re still here? You must’ve really enjoyed this! (Or maybe you’re just hoping for one final glimpse of Blind Justice, the Rohirrim hero of the Third Age. I get it!) If we were in person, you could throw flowers and cash at me to show your appreciation. Alas, I don’t like to leave the house. This will have to do:

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Spoilers…

The thing nobody realizes about playing D&D is that the games rarely end.

Apart from the dreaded TPK (total party kill), most games fizzle out well before an appropriately climactic finale. D&D requires time in Costco-sized quantities. A single session might take 2-4 hours. An entire campaign—the militaristic term for a long-running narrative in which characters grow and change while going on epic adventures and implementing cockamamie schemes—takes years to complete. It’s a commitment. Life intervenes.

In all my time spent playing D&D—an accounting that can be made using decades as a unit of measure—I’ve only ever finished 2 campaigns.

They were both in the last week.

The odds of that happening again, or ever, have to rival those of winning the lotto or bullseyeing the Death Star’s exhaust port (with or without a targeting computer). It just does not happen.

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You know you’ve watched too many toy documentaries when you start recognizing the interviewees.

“That’s the squirrelly guy who created Skeletor. Great artist, huge perv.”

“Hey—that guy was also CEO of Sega. Stereotypical suit but there’s something about him. I just like him.”

“This guy insists He-Man was his idea. Seems like a tool.”

All these guys—and they’re 99% guys1—are enjoying a second career talking about their glory days as plastic salesmen. It’s a nerdier version of 80s heartthrobs signing headshots on the convention circuit. But it’s also charming, because these 60 and 70-year-olds are still enthusiastic about the toys they created, ones that live on in my memories.

I discovered this documentary genre by accident. Netflix suggested The Toys That Made Us, a show that delves into the history of iconic toy lines like Star Wars, He-Man, and Barbie.2 The Venn diagram of coverage neatly aligns with my favorite toys; it’s a completely filled-in circle. Netflix knows me too well at this point.

You wouldn’t think the origin of mass produced plastic would be fascinating, but it actually is! There’s the simple nostalgia of seeing my old toys, and remembering, but the show also smartly waters down facts with some hilarious editing and a willingness to poke fun at the interviewees.

Since exhausting the interesting episodes—ick: Star Trek toys… not now, not ever—I discovered a slew of similar documentaries on Tubi. Again, accidentally. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend the Tubi options. If you’re toy-curious or inclined toward nostalgia, hit up The Toys That Made Us. They’re genuinely great. The Tubi documentaries are longer and drier. Not a great combo. But worthwhile if you find yourself feeling really nostalgic, as I did recently.

I blame it on the holidays.

It’s impossible for me to enjoy Christmas now without reflecting on years gone by. Maybe it’s the fact that I got many of my favorite toys for Christmas, but anytime I think of childhood, I always end up thinking about my toys. That might sound sad or something, I don’t know. My opinion on such things is skewed: I was the kid who thought nothing of sitting in my room all day and playing with my toys. In the summer, my dad forced me to go outside. I took my toys with me.

As much as my toys meant to me, their fate is sorta tragic.

Most of my Star Wars toys were sold for $1 a piece at a flea market, money I turned into worthless baseball cards. Don’t ask if you can learn such powers—it’s a special kind of alchemy they don’t teach in schools. Those figures would now be considered vintage, and worth substantial amounts of money.

My G.I. Joes faced a literal firing squad after my brother and I got BB guns for Christmas. Was funny at the time, strikes me as sad now.

What toys I had left at the precipice of high school, I gave to the kid next door. It was a donation at the time, feels like abandonment now. Several large boxes overflowing with a veritable who’s who of 80s toys—Optimus Prime and crew, Kermit the Frog, Batmans and Supermans and He-Mans, along with my favorite Star Wars and Joes, the ones spared the sickle—and every Star Wars vehicle I owned.

Everyone was shocked at my magnanimity. I took their reaction to be a kind of denial, that I, the kid who lived for his toys, was becoming older, someone who no longer needed toys, and that realization forced a reckoning with their own mortality they felt ill-prepared to weather. Maybe that’s true, but I also think it was a visceral, holy shit, that’s a lot of great stuff you’re just giving away.

I was an idiot.

I don’t have many regrets but that’s probably my single greatest. Which, again, may imply some character deficiencies that are probably true.

It probably wouldn’t surprise you to learn the Toy Story movies are a special kind of painful. They’re a reminder of the magic of childhood make-believe, but also of the agony of deciding my lifelong companions could accompany me no further.

I gave up my toys because I thought I had to: they were of my childhood; I couldn’t grow up unless I let them go. I was Kylo Ren, standing on a bridge between what I was and what I was to become, deciding the only way to cross was to kill part of myself.

That’s super melodramatic and not at all how I felt at the time. But looking back, it’s basically what happened.

Which is why, in my 40s, I’ve taken to haunting eBay for the ghosts of plastic past.

I’ll never bid on anything. Though the desire to reclaim part of my past is very strong, the truth is those are not my toys. They belonged to some other kid, are imprinted with their memories. At best, I’d experience a kind of secondhand nostalgia, followed swiftly by certain and crushing disappointment: no bit of molded plastic can fill the gap. Nothing can.

Whenever I get close to bidding, I step back and look with objective eyes. And what I see are cheap-looking toys. The vintage Star Wars stuff is actually kinda chintzy, like the sci-fi George Lucas initially set out to mimic. It looks 50-years-old because it is.

Sometimes I think if I could just hold one of those old toys, my body would remember them in a way my mind no longer can. I picture myself rubbing sculpted plastic muscles, waiting for some vestige of little Eric to materialize, like a mythical genie summoned from a lamp. I think it would actually work, that my hands would remember some forgotten detail. If not my hands, certainly my nose—the capes of my superheroes smelled a certain way, indescribable but immediately recognizable.

What I miss aren’t really the toys, or even the kid who used to play with them. What I miss is the act of play itself. The ability to lose myself completely in a fiction of my own making. The closest I can get to that utopia is playing D&D or writing. But those are fleeting escapes. The specter of adulthood always looms.

Still. It’s nice to imagine the only thing separating me from the freedom of play is a bit of painted plastic. That’s an easy problem to fix. And anyway, who wouldn’t want to own He-Man riding a giant green cat? We hold these truths be self-evident.

Thundercats, hoooo!

I’m back from my long convalescence, feeling much better than last we met. More on that in a minute.

This update is packed with info. I've included headers to act as helpful waypoints.

Skim at your leisure, but please get to update #5 for news I’m dying to share.

Update 1: My health situation

I’ve been tested and scanned, and have not been found wanting in any unusual ways. With that albatross off my neck, I feel okay sharing details.

I’ve been suffering from a sharp uptick in headaches the past year, which steadily ramped up in both frequency and fervency. Migraines, yes, but did you know they also come in the ocular variety?

Back in October I was watching Running Man (1987) while riding a stationary bike. All at once I realized I couldn’t see Arnold’s face. I looked away and noticed electric-looking jagged lines obscuring my vision. I’ve had floaters. This was not that.

Google diagnosed the issue as an ocular migraine and said it would pass in 20 minutes. It did, but shortly after my ears started ringing. (They’ve yet to stop, nearly 4 months later.) That led to 6 weeks of migraines. The headaches and the ringing compromised my sleep, exacerbating the headaches.

I’ve been to the eye doctor, my doctor, had blood tests, and a MRI. Thus far, the medical opinion is a shrug. I have follow-ups with an ENT and a neurologist.

Day-to-day I feel fine, a development that can perhaps be attributed to a regular, proactive intake of vitamins—I now have a weekly pill planner, one of the four horsemen of getting old. But that hasn’t resolved anything. I have a persistent low-grade headache that threatens to flare into something unpleasant at the slightest provocation. This must be how Bruce Banner feels all the time.

Before the MRI—around the time I put this site on ice—I was convinced I had a brain tumor. I’m generally an optimist until health stuff comes up, then I immediately jump to worse case scenario. My daughter has been to the ER after midnight at least twice because I was convinced she was going to die. I’m not the guy you rely on in an emergency; I’m Bill Paxton telling everyone it’s game over.

I used the break productively. I wrote some fiction and spent time thinking about my goals. Which leads us to the next point.

Update 2: I’m rebranding this site

I’ve wanted to rebrand for a long time.

All the Fanfare was born of misguided intent and a desire to piggyback off the Fanfare publication I run on Medium, insofar as I could reuse a logo I paid for. It was a short-sighted decision.

Stepping away gave me the space to clarify my purpose and find a name that aligned.

Introducing: Extended Cut

The rebrand aligns with my tendency to chase movies down rabbit holes, and is also broad enough to cover other interests.

I’ll still primarily write about movies because I can’t not write about movies. And Timothy Olyphant. But I wanted leeway to write other things, including fiction. The unifying element is that it’s all me.

The new url is: extended-cut.com

Update 3: Substack vs Ghost

I’ve been running All the Fanfare on two different platforms since the beginning. allthefanfare.com was on Ghost, newsletter.allthefanfare.com was on Substack. My thinking was it allowed me to use the strengths of both. Ghost is a far superior web platform, Substack has a better network. I thought I could use Substack as a funnel to Ghost, my main site.

That didn’t really work.

Initially I sent more newslettery updates via Substack, and actual articles were posted on Ghost. Over time, I started double posting everything because putting my best stuff exclusively on Ghost limited my growth. In a month, I get probably 50 new subscribers on Substack, and maybe 1 on Ghost.

Writing isn’t a numbers game, but if your site isn’t growing, it’s dying.

But even though double posting is an annoyance, and using Ghost costs me $300 a year, I can’t quit Ghost. Here’s why:

The look and feel of a website is a form of individualism. Substack websites are all the same; they’re the office cubicles of the web. But I get so much more traction on Substack. So I’m going to continue with one foot in both platforms, but will make the demarcation more permanent.

extended-cut.com is hosted on Substack and will be my main thing.

allthefanfare.com will remain on Ghost. It will exclusively offer movie/pop culture stuff, all of it syndicated from Extended Cut.

This is probably interesting to nobody but me. Either way, this is the last you’ll hear of All the Fanfare here.

Update 4: Lifetime memberships

Subscription fatigue is real. I get it. I’d rather pay a one-time fee and never again. This is for people who feel the same.

The lifetime tier is $99. Ignore what it says about 99/year, that’s boilerplate Substack lingo. I’ll manually convert the subscription to lifetime access.

If you paid for an annual plan recently (the last 6 months) and want to upgrade to lifetime, send me a note. I’ll charge you the difference.

Update 5: I co-created a webcomic

The last 6 months have been spent toiling in secret on a new project that melds my favorite things: The Office, D&D, and making my friends laugh. Our efforts have born hilarious fruit. It’s time to pull back the curtain.

Apart from some friends and family, you guys are the first to hear about this. Consider this another perk of following me, like sitting ringside for my strange obsessions.

Introducing: The Dungeon

The Dungeon is 3-panel comic strip of absurdist fantasy humor. If you read me because you think I’m funny, you’ll love the comic because my friends are even funnier. But don’t take my word for it—go look for yourself! The first 3 strips are hot off the press and yearning for eyeballs and, if you’re inclined, likes and comments.

New comics release every other week. The comic is free, so smash that subscribe button.

thedungeoncomic.com

We’re also releasing a weekly serialized story set in the same world called Deephouse. It’s the warehouse from The Office, but make it dwarfy. Posts are short and punchy, prose versions of the comic because Eric can’t draw.

The first 6 issues of Deephouse are free. After that, it’ll be exclusive to paid supporters.

I don’t think it’s right for you to pay to read me here and also there, so paid supporters will be grandfathered in. Once you subscribe to read The Dungeon, I’ll get your access squared away.

Update 6: Stuff I’m working on

Rapid fire because this is getting long.

• Coming this week: A piece about toys and nostalgia, brought about after I binged The Toys That Made Us on Netflix.

• Coming next: Stranger Things through the lens of D&D and nostalgia.

• A retrospective / rewatch piece about The Force Awakens, which celebrated its 10th anniversary in December.

• The long-delayed next post on Deadwood. I got super into my own head on this one. Previous posts were so thorough and, if I may be so bold, awesome, I psyched myself out and gave myself writers block.

• Other things I’ve seen recently that may result in articles: Over the Top, Stargate, World War Z, the Chris Pines D&D movie, James Gunn’s Superman, and Troy.

That’s all, folks

I’m happy to be back writing again. Looking forward to posting something new.

Go check out our webcomic! 😃

In case you missed it, here’s part 1, comprised of 40 movies and an equal number of jokes. As before, we’re only considering movies released directly to a streaming service, which ensures a level of mediocrity I find invigorating.

I’ve broadly grouped everything into categories indicative of their quality. If I applied the same categories to Star Wars, it’d go down like this:

• Don’t Waste Your Time: The Rise of Skywalker. Seriously. Don’t even bother.

• You Could Definitely Do Better: The Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones. Watchable if you have the time or love the genre.

• An Okay Way to Spend a Few Hours: Revenge of the Sith. Solidly okay.

• Good, Not Quite Great: Return of the Jedi, Solo, The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi. Movies I will gladly watch.

• Great Movies: The Empire Strikes Back, A New Hope, Rogue One. Best of the best.

Movies are in alphabetical order.

Don’t Waste Your Time

Fortunately, I fell on this sword last time. Or I’ve gotten better at picking. Either way, no real stinkers this time.

You Could Definitely Do Better

You would probably never watch these movies under any circumstances except tis the season and you’re chasing that holiday buzz. They might be ugly, but they’ll get the job done.

Once again, most of the movies fall into this category.

A California Christmas: City Lights (2021)

Even though the first movie was not great, I ended up watching the sequel. All of these movies are like 85-95 minutes, the cinematic equivalent of Pringles. Disposable entertainment is usually still entertaining.

The sequel picks up where the first film leaves off. This time as our hero discovers his mother abdicated the business and left someone else in charge. Torn between his newfound love and his desire to remain filthy rich, he heads back to San Francisco to seize the reins. The farm girl comes along, but alas, we don’t get any real fish out of water moments. The script is too clever for that.

LOL kidding.

In writing this, I discovered the leads are actually married. Their relationship predates the first film. Here’s how bad the acting is: I don’t buy them as a couple.

I preferred the sequel of the two, but not that much.

Streaming on Netflix

The Christmas Contract (2018)

The one thing this movie buffet has taught me—apart from my tolerance for objectively bad Christmas movies—is awareness of the deep-seated fear plaguing all women. Previously I’d been oblivious that the thing women most fear is going home alone at the holidays, especially if their ex will be around—because naturally exes are always Christmasing together.

The Christmas Contract proposes a simple solution: Hire a handsome man to pretend to be your boyfriend. In this case, no money is exchanged—just an old-fashioned barter of services. Not those kinds of services. Though it is interesting that the most sensible solution—hiring an escort—is never considered.

You might rightly wonder why our heroine doesn’t buck convention and embrace her singlehood. Ahh, my simple-minded friend—welcome to the world of Christmas movies, where the only thing sadder than a woman pretending to be in a relationship is being alone.

Available on all the free streamers

The Holiday Calendar (2018)

Two lifelong friends would be perfect together but aren’t for reasons nobody outside the screenwriters can explain. They’d probably remain BFFs without bennies, if not for Christmas magic.

I mean that quite literally.

The Holiday Calendar is about a woman who inherits her grandfather’s advent calendar and discovers it predicts the future. Frankly, the best thing about the movie is the calendar itself. I always loved opening the doors of an advent calendar and discovering some candy hidden inside. The calendar in this movie is a piece of art. Me wants.

Streaming on Netflix

Holiday in the Vineyards (2023)

A widow struggling to keep a vineyard from going under while also raising two boys comes to the attention of a rich businesswoman, who herself is a single mother. U-N-I-T-Y? Wrong—this is not a Queen Latifah jam. The businesswoman wants to expand her empire and has her eye on the struggling vineyard. She deploys her most trusted associate, or at least her most available one: her playboy son, who is otherwise busy getting liquored and laid. Tony Stark, but make him stupid.

The best thing about this movie is how closely the premise matches California Christmas:

• Single woman fighting all comers to keep land that’s been in the family for years that is also secretly super undervalued, shhh.

• A vineyard as ground zero for the conflict.

• A privileged dude unfamiliar with the business end of a hammer posing as a common laborer. (Obligatory: how do you do, fellow kids.)

• Secret agent man discovers the vineyard is awesome, actually, and not just because the landowner is a smoke show. But mostly that.

• The dude in both movies is even played by the same actor.

I choose to believe these movies occur in the same cinematic universe, and the lessons the character learned in the first film have already been forgotten.

Of the two movies, I prefer Holiday in the Vineyards. But not nearly enough to put it in the next category. Let’s not get crazy.

Streaming on Netflix

Joy to the World (2025)

This film concerns a wildly successful author—named Joy, sigh—whose empire was built on Insta-chic familial perfection. Picture a younger, softer Martha Stewart. How soft? She lets her housemaid boss her around. That’s one way to show humility.

To quote Buddy the elf—Joy sits on a throne of lies. She has no family. She mostly eats microwave dinners. Her best friend is the woman cleaning her toilet. If you’re at all suspicious of #influencers, this isn’t a shocking development. Nor is the movie’s big plot twist: her publisher has arranged for a TV crew to join her family’s legendary Christmas Eve celebration.

We don’t need no stinking consent, apparently.

Rather than do any of the logical things, Joy doubles down on the lie. Capitalism, uh, finds a way. And though everything that happens is predictable, I enjoyed the ride. Less so the male lead. I couldn’t put my finger on it until my wife said, “I don’t like him—he’s too smarmy.”

“The actor?”

“Yeah.”

She’s right. He doesn’t work as a guy who’s been friend-zoned for 20+ years and is still waiting for his shot. He’s too self-aware of how handsome he is. I had no problem accepting him as someone who’d strip to save a small town’s bar, though (see: The Merry Gentleman).

I just spent a lot of words dunking on this movie, but it’s actually a decently heartwarming story of found families.

Streaming Disney+/Hulu

Meet Me Next Christmas (2024)

AKA: The Pentatonix Commercial.

A hopeless romantic has a meet-cute in an airport lounge while waiting for her flight. Alas, she’s already taken. They decide to leave it to fate, and agree to meet next Christmas at a Pentatonix concert (LOL) if they’re both single, which is a wild way of demonstrating commitment to your current relationship.

Fast forward exactly one year and the seed our heroine planted has borne fruit. Freed of her pesky relationship, she can pursue the hunky stranger and fate itself. But Pentatonix tickets on Christmas are the new version of Turbo Man—impossible to get. She hires a professional bounty hunter to track them down. Picture Boba Fett sans the armor and with way less disintegrations. The duo go on a city-wide quest and discover something else in the process.

Meet Me Next Christmas is actually a really cute movie, one meriting inclusion in the next rank, if not for one thing: the Pentatonix of it sucks. The music is great. But the band regularly interrupts to watch the quest unfold on social media and weigh in. It’s so bad. They could learn a thing or two about acting from A California Christmas.

Streaming on Netflix

My Dad’s Christmas Date (2020)

I know what you’re probably thinking—why is Jeremy Piven driving on the wrong side of the road?

The short answer: He lives in England. The longer answer: His wife died so he moved to a place that matched his mood.

I’m kidding.

He lived there before she passed away. He probably moved to England because he’s naturally depressive.

Seriously though—this guy makes Charlie Brown look like a good time. His 16-year-old daughter takes matters into her own hands and secretly creates a dating profile for him. That leads to random women approaching him in public because they believe they’re meeting him for a date. It should be hilarious, but this movie has no funny.

This movie is probably the best one in this category. It really wants to wallow though, and that’s not the vibe I’m after this time of year.

Available on all the free streamers

Reporting for Christmas (2023)

A hard-hitting journalist is assigned a puff piece about her network’s corporate sponsor, a Christmas toy manufacturer. That’s probably the most ridiculous thing about this movie. How can a company that only sells toys 1 month out of the year sponsor a TV network? Do they air on public broadcasting?

The company’s heir-in-waiting—e.g. a prince—is a soft-spoken hunk, naturally, pitting the reporter between her journalistic integrity and her more base needs. There’s all sorts of subtext that could be mined, but this is not that kind of movie.

I think my single favorite thing about all these movies is how they just abruptly end. No epilogue, no coda, just fade to black and roll credits. Having absconding with our time, they dip out. It’s like being robbed by a Hallmark card.

Streaming Disney+/Hulu

No Sleep ‘Til Christmas (2018)

The little brother from Brothers and Sisters is all grown up—I definitely saw some gray—but is still a slacker. There’s worse typecastings. This time around, he’s held back by crippling insomnia. The only cure—falling asleep next to a woman he just met, who also can’t sleep.

What are we even doing anymore? Meet-cute used to mean something.

A life-changing codependency develops, one that dabbles with infidelity and bears all the signs of addiction. Fertile ground for exploration, or even laughs. The movie dodges both and instead settles for vaguely fun.

I was tempted to put this one in the next category because it’s solidly decent, but the glaring lack of Christmas held it back. The only Christmas is in the title. It’s even less of a Christmas movie than Die Hard. But Netflix grouped it with the holiday movies, and I wanted to get credit for watching it, so here we are.

Streaming on Netflix

An Okay Way to Spend a Few Hours

These movies are all close to being solidly-good, but are held back by something glaring. You’ll enjoy yourself, but you won’t rush to revisit them.

The Christmas Break (2023)

Justin Long travels to Ireland to celebrate the holidays with his wife. Expect the requisite cultural shenanigans, though Christmas As Usual did it better. The holiday cheer is somewhat lessened because Justin and his wife are grappling with that most difficult of married people decisions. No—not what size TV to put in the living room. Whether or not to have children.

This being a Christmas movie, you can probably guess where they land. I enjoyed the ride. The script isn’t as funny as it should be, but it’s cute.

Streaming Disney+/Hulu

A Merry Little Ex-Mas (2025)

Of all the new Christmas films landing on Netflix in 2025, this was the first I dialed up. I saw Alicia Silverstone, I clicked. She was part of my life during a period of rapid changes, and, uh, I guess some residue of affection remains. Sometimes the decisions are that easy; when you’re braving the uncertain waters of the Christmas genre, any port in a storm.

Silverstone fell completely off the map during the 00s. According to IMDB, she was still in stuff. Just nothing worth seeing. I was literally shocked when she resurfaced in The Baby-Sitters Club, a series I accidentally started watching and then finished. (How to accidentally watch something: wander into a room when it’s on and don’t leave.)

A Merry Little Ex-Mas co-stars Oliver Hudson—someone who’s sorta famous for no discernible reason other than nepotism—as Silverstone’s soon-to-be-ex-husband. They’re both pumped about the divorce but also plan to spend the holidays together, because the one thing we all know about divorce is you only get one if you enjoy each other’s company. Silverstone and Hudson are still in love but have to get a divorce, because, well… it’s never really explained. Hudson is a workaholic is the best we get.

Cute, predictable, had a good time.

Streaming on Netflix

My Secret Santa (2025)

A single mom living paycheck-to-paycheck loses her job right before Christmas. Determined to send her daughter to an elite snowboarding camp—LOL what?—she decides to fill the resort’s vacant Santa Claus position and thereby get 50% off tuition. She manages this trick with some nifty costume work straight out of Mission Impossible, including a 3D printed face.

I imagine the preceding paragraph leaves you with a lot of questions. Rather than dig into the nougaty chewiness of the premise—is she broke because she spends money on things like elite snowboarding camps? does her costumers work for the CIA, or is it a hobby?—we’re offered a lukewarm love story involving the 40-ish trust fund man-baby whose daddy owns the resort. Our heroine has more chemistry with the fat suit.

My Secret Santa plays like a PG version of Just One of the Guys—including a locker room scene—starring two faces you might recognize but can only pair with characters they’ve played: Mel from Virgin River / Kevin’s longtime flame from This Is Us and Tom Keen from The Blacklist. It’s just good enough to get the job done, and only because the Santa scenes are genuinely fun.

Streaming on Netflix

That Christmas (2024)

That Christmas is a budget version of every Pixar movie you’ve ever seen. The likeness is so striking that it takes you a bit out of experience, like listening to a mediocre version of a great song. The movie remains mired in an uncanny valley of its own making, never peaking so much as plateauing. Which is really too bad, because there is some heart among the stock Pixar elements.

The movie follows three intertwining storylines involving kids in the lead-up to Christmas. There’s a blizzard, and adults in jeopardy, and an army of turkeys. A lighthouse is necessary to help Santa find the town. Some of the stuff feels like it’s there just to be there. Zaniness for its own sake.

Still, I actually enjoyed it. That trumps everything I just said.

Streaming on Netflix

Good, Not Quite Great

These films are not classics, but given how evergreen the Christmas genre is and how few of the new movies are actually decent, they will definitely enter my rotation.

Happiest Season (2020)

Kristen Stewart and Mackenzie Davis play a couple who decide to take things to the next level—introducing Kristen to Mackenzie’s family. At Christmas. One minor detail: Mackenzie never told her family she likes girls. And she will not be doing it this Christmas either. Kristen spends most of the movie pretending to be Mackenzie’s orphaned roommate.

To be fair, she does look vaguely homeless.

Imagine Meet the Parents, but gay and merry. There are hijinks and misunderstandings and hurt feelings, but all of it’s nicely done.

The cast is stacked. Alison Brie, Aubrey Plaza, Daniel Levy, Mary Steenburgen, Sidney’s Bristow’s dad from Alias… Sasha from Nobody Wants This even has a delightful cameo as a security guard. This is four-quadrant filmmaking if I’ve ever seen it. Did I mention Daniel Levy is in this? He plays Kristen’s gay bestie and confidant. The movie is at least 30% better whenever he’s on screen.

Happiest Season is funny, heartwarming exploration of identity and the fear of revealing your truest self to those closest to you. I seriously considered putting it in the ‘great movie’ category. It’s not quite on that level. But it’s in the conversation.

Streaming Disney+/Hulu

Great Movies

Of the more than 50(!) Christmas movies I’ve watched in the past few years, Klaus remains the only exceptional one.

Some of you may remember this from last year. It’s a good time to resurface it.

I’ve probably seen an additional 10-15 movies since I wrote this. I tried adding those to this list but Substack literally choked on it. The editor kept eating my words and images. It was random, too. Like it hated specific movies. Apparently Substack really doesn’t want you to know what I thought of The Christmas Chronicles: Part 2.

I’ll post the rest of the reviews next week. Clumsy but necessary.

Even in its current state, this may be too long for email.

To ensure your season is merry and bright, I’ve compiled a list of the best and worst newish Christmas movies available to stream.

Fair warning: Most of these are not good movies. If not for the season, I wouldn’t have watched 80% of them. But when it comes to Christmas, I’ve found it’s best to grade on a generous curve.

I’ve grouped the movies into rough categories. If I applied the same grouping to Star Wars, it’d break down something like this:

• Don’t Waste Your Time: The Rise of Skywalker. Seriously. Don’t even bother.

• You Could Definitely Do Better: The Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones. Watchable if you have the time or love the genre.

• An Okay Way to Spend a Few Hours: Revenge of the Sith. Solidly okay.

• Good, Not Quite Great: Return of the Jedi, Solo, The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi. Movies I will gladly watch.

• Great Movies: The Empire Strikes Back, A New Hope, Rogue One. Best of the best.

(Even this is a sliding scale because I’m predisposed to love all things Star Wars.)

Oh — I mention in a few places if a movie made me tear up, but that should in no way be taken as an endorsement. I am a notoriously easy cry, a fact my teenage daughter takes great delight in. She started giving me sentimental cards just to watch my reaction. Let me tell you something, brother: Few things will emasculate you quicker and more completely than your daughter laughing at you while you cry.

Movies in each section are in alphabetical order, not order of preference. I also mostly refer to the actor playing the role, not the character, because the character’s name rarely matters in these movies.

Don’t Waste Your Time

I don’t know how I can make this any clearer. Do not watch these movies. Go clean your neighbor’s toilet or try to convince a social media rando their opinion is wrong. You’ll enjoy yourself more.

Best. Christmas. Ever! (2023)

Damn. Filthy. Lies!

This is a deeply unfunny comedy about a family that accidentally ends up at a college friend’s house for Christmas instead of Heather Graham’s sister’s. I imagine you have a lot of questions after reading that sentence. The answers are dumb and just get dumber.

Poor Heather Graham tries, but there’s only so much she can do. I kept hoping Jason Biggs would throw her a lifeline and start humping a pie, but he’s settled into the frumpy, vaguely-overweight stage of life known as middle age. He’d probably throw out his back if he went to town on a pastry.

I’d rather watch that.

Christmas Island (2023)

Christmas Island is about a commercial pilot who levels up to chartering one-percenters around the globe. Vaguely bad weather forces her to land on — wait for it — Christmas Island. They’re furloughed for 4 or 5 days because the storm is like, super bad, certainly the most bad. Blizzard of the century stuff.

Here’s how you know this movie was shot in California: Twice the pilot checks her weather app and is aghast to see the temperature’s in the high 30s. Like 37 and 39. My wife and I looked at each other and laughed. It was the only laugh this movie earned, and not for the right reasons. (For my non-U.S. friends — water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit.) Even better: The exterior scenes were shot during bright, sunny days. Not a cloud in the sky. Where is this accursed storm they speak of?

There’s reconciliation and love, and an appearance by Charmaine from Virgin River, who my wife and I are convinced was pregnant during filming (IYKYK). Unintentional laughs aside, one of the worst Christmas movies I’ve seen.

Father Christmas is Back (2021)

I had high hopes for this one.

The streaming-only Christmas sub-genre tends to be marked by bad writing and no-name actors. This one has one of the more recognizable casts — Elizabeth Hurley, Kelsey Grammar, John Cleese — but the fact that none of them have done any work of note in about 20 years should’ve been a clue.

The story concerns four sisters who are reunited with their deadbeat dad around Christmas. The family’s last name is also Christmas. Just to show you the caliber of writing we’re dealing with here. This story is trite, stupid, and emotionally stunted.

Holly Star (2018)

A puppeteer finds love while looking for buried treasure around her hometown.

Re-read that premise.

If that’s not enough to steer you away from this train wreck, this movie also includes creepy puppet scenes. Just look at that screenshot!

Streaming for free on Vudu, Plex, and The Roku Channel because nobody would pay to watch this.

You Could Definitely Do Better

You would probably never watch these movies under any circumstances except tis the season and you’re chasing that holiday buzz. They might be ugly, but they’ll get the job done.

Most of the movies fall in this category.

A California Christmas (2020)

Rich yuppie falls for farm girl after masquerading as a ranch hand in a nefarious plot to swindle the girl’s farm away from her. The stupid plot is only surpassed by the terrible acting — I assumed most of these people never acted again, but incredibly there’s a sequel. Equally surprising: I might actually watch it.

A Castle for Christmas (2021)

This movie somehow turns a Scottish castle, Cary Elwes, Brooke Shields, and a charming assortment of local oddballs into a forgettable movie. It’s sorta heartwarming, and I appreciate a love story involving older people. But still. This is not As Good as It Gets. It’s not even The Bucket List.

The Christmas Chronicles: Part 2 (2020)

The first Christmas Chronicles was legitimately good (more on that later), so Netflix decided to run it back. But they jettisoned everything that made the first movie enjoyable. Instead, we get an evilish, cackling Kiwi Belsnickel. As always, The Office did it better.

Christmas Inheritance (2017)

Uptown girl visits the dinky little hometown where her father started his business and levels up her empathy game. And she falls in love with a local who looks a lot like Plop from The Office.

Poor Andie MacDowell slumming it in this forgettable film is a prime example of how Hollywood shuts out actresses of a certain age. I was hoping she was a producer on the film or something, but no. This was strictly for a paycheck. The good news — she kills it in Maid a few years later and was nominated for a Golden Globe, which is maybe the best thing that can be said for this movie. It kept MacDowell fed until she could complete her come up.

‘A Christmas Prince’ Trilogy (2017–2019)

Just once, I’d love to see a movie about an American falling for the prince’s butler or his gardener. This is just an extension of my ongoing disbelief about America’s fascination with royalty. Didn’t we go to war with the British to free us of such tyranny?

A Christmas Prince is a full-on trilogy wrung from the most tired yet bountiful of premises: normal American girl falls for Prince (ofc) and they end up together despite the difficulties imposed by his station. My favorite thing about these films is the lengths they go to make it seem like they occur in a British-adjacent kingdom without actually existing on any map. Imagine The Princess Diaries: Christmas Edition without the great actors and clever writing.

My daughter loved them. Watching them with her made me enjoy them, too.

Christmas Without You (2022)

Guys. Freddie Prinze Jr. has gotten old.

I think maybe it was the shock of seeing him for the first time in like 15 years, but my man is pushing 50. Which basically means that those of us who were teenagers when he was in movies like I Know What You Did Last Summer and She’s All That are getting old, too. I did not expect to be blindsided by existential angst in a budget Netflix holiday movie, but there you go. Merry Christmas.

In this flick, Freddie is a dorky, middle-aged music man living with his daughter and his mother. A pop superstar ends up at his house for ridiculous reasons, and Freddie makes sweet, sweet music with her. It’s fine.

Falling for Christmas (2022)

Lindsay Lohan stars as a rich socialite who loses her memory after a skiing accident and develops feelings for the guy who rescued her. Is it romantic or is it Stockholm syndrome? It doesn’t matter — you won’t really care either way. Sorta heartwarming but feels very performative.

Finding Santa (2017)

Little Stephanie from Full House is all grown-up and I just can’t even deal with it. I never got into Fuller House, so it’s a legitimate shock seeing her as a grown woman.

She plays a character who plans Christmas for an entire little town. When the local Santa throws out his back, Stephanie has to find a replacement for the big parade, which is being broadcast across the country. The good news: despite being at least 60-years-old, Santa has a hunky 20-something son who would be perfect, actually. He even went to Santa School.

Finding Santa isn’t exactly a rom or a com. It just sorta is.

Holiday in the Wild (2019)

I’m going to channel some Chris Traeger energy right now: Rob Lowe is literally the most unbelievable African bushman I’ve ever seen. He still manages to sweep Kristin Davis off her feet because he’s Rob Freaking Lowe.

Oh: Baby elephants are literally the cutest animals.

The setting is easily the best part of this movie.

Haul Out the Holly (2022)

Lacey Chabert goes home for the holidays. Her parents leave the moment she arrives. I can only assume they, too, are tired of seeing her at Christmas.

That joke’s gonna be a lot funnier once you see how many of these movies she’s in.

Lacey’s parents live in a community where the HOA rules with a mitten-lined fist, and the president is a man with an addiction to Christmas that would be certifiable if this wasn’t a Hallmark movie. Naturally, Lacey falls for him.

Look out for Ned Ryerson (Stephen Tobolowsky) from Groundhog Day, who’s the sole highlight.

Lights, Camera, Christmas! (2022)

An Americanized version of the fairytale prince storyline.

An uber-talented seamstress just sort of existing has her life up-ended when a movie starts shooting in her tiny town. Things Happen, requiring her to work on the movie. She gradually develops a relationship with the film’s lead, a handsome and douchey guy that lives the G.I. Joe motto (i.e. more than meets the eye).

I really liked this movie, but the ending completely crapped the bed. Like, poop all over the place. Remember that scene in Daddy Day Care where Eddie Murphy checks the bathroom after the toddler uses it? That’s the level of poop we’re talking about. Inexplicable amounts.

If not for the horrifically bad ending, this would’ve been in the next category.

Looks Like Christmas (2016)

This one is also called Christmas Carol, apparently, because Anne Heche plays a woman with a Christmas fetish so legendary the town has started calling her names. It’s ostensibly about a pair of single parents finding each other over the holidays. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.

Watching it, I mostly felt sad about the tragic turn Anne Heche’s life took. Which has nothing to do with this very formulaic movie, but also inescapable.

The Merry Gentlemen (2024)

A festive Magic Mike because what Christmas has been missing all along is male strippers. It’s PG so don’t expect to see any Yule logs.

I don’t know what the high and low end of the hunky Christmas movie genre is — someone else please bear that cross — but I can say The Merry Gentlemen is no Hot Frosty, which itself is a poor man’s The Knight Before Christmas.

The Merry Gentlemen falls under the wide umbrella of sorta-cute and kinda-fun. The whole time you’re watching, you’re cognizant that there are better uses of your time. So you keep watching for a payoff that never fully materializes.

My favorite part is Alex P. Keaton’s dad cheering on the half naked men dancing to save his business. You could make an analogy about the rich exploiting the working man, but this isn’t that kind of movie. Though I’d love to see one where a Musk-analogue has to rely on pro bono strippers to save his livelihood, and in the process discovers something that looks like a soul. Anyway, just happy to see an old face from my childhood again.

The male lead of The Merry Gentlemen looks vaguely familiar in a “2000s era CW hunk who’s now 20 years older” kinda way. He headlined a bunch of Walmart commercials over Thanksgiving weekend, a development my sister-in-law couldn’t quite accept or believe; having now seen The Merry Gentlemen, it makes perfect sense.

A Merry Scottish Christmas (2023)

If the Hallmark Christmas movie sub-genre has a unifying message, it’s this: White people problems are not really problems at all. They’re quaint, sometimes zany situations that can be solved by being very earnest. That’s obviously not true, but it’s interesting that this is Hallmark’s worldview.

A Merry Scottish Christmas is about a pair of siblings who discover they are descendants of a Scottish royal bloodline, with a castle and all that implies. And then they have to decide if they want to return to their boring lives in America or live in Scotland as a literal duke and duchess.

See? Not really problems in the traditional sense.

This is a Lacey Chabert Hallmark movie, which is to say, mid. She does so many of these Hallmark Christmas movies I have to assume she shoots them year-round. You gotta wonder what that does to one’s psyche. Does she break into hives at the sight of gingerbread? I imagine some of the old Christmas magic gets lost when you’re being paid to shoot movies about fake Christmas magic.

Here’s what’s special about A Merry Scottish Christmas — it unites Chabert with Scott Wolf, who played her older brother on Party of Five. It’s great seeing them on-screen together again. What are Neve Campbell and Matthew Fox doing these days? Because that’s the obvious sequel to this film.

Operation Christmas Drop (2020)

You may be thinking to yourself — hey, I know that guy! He’s from The Hunger Games / Vikings / Air Bud: World Pup. Welcome to the world of low-budget Christmas films, my friend. Most of these movies have at least one person you vaguely recognize, and then you spend the next 10 minutes tuning out the movie as you try to figure it out. Google is usually necessary.

Operation Christmas Drop is about a career-minded U.S. Senator’s aide who takes her power suits to a military base in the Pacific. She falls for an Air Force pilot who is basically an amalgamation of Santa Claus and Iceman from Top Gun. He flies around on Christmas Eve in a C-130 aircraft dropping presents for locals. The premise is based on a true story — the tradition goes back to 1952 and is the longest-running mission in Department of Defense history.

I might’ve teared up at the end.

A Very Country Christmas (2017)

A huge country music star hides out in the podunk town where he discovered his love of music, and finds something else to love (hint: it’s a girl). Really bad acting, but damn if I wasn’t a bit moved by the cliched and predictable ending.

There’s an actual country music star in this movie (Deana Carter) who I didn’t recognize and then thought maybe she was June Carter’s daughter, a notion my wife quickly disabused me of. The fact that I didn’t know who Deana Carter was and then tried to invent some way of making her famous sums up this movie.

An Okay Way to Spend a Few Hours

These movies are all close to being solidly-good, but are held back by something glaring. You’ll enjoy yourself, but you won’t rush to revisit them.

A Biltmore Christmas (2023)

This movie was the hardest to place on this list. My wife thought it was straight-up cheesy, but I’m sticking to my guns. I really enjoyed it.

A Biltmore Christmas is about a screenwriter who travels to the location where an iconic 1940s film was shot. A mysterious (and apparently magical) hourglass gets tipped over, sending her back to the 40s. Naturally she falls in love with one of the actors, a man fated to die a year later.

Yes, time travel. But it works!

A Biltmore Christmas is a romantic Christmas movie. There’s no other way to describe it. With much of it occurring during the 1940s, the actors feel classy in a way that’s timeless. I’m not saying this movie is on par with our own black-and-white classics, just that it evokes the era so well it manages to harness some of its mojo. Which was frankly shocking considering it’s a Hallmark production.

Jonathan Frakes co-stars. I honestly expected him to be the highlight and planned on mocking plot developments by mirroring his skepticism from Beyond Belief. But I got swept up in the tale, and the jokes never came.

Christmas As Usual (2023)

A Norwegian takes her Indian boyfriend / new fiancé home for Christmas. Stereotypes and misunderstandings cause all manner of drama, some of which are actually funny. Example: The boyfriend discovers his hosts have an Indian spice labeled “black boy.” It’s all fun and games until your casual racism is exposed.

The movie keeps things light as per genre requirements, so don’t expect any deep or meaningful deliberations on biases or race. It’s also based on a true story. I hope the spice bottles were an invention for the film.

Christmas in Notting Hill (2023)

This one features the grown-up versions of two quasi-famous faces, a Hallmark specialty.

William Moseley, better known as Peter from The Chronicles of Narnia, has grown up and become a famous soccer player—or footballer, if you’re not American. Sarah Ramos, aka Haddie Braverman, aka Jessica from The Bear, is one such person, so she has no bloody clue who William is. This is actually a crucial plot point.

Poor William has been unable to find a girl who likes him for who he is—young and handsome, as opposed to young and handsome and also rich and famous—so he decides to pursue this ignorant American, who fate and the screenwriters have placed in his path because her sister is dating William’s brother. I knew England was small compared to America, but I had no idea it was that small.

It’s contrived but enjoyable.

Family Switch (2023)

This movie is the equivalent of the guy who drives a Ferrari and lives in a trailer. Money was spent in flashy ways, but it could’ve been used smarter.

Jennifer Garner and Ed Helms are both great, and the movie is stuffed to the gills with licensed music—including such timeless Christmas classics as Bust A Move and Pony. Someone helpfully recreated the soundtrack on Spotify. It’s 32 songs. (Edit: the original playlist vanished from Spotify, the new one only has 16 songs.) Money was spent on this movie. Alas, that money was not spent on the script.

Family Switch looks (and sounds!) like a great movie, but it is not a great movie. It’s a weird mash-up of basically every ‘body swap’ movie with a dash of A Christmas Carol. If that sounds good to you, by all means.

Haul Out the Holly: Lit Up (2023)

The first Haul Out the Holly sets a low bar, so I was genuinely surprised that I liked the sequel. This time around, an annoying Instagram-famous family moves into the neighborhood and shakes things up. The HOA balances on the edge of a knife. Lacey Chabert and her Santa-obsessed boyfriend are the only thing standing between tradition and the sort of chaos seen in Mad Max.

It’s all more than a little ridiculous. But I’m mostly here for Ned Ryerson’s duplicitous heel turn this time around. Christmas movies could use more subterfuge and low-stakes backstabbing.

Hot Frosty (2024)

The premise is three shades of stupid—magic scarf brings hunky snowman to life; hijinks ensue and love happens—but the Christmas movie genre is the one time I completely turn off my internal critic and also my own good sense. That’s the spirit of the season at work.

I could explain the premise further but what’s the point. You know what you’re getting any time you see Lacey Chabert headlining. Hot Frosty is a Hallmark movie with a Netflix budget, which is how they cast Craig Robinson as a small-town sheriff with a big-time boner for justice. I especially appreciated Robinson’s takes directly to camera.

This movie works best as a satire of the genre itself.

I Believe in Santa (2022)

A grown-ass man legit believes in Santa Claus and somehow lands a hot girlfriend. I Believe in Santa is easily the most ridiculous premise on this entire list, including Hot Frosty.

I actually enjoyed this one.

It addresses belief and faith in a way I’ve not often seen in a Christmas film, which is kinda sad when you think about the reason for the season. If you can overlook the fact that the leading man looks a bit like a pervert, this one’s worth a chance.

Merry & Bright (2019)

I made the mistake of watching two Jodie Sweetin (e.g. Stephanie from Full House) Hallmark movies back-to-back. I would not recommend it. These movies are all so similar that it’s hard to separate one from the other when you consume them in close proximity.

I’ve now watched over a dozen of Hallmark Christmas movies. People talk about the MCU formula, but Marvel has nothing on Hallmark. Every Hallmark Christmas movie is guaranteed to have the following:

• a meet-cute in which one or both of the leads actively dislike each other.

• a Christmas tree lighting scene that takes on outsized importance.

• a 50% chance the tree lightning will fail, requiring one of the leads to save the day.

• people holding coffee cups that are clearly empty.

• slow dancing.

• a snowball fight or some other wintery activity (ice skating, sledding, etc.), during which feelings blossom.

• a happy ending completely telegraphed by the movie’s first few minutes.

Merry & Bright is all of these things. It’s about a woman running her grandmother’s candy cane empire(!) who finds a way to save the day and someone to warm her bed. I kinda liked it though.

Midnight at the Magnolia (2020)

This is a super cute movie about two best friends gradually realizing they have feelings for each other when they’re forced to pretend to be a couple for reasons I won’t go into. Midnight at the Magnolia succeeds on the strength of the two leads, who are both very likable. Even though I saw the finale coming a mile away, tears were still shed. These movies, man.

I briefly considered moving this into the Good, Not Great category because I liked it so much. It’s not there, quality-wise, but I did enjoy it.

The Noel Diary (2022)

Ridiculously handsome Kevin Pearson from This is Us (his name is actually Justin Hartley, apparently, but he’ll always be Kev to me) stars as a writer whose tragic past prevents him from letting people in, until the right girl literally lands on his doorstep. The writing is the big letdown on this one; the film doesn’t really climax but just sorta ends.

Gets by on Hartley’s charisma and stubbled jawline.

Nutcrackers (2024)

Ben Stiller headlines this bizarre yet charming holiday film. He plays a Chicago real estate developer, which falls below New York stock broker and Silicon Valley tech executive on the asshole scale. Despicable, but make it Midwestern.

Here’s how far he has his head up his own butt: His sister and brother-in-law tragically die, leaving behind 4 young sons, and his chief concern is finding someone to take them off his hands. To the point of approaching random rich dudes at supermarkets.

Fortunately, Linda Cardellini is there to straighten him out. I enjoyed this movie, but it’s crazy that in the year of our Lord 2024, there are still films in which the main female character is there solely to point out what an idiot the man is.

Our Little Secret (2024)

Lindsay Lohan and her male co-star are childhood friends who level up into a romantic relationship, and then break-up for reasons not fully explored or explained but occur to give the movie an inciting incident. Lohan and her one-true-love unknowingly end up dating a brother and sister, which they discover at Christmas. They decide to keep their past a secret (per the movie’s title) for dumb plot reasons. Apart from all that, this movie is actually pretty good when graded on the Christmas movie curve.

Our Little Secret embraces a Christmas movie tradition that looks cool in movies but has never happened to anyone. I’m referring to the trope where everyone arrives at their Christmas destination many days before the holiday and then there’s a communal effort to get ready. The tree lot scene, which segues into the decorating montage. The making cookies scene. The shopping scene. It’s all so artificial—who shows up at Christmas without gifts? In what world can you buy a decent tree 2 days before Christmas?—but I love it so much. Even Christmas Vacation, one of my favorite holiday movies, hits all these high notes. It’s a cheap trick, plot-wise, but damn effective.

Our Little Secret is a fun movie that never manages to cross over into legit funny. I don’t think I laughed once, and I laugh at everything. But I enjoyed watching this one.

Take Me Back for Christmas (2023)

This is the first movie we streamed on the Hallmark Channel, and it was good enough to convince me to try others.

Despite the name, Take Me Back for Christmas is not exactly a movie about reconciliation. It’s actually about wish fulfillment, and how we sometimes overlook what we have in favor of what we want.

The main character gets to see what life would’ve been like if she’d pursued her dreams, and then she spends her time trying to get her new life to resemble her old one. Which is to say, she spends it chasing a boy, because Hallmark.

Good, Not Quite Great

These films are not classics, but given how evergreen the Christmas genre is and how few of the new movies are actually decent, they will probably enter my seasonal rotation.

The Christmas Chronicles (2018)

Kurt Russell hams it up as the jolly old fat man himself. I’m not gonna say he was born to play Saint Nick, but he can certainly fill-out his suit.

The best Christmas movies about about family and redemption, and this one has it in spades. The Christmas Chronicles is about a pair of kids rediscovering their love of Christmas and the importance of family after the death of their father.

I cried, naturally.

Holidate (2022)

A pair of attractive singles pretend to be in a relationship for a year’s worth of holidays and start catching feelings. Funny and heartwarming.

The rare Christmas movie with a MA rating, which it uses to full effect. Even rarer: A Christmas rom-com that’s actually funny.

The Knight Before Christmas (2019)

The Knight Before Christmas is about a time-traveling British medieval knight (budget Jason London, whose name is actually Josh Whitehouse) who ends up in present day America. Taken by his old world chivalry, Vanessa Hudgens offers up her sofa, something any single woman would obviously do if a stranger in armor legitimately believed he was a knight.

Insanity aside, this is one of the better Netflix Christmas movies. It’s actually pretty funny. I was surprised at how much I laughed.

Here’s how much I like this movie: I was disappointed to discover there isn’t a sequel yet. Meanwhile, they somehow squeezed an entire trilogy out of A Christmas Prince.

Love Hard (2021)

Jian Yang from Silicon Valley catfishes a girl so convincingly she flies 3000 miles to surprise him for Christmas. Shenanigans ensue, but amid the chaos, sparks fly.

I just now realized Love Hard is probably a reference to Die Hard.

Also: I know this is the third movie in a row I’m saying this, but Love Hard is hilarious. Of the three, it’s the funniest. Apparently making a funny Christmas comedy is way harder than it looks.

Single All The Way (2021)

Marc from Ugly Betty (e.g. Michael Urie) convinces his best friend to pretend to be his boyfriend for Christmas. He’s super tired of facing all the questions about why he’s such a mess, romantically—because he’s Marc from Ugly Betty, duh—and just wants a season of good cheer. Unbeknownst to him, his mom has already set him up on a blind date with her spinning instructor.

You probably can already guess where this is headed. But there were a few surprises along the way. My favorite part is the blind date is a really good guy, actually. As depicted in movies, love often seems like a zero-sum game, but there are no losers here. Just people looking for companionship.

I wish I could explain what the hell Jennifer Coolidge is doing in this movie. Is she high? She’s sort of just there, aimlessly oozing sexuality for the sake of it. I guess because she’s Jennifer Coolidge? Feels like a wasted opportunity.

Three Wise Men and a Baby (2022)

Whether you see this as an homage to the 80s classic Three Men and a Baby or a blatant rip-off, the fact remains that this is a good Christmas movie. It’s clearly a budget film, starring people you’ve never seen outside of a Hallmark Channel production—apart from the mom, who starred as Jeff Goldblum’s ex-wife in Independence Day.

There are no real surprises in this movie. But sometimes, a bit of well-done sentimentality is exactly what you want this time of year.

It’s also pretty funny.

Great Movies

This is the shortest section.

I don’t know why it’s so difficult to create a great Christmas movie—I’m not asking for timeliness here, just filmmaking that aims to be more than competent—but the fact remains that making a great Christmas movie is akin to scaling Mount Everest, or perhaps Mount Doom.

Klaus (2019)

This Pixar-esque modern classic tells an alternate origin story for Santa Claus, one with a heavy Norwegian influence. It’s sort of Grinch-like, as the main character discovers the joy of giving and helping, even though he is (at first) very selfish and self-motivated.

You can debate what a movie has to be about in order to be a Christmas movie. For some people, just having it take place around Christmas is enough to satisfy their criteria. For my money, Christmas movies are about something more. Something elemental.

Klaus is one of the purest distillations of the Christmas spirit. When I watch a movie in December, that is what I’m after. The contented, cozy, almost-full feeling that everything will be alright.

Yep, just the one great film. Klaus is also the only animated story on this list. I wonder if there’s anything to that.

A couple of years ago, after yet another Indiana Jones sequel was announced, I envisioned the logical end of the franchise.

I think I came pretty close to the mark.

It might help to imagine you’ve just unearthed this movie script from the dark depths of a massive warehouse overflowing with curiosities.

Newly added footnotes for additional amusement.

EXT. CONNECTICUT COLONIAL — DAY

A hovercar parks at the top of a circle drive. A pair of suits step out. They look up at the house, a colonial two-story.

SUIT 1: Are you sure he’s still alive? He must be nearly 150 years old.

SUIT 2: Rumor has it he drank from the cup of Christ. Some holy residue must be propping him up.1

SUIT 1: Even if that’s true, how much help can he possibly be?

SUIT 2: What other choice do we have.

INT. KITCHEN — DAY

An old man sprawls across the kitchen table amid a chaos of prescription bottles, his head resting on an old leather satchel.

He stirs at the doorbell and sits up, revealing an elderly Short Round.

SHORT ROUND: Okay okay okay.

EXT. FRONT PORCH — DAY

The door opens inward. The suits tower over the old man but flinch in the face of his irritation.

SHORT ROUND: Why you knocking so loud? People are sleeping. What do you want.

SUIT 1: Ahh… Dr… Jones?

SHORT ROUND: Do I look like Dr. Jones to you? Very funny.

SUIT 2: We have a matter of some urgency to discuss with Dr. Jones.

SHORT ROUND: He’s busy. Come back later.

The door slams in their faces.

INT. STUDY — DAY

A frail, elderly man sleeps in a wheelchair, his hands tucked under the blanket in his lap. He’s surrounded by bookshelves of old tomes and memorabilia.

The door opens.

SHORT ROUND: Dr. Jones. Wake up. It’s time for your medicine.

Indy draws an old sixshooter from under his blanket. His hand trembles from the weight.

INDIANA JONES: Who the hell are you.

SHORT ROUND: Haha, very funny Dr. Jones.

Short Round easily disarms Indy and places a handful of pills in his hand.

INDY: Cyanide?

SHORT ROUND: Viagra.2

Indy swallows the pills dry.

INDY: Those men — what did they want?

SHORT ROUND: To see Dr. Jones.

INDY: Tell them he’s dead.

Indy looks at a framed photo on the wall in which Indy, his father, Sallah, and Brody smile in the light of an ancient sun.

Indy: We’re all dead.3

OVER BLACK:

DISEMBODIED VOICE: Dr. Jones?

INT. LIBRARY — EVENING

Indy dozes in an upholstered leather chair.

Short Round elbows Indy. He awakes with a snort.

INDY: I was just resting my eyes.

SHORT ROUND: You were snoring, Dr. Jones. Very big snores.

SUIT 1: Dr. Jones—do you want some coffee?

INDY, nodding: Please. You were saying something about a space machine?

SUIT 2: A time machine. The clone of Elon Musk opened a portal to the 1930s. He wants to seize the Ark of the Covenant and usher in an era of Nazi supremacy in our time, with himself installed as leader.4

INDY: Nazis. I hate those guys.

SUIT 1: Given your familiarity with the Ark, we were hoping you might be willing to go back in time and help us stop him.

INDY: Let them have it.

SUIT 2: Excuse me?

INDY: The Ark is really good at killing Nazis. Chasing after them is just a lot of wasted effort. Let them open it. I’ll be watching Matlock.

SUIT 1: That may have been true in 1936. The clone of Musk wants to bring the Ark to our timeline, where there is already one Ark. Our scientists are afraid the presence of a second Ark will amplify the power of the first. The result could be, well..

SUIT 2: Apocalyptic.

INDY: Time travel… clones… it’s enough to make me miss monkeys and aliens.5

INT. NASA FACILITY

Dozens of soldiers stand ready in front of an enormous swirling portal.

The Suits check their watches.

INT. BATHROOM

Short Round leans against a wall, listening to sporadic dribbling.

SHORT ROUND: I told you not to drink that coffee, Dr. Jones.

INDY: Huh?

SHORT ROUND: You should not drink that coffee!

INDY: Well why didn’t you say so?

SHORT ROUND: I did say so Dr. Jones. You don’t listen. You never listen.

INDY: What?

The flush of a toilet drowns out Short Round’s reply.

Indy comes wheeling into view wearing his old adventuring gear. He rolls out without washing his hands.

INDY: Come on, Short Round. You’re holding everyone up.6

EXT. EGYPTIAN DESERT — DAY

The Suits and their soldiers emerge from the portal. Hundreds of Nazis line the cliffs, firing down on the confused soldiers. It’s the beginning of Saving Private Ryan but Tom Hanks is nowhere to be found.

Indy and Short Round appear amidst the carnage.

SHORT ROUND: Oh shit!

INDY: What?

SHORT ROUND: We gotta go Dr. Jones.

The portal closes before they can escape.

The gunfire dies down as the last of the team is cut down. Silence.

Clone Musk steps through the Nazis. He’s covered head to toe in swastikas. There are swastikas buzzed into the sides of his hair. His pants are sagging, revealing swastika underoos.

His time in the past has given him a German accent.

CLONE MUSK: Leaving so soon, Dr. Jones? But you’ve only just arrived. And we have so very much to discuss.

INT. EGYPTIAN TENT — DAY

The body of Dr. Belloq, Indy’s old rival, is sprawled across a desk, his throat cut open.

Indy and Short Round are tied to chairs.

Clone Musk strides into the tent and pushes the body aside.

CLONE MUSK: Useless man. How he was ever your rival, I will never understand.

Indy looks down at the pale face of Belloq, his expression haunted.

CLONE MUSK: In springing your little trap, you tried to use my own time travel technology against me. Did you know that? The only thing more ridiculous is Zuckerberg’s refusal to let the Metaverse go. Hey Mark—nobody wants to hang out in your shitty virtual basement.

Clone Musk laughs alone.

CLONE MUSK: Time travel is a strange thing. We sit here in 1936, blessed with the benefit of foresight. We both know, you and I, that very soon Marion Ravenwood will arrive. I’ve always had a thing for brunettes. She will make a fine addition to my harem.7

INDY: You bastard!

CLONE MUSK: tsk tsk, Dr. Jones. We are all civilized men here, yes? You need only show me where the Ark is hidden, and I will be on my way. That is, assuming you remember.

INDY, bristling: I remember.

EXT. EGYPTIAN DESERT — DAY

Indy sits in his wheelchair, peering at a map. Exhausted laborers lean on their shovels. Dozens of aborted dig sites are visible in the near distance. The desert looks like a playground for gigantic groundhogs.

CLONE MUSK: You’re sure this time?

INDY: Oh yes, this is it.

Clone Musk strides away, goading his men into action.

SHORT ROUND: Tire them out? Good idea, Dr. Jones.

INDY: Huh? Oh. Yeah. Thanks.

EXT. EGYPTIAN DESERT — NIGHT

The laborers, Clone Musk, and Indy have all passed out. Short Round works alone.

His shovel strikes rock.

SHORT ROUND: Dr. Jones. Shhhh. Wake up. I found something. Shhhh.

INDY: I told you I knew where it was. Ahh — where is it?

SHORT ROUND: Right under your feet.

Using shovels, the old men pry at a stone block. Indy collapses into his wheelchair.

INDY: Blood sugar. Too low.

SHORT ROUND: Or sure, sit there and enjoy a Snickers while Short Round does all the work. You’re not funny Dr. Jones. Not funny at all.

Short Round opens a gap. They stare down into darkness.

INDY: You better get moving.

SHORT ROUND: What do you mean — you better get going?

INDY: Take a lot of torches. I seem to remember something about snakes.

EXT. EGYPTIAN DESERT — EARLY MORNING

As the faintest hint of dawn brushes the horizon, Indy and Short Round struggle to load a crate onto an Army truck.

INDY: Don’t remember… being so heavy.

SHORT ROUND: More lift, less talk.

They get it loaded with Short Round doing all the work. Short Round helps Indy into the truck’s cab and puts the wheelchair in back with the Ark.

He finds Indy behind the wheel.

SHORT ROUND: Haha, very funny Dr. Jones.

INDY: Get in shorty. We gotta go.

SHORT ROUND: Move over! You can’t even see.

INDY: I can see just fine.

They fight over the steering wheel.

Sirens erupt, splitting the tranquility of near-dawn.

Indy turns the ignition, pops the truck into gear, and floors it, with Short Round hanging onto the open door.

The truck flies backward into a large drift of sand, jarring to a halt.

INDY: I meant to do that.

SHORT ROUND: Dr. Jones!

Armed men spot the truck. They begin running, shouting in German.

Indy drops the truck into first gear.

INDY: Gives us more of a runway.

The truck lunges forward. Short Round clambers over Indy into the passenger seat.

INT. TRUCK — EARLY MORNING

SHORT ROUND: No, you’re going the wrong way!

INDY: I know a shortcut.

EXT. EGYPTIAN DESERT — EARLY MORNING

The truck careens through the Nazi camp, running over tents and scattering soldiers.

INT. TRUCK — EARLY MORNING

Indy and Short Round bounce in their seats as the truck runs over something. A Wilhelm scream is distantly heard.

Short Round reaches out and pulls a tent from the windshield.

SHORT ROUND: This is not a shortcut! It’s a longcut. A badcut.

INDY: Leave the driving to me.

The truck clears the camp and bounces across the desert, ignoring the perfectly good road several feet away.8

EXT. EGYPTIAN DESERT — MORNING

A line of German vehicles follows a wayward truck. Clone Musk sits in the lead jeep. Veins stand out on his forehead.

CLONE MUSK: There is nowhere to go now, Doctor Jones. After him — schnell!

The German vehicles flank the truck, boxing it in. Men jump onto the back and begin climbing along the top.

INT. TRUCK — MORNING

INDY: Take the wheel. I’ll deal with this.

SHORT ROUND: That’s not a good idea.

EXT. TRUCK — MORNING

Indy crawls out the driver’s side window and starts to climb but his back goes out. He loses his grip and crashes to the ground.

EXT. EGYPTIAN DESERT — MORNING

A jeep stops beside Indy’s still figure. The driver gets out to check the body.

DRIVER: He’s fading, sir.

CLONE MUSK: Nein. Dose ihm.

The driver retrieves a syringe from a silver briefcase and injects Indy with amber fluid.

Indy awakes slowly. He looks around.

INDY: No. No—let me go. Please.

CLONE MUSK: In due time, Doctor Jones. But first you shall witness mein accession.

INDY: You’ll never get the Ark. Short Round is a master of subterfuge. He’s probably halfway to Cairo.

A caravan of vehicles stop nearby. A bound and bloodied Short Round is tossed out the back of a truck.

SHORT ROUND: This is all your fault, Dr. Jones. You went the wrong way. You didn’t listen. Now we’re in big trouble.

INT. PALATIAL ESTATE — NIGHT

A massive foyer of marble columns and arches. A wide circular staircase spirals toward a second story landing. Everything is pristine white. It’s a KKK wet dream.

Servants in white tuxedos circulate through a crowd standing near the base of the stairs. The servants all have identical faces. An army of Shia LaBeoufs.9

The guests are exclusively billionaires.  Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, Bill Gates, etc.

Clone Musk comes down the stairs.

CLONE MUSK: Greetings, mein friends. Welcome to the first day of the rest of our lives. No more will we be forced to trade in bodies like old iPhones. I hold within mein grasp the power of life itself.

Wild applause.

A squad of Nazis push through the crowd, dragging Indy and Short Round. They drop the two old men at the base of the stairs.

INDY: Don’t do this, Musk. You’ll doom us all.

CLONE MUSK: I did not take you for a doomscroller, Dr. Jones. What a disappointment you turned out to be.

The crowd laughs.

CLONE MUSK: I tell you what, Dr. Jones. I am a sporting man. Let’s make this interesting, hmm? If you climb to the top of the stairs before I open the Ark, I will yield to you.

INDY: You bastard!

CLONE MUSK: Come now, Doctor Jones. There are only 32 steps. Surely it is no match for the legendary Indiana Jones.

Indy grasps the ivory banister and starts hauling himself upward.

Clone Musk climbs out of sight.

SHORT ROUND: Come on, Dr. Jones. Hurry!

INDY: I’m… trying.

Indy collapses after seven steps.

INDY: This house has too many fucking stairs.

SHORT ROUND: Get up!

INDY: Go on without me. I’m done.

Commotion echoes from above. Shouts and screams.

SHORT ROUND: He’s opened the Ark! Dr. Jones — close your eyes!

Wrathful energies spill down the stairs, liquefying faces.

Indy opens his eyes and smiles.

INDY: Finally.

POST-CREDITS

Indy stands in a queue outside the gates of heaven with Musk, Bezos, and the rest. A pair of burly angels guard the entrance. They’re turning everyone away.

ANGEL 1: State your name.

INDY: Indiana Jones. Sorry—Henry Jones Junior.

ANGEL 2: Wait. The Indiana Jones?

ANGEL 1: You know this guy?

ANGEL 2: Indiana Jones. The dude who saved the Ark and the Holy Grail. He’s even got the bullwhip!

ANGEL 1: That’s this guy? I thought he’d be much younger.

ANGEL 2: What an absolute honor. I’m a huge fan, Dr. Jones.

INDY: Nice to meet you. Can I go inside?

ANGEL 1, consulting a scroll: I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. You’re not supposed to be here.

INDY: Look, if this is about Marion, I can explain.10

ANGEL 2: You’re needed back down there, sir. It’s those darn Nazis.

INDY: Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I’m the type of person who starts listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving. I just love this time of year—the lights, the traditions, the sense that everything is quietly winding down. If the best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear, listening to Christmas music has gotta run a close second.

The problem is the Christmas genre is woefully lacking in originality. Nearly every song is a remake or a cover. I get it — Christmas is timeless, and nostalgia is undefeated. Still. As of 2015, there were over 26,000 versions of “Silent Night” on Spotify. That’s a lot of noise for something supposedly quiet.

I set out to determine the best original Christmas songs. Chances are some of these have been covered or remade since they were first recorded. Not our problem; genre gonna genre.

If I left off a classic, it’s probably because the version we know isn’t the original. Don’t at me—google it yourself first. You’ll be surprised.

My findings are in descending order, countdown style.

10. ‘Linus and Luci’, Vince Guaraldi Trio

According to my wife, this is not a Christmas song. I can understand her position—it’s instrumental and in no way harkens back to any of the Christmas classics. Heck, the song is named after two Peanuts characters.

And yet.

If you grew up watching A Charlie Brown Christmas, there are probably few songs more iconically Christmas than this one. I only listen to “Linus and Luci” this time of year, and it always reminds me of Christmases of yore, when I was a child and Christmas magic was tangible.

So yeah, definitely a Christmas song. Good one, too.

9. ‘Mele Kalikimaka’, Bing Crosby

Crosby first sang this song in 1949, but being as I was born 30 years later, I know it from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. It plays as Clark Griswold envisions the pool he plans to build in the backyard and then fantasizes about the underwear saleswoman he brazenly flirted with earlier in the film. What can I say—family movies hit differently in the 80s.

Christmas Vacation is an annual tradition at my house, so little surprise this song made list. To my Michigan sensibilities, the idea of a hot and sunny Christmas sounds legitimately depressing—it’s a white Christmas or bust—but damn if the song isn’t catchy as all get-out.

8. ‘The Christmas Wish’, John Denver and The Muppets

I’ve gone on at length about my love for this song and the whole album. John Denver and The Muppets was foundational. I can’t divorce my nostalgia for this album from my memories of childhood.

I used to listen to this album because of the Muppets. Now I listen to it because the songs are strangely moving.

I suppose it’s a bit weird to be moved by a puppet. I know the words are actually being sung by a puppeteer, that Kermit the Frog isn’t real, but damn if this song doesn’t make me believe in him. I, too, have felt it burn inside, and every time Kermit sings that line I come a bit undone. ~ Me, arguing that ‘John Denver & The Muppets’ is the Greatest Christmas Album of All-time

I’m guessing you haven’t heard this one in a while. It isn’t part of the normal holiday rotation. Give it a listen. I bet you’ll be surprised at how good it is.

7. ‘Happy X-mas (War is Over),’ John Lennon and Yoko Ono

This melancholic yet hopeful song about the passage of time never fails to convict me. Another year over. Another year older. What have you done? It speaks to a wistfulness that’s inseparable from the season. Memories of Christmases long gone and people no longer here.

By the by, saying ‘Happy Christmas’ will never not sound weird to me. Probably my Americanism showing but ‘Merry Christmas’ is clearly superior.

6. ‘Christmas All Over Again,’ Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

With apologies to the classics, Christmas songs don’t always need to be all buttoned up and serious. The best ones know how to have fun. Like this Tom Petty number, which thunderously ends the underrated Vince Vaughn flick Four Christmases. Who doesn’t identify with the uniquely painful experience of making small talk with relatives you barely know and only see once a year?

5. ‘White Christmas,’ Bing Crosby

Ahh—Bing Crosby again. The dude simply is Christmas. He looms over the genre to such an extent that I can’t think of a single non-Christmas Bing Crosby song. He died before I was born, so that could be part of it.

There’s just no two ways about it: “White Christmas” is a classic. It’s not the first song I dial up once we get into the season, but I’m never sad when it comes on. The song—and Bing himself—evokes the timeless nature of Christmas and the ensuing yearning for times long past. Sometimes the old ways really are best.

Fun fact: The song won an Academy Award in 1943. Not that I need to justify myself. Just, you know. People liked it. A lot.

4. ‘Feliz Navidad,’ José Feliciano

I’ll be honest: apart from the English parts, I have no idea what José is singing about. My knowledge of Spanish is limited to words you see on a Taco Bell menu: grande, chalupa, taco. I took French in High School, believing it the more sensual language, one that would help me pick up girls. (It did not).1

But it doesn’t matter that I only understand half the lyrics — I get the idea. It’s a joyful song that makes me dance around clumsily serenading anyone in earshot. José and I come from different worlds but we’re united in our love of the season. That’s Christmas magic if I’ve ever seen it.

Much like “Du Hast,” great music transcends mere words.

3. ‘The Little Drummer Boy (Peace on Earth)’, Bing Crosby and David Bowie

A bit of a cheat maybe, as “Little Drummer Boy” has been around forever. But the accompanying “Peace on Earth” was written specifically for this collaboration, and it’s the star of the show. Since I’m making the rules here, I’ll allow it this time, but don’t push your luck, Pierce.

Bing Crosby does his Bing Crosby thing on the classic, throwing down a bass line as David Bowie absolutely shreds using just his voice. It’s a marvelous, stirring blend of old and new. Rather than trumpet the trappings of the season, the duo articulates something far more profound—the sense of goodwill swirling like eddies of snow, a longing for peace, hope for future generations.

Crosby passed away a month after recording this. I know he was old but I choose to believe that, like Obi-Wan Kenobi, he became one with the Force after ensuring the next generation was ready to carry the mantle.

2. ‘The Christmas Song,’ Nat King Cole

They’re classics for a reason, folks.

It just doesn’t get much better than this soulful ballad. Bing Crosby may be the voice of Christmas, but Nat King Cole is its spirit.

While “Linus and Luci” and the Muppets Christmas album materialize memories of my own childhood, “The Christmas Song” is more universal. We instead of me. I’ve never once roasted a chestnut, and we typically eat ham at Christmas. The details are irrelevant—we’re united by reverence for tradition. And, perhaps, a desire to slow down and be kind to one another this time of year. “The Christmas Song” best expresses that feeling. The older I’ve gotten, the more I appreciate it.

I prefer the version I linked above, but there’s something sweet about the original black & white broadcast, including Nat trying to decide what to do with his hands at the beginning.

1. ‘This Christmas,’ Donny Hathaway

I unequivocally love this R&B classic. Great beat, nice tempo, and Donny Hathaway has a low-key great voice. I can’t sing, but that doesn’t stop me from making it a duet. This song begs you to sing along. You can even throw a little extra mustard on it.

There’s nothing fancy going on with the lyrics. Hathaway isn’t singing about war or peace. He doesn’t touch on traditions. He’s just pumped about the Christmas he’s going to have. It’s a party, a celebration, like Christmas ought to be.

I seriously questioned putting this above two heavyweights like “The Christmas Song” and the Crosby/Bowie medley. Those are bona fide classics and are also more than songs. They stir unnamed emotions in me.

However.

“This Christmas” is so joyously infectious. It’s my favorite Christmas song, and that overrides every other argument.

What did I miss? I tried to squeeze in “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” by Darlene Love but couldn’t bump anything. Consider it an honorary member.

Don’t quibble too much over the rankings—I moved them around so often, I’ll probably change them again tomorrow. Though my top 3 is locked in.

I’m dealing with health issues.

I’ve consulted with my doctor and he agreed further investigation is warranted. Follow-ups have been scheduled, some of which are being held hostage by my insurance company.

Insurance companies are like dementors except dementors are a benefit to society.

This has been going on for 2 months. It will be several more before anything actionable is revealed. Or maybe this is the new normal. I vacillate between dealing with issues that may be symptoms and pretending everything is fine, actually.

Writing this feels overly dramatic because I want to believe it’s nothing. I feel okay but also am occasionally debilitated. I’m not sleeping well. When it’s 10 AM and you’re already tired, the day’s not getting any better.

That’s all I’ll say about that for now. I’m sure you’re curious and I’m sorry to leave you hanging. We’ll see how the story unfolds. I’ll have more to say.

Pertinent to the avenue through which I am channeling these thoughts—I’m having a hard time finding the energy or enthusiasm to write. So I’ve decided to put up a We’re Closed sign through the holidays.

That doesn’t mean you won’t be hearing from me.

I’m planning on repurposing evergreen articles I published on Medium years ago, because editing is something I can do, and it’s also secretly my favorite part of writing. I still hope to write new stuff. But I need to free myself from my self-imposed weekly cadence. At least through the busyness of the holidays.

I’ve paused paid subscriptions, so supporters won’t lose any time while I’m soaking in a bacta tank. And I’m comping supporters 3 extra months to account for the time I wasn’t as productive.

I’ll still be around. This newsletter/site/thingie will look no different, even if I’m at a slight remove. There will be things to read that are new to 99% of you. And even if you’ve read it, and remember it, it will be better because I’m a better writer than when I first wrote it.

I was tempted to not say anything, and run the older material as though everything was fine. I’ve already done it once. I write about life through a pop culture lens; pretending everything was fine while Life was happening to me, right now, felt dishonest. So instead I wrote this vaguely worded update.

Much better.

Each season of Stranger Things has introduced new antagonists named after a Dungeons & Dragons monster. That's how we got the Demogorgon, the Mindflayer, and Vecna.

D&D has a huge roster of iconic monsters. And also strange amalgamations that must've arrived via cocaine-fueled fever dreams. What if for the fifth and final season, Stranger Things went in an entirely different direction and pit the crew against something a little weird?

Here are some the most out-there and bizarre D&D monsters I've ever heard of, creatures that’d be hilarious foils for our heroes. I’ve included a danger ranking to the town of Hawkins for each, even if most of these should be zeroes.

Duckbunny

A bunny with the bill and webbed feet of a duck. Or a duck with the body and head of a bunny. I'm not really sure.

Either way, not very scary. This low-effort creation is almost the most ridiculous D&D creature I’ve ever heard of (spoiler: said monster is in this article and you’ll know it when you see it).

Threat to Hawkins: I know I said I was rating on a scale of 1–10, but I’m calling this a big fat zero. The bunny part of its DNA will probably keep it busy humping other Duckbunnies. Maybe that's the true horror.

Stench Kow

If you’ve spent any time around a farm, you know that cows stink. But how much worse do you need to smell to be singled out from the regular cows and branded an entirely new kind of creature?

These creatures resemble bison more than cows (or kows, if you’re nasty). Their defining feature is their foul odor, which is so bad that standing within 20 feet will poison you, and could actually kill you. Ew, David.

Threat to Hawkins: There is no real malevolence here; I doubt the kows even realize they stink. And if you wandered downwind of one, you could just, you know, walk away. 1 out of 10.

Piercer

A creature indistinguishable from a stalactite (that’s the one attached to the ceiling), piercers can grow up to 6 feet in length and are very pointy. They literally hang from the ceiling all day, waiting for some poor unsuspecting bastard to walk directly underneath. And then the piercer plummets and tries to skewer their prey.

Threat to Hawkins: On one hand, getting stabbed by an enormous rock—through the head, probably—is pretty fatal. But piercers can barely move and they can only attack one person. And if it misses? It has to crawl back to the ceiling to try again. It's the misery of dragging an inflatable back to the top of a 5-story slide, and just as slow. These things are really only a threat in caves, so let’s call it a 2/10.

Flail Snails

Human-sized snails with multiple tentacles and a glowing, rainbow colored shell. Can you imagine the thrilling chase scene where our heroes try to outrun a snail? They'll have a huge head start since the shell is the equivalent of a Las Vegas strip billboard.

But that’s not even the best part: if all the tentacles are killed, the snail retracts into its shell and starts crying loudly until it dies.

Yep.

Threat to Hawkins: We’ll call this a 2/10, as the idea of a huge snail is pretty horrific, even if it’s just wailing inside its shell. Maybe more so.

Mimic

Carnivorous creatures that disguise themselves as something mundane like a door or dresser and devour anyone who tries to open it. Mimics most commonly masquerade as treasure chests because even semi-cognizant creatures know that players are greedy.

Threat to Hawkins: Mimics are one of the most iconic D&D monsters, but that in no way makes them any less ridiculous. The only way to threaten Hawkins is with a furniture store’s worth of them. Even then, the threat is pretty low. 2/10.

Moonrats

Regular old rats that become stronger and smarter as the moon becomes fuller, culminating in rats that are superior to humans during the full moon. But only during the full moon — the other 29 days of the month they spend rummaging through garbage, per usual.

Threat to Hawkins: Rats en masse are already ick—hello, rat king—but the idea of rats that are stronger and smarter than humans is just plain wrong. Even if it only happens once a month, this silly monster has some bite. 5/10.

Brain in a Jar

Exactly what it sounds like: a brain floating in a jar of embalming fluid. It’s undead, which is geek speak for dead but not really. The brain boasts Professor X style mind powers; it probably orders people to move it to a shelf with a better view or give it a dusting. What else could a disembodied brain want?

Threat to Hawkins: Mind control is nothing to sneeze at. However, the Brain in a Jar is only one toddler way from being Brain in Pile of Jagged Glass, Slowly Dying. 6/10.

Death Linen

Yep. Linen, as in bed sheets.

This is the stuff that gets kids beat up for playing D&D.

Death Linen comes in three varieties: Killer Pillow, Flannel Beast, and Sheet. What was once everyday bedding gets infected with psychotic energy from nightmares. And now it has a thirst for blood, or a need to kill, or a need for speed, or something.

Threat to Hawkins: I want to say no threat, no chance. But a seemingly inert creature that literally lies in wait while you put on your night creams and whatnot and then strangles you when you get into bed and nobody is around to help is the kind of messed up that fits Stranger Things. 7/10.

Thought Eater

Thought Eaters are emaciated gray platypuses that are completely invisible—you may rightly wonder how we know what they look like, but such logic is not welcome here. Per the name, Thought Eaters get sustenance by consuming thoughts. They feed until sated or the victim dies. Okay.

Some people say that D&D is a weird game and even though I love it, right now I’m inclined to agree.

Threat to Hawkins: Handled poorly, this invisible foe would make for a stranger version of The Happening. But assuming M. Night Shamarock isn’t involved, a pack of Thought Eaters you can’t fight or see that are slowly sucking the brain juices out of everyone in Hawkins is a special kind of terrifying. 8/10

Disenchanter

A zebra with the long tongue of an anteater that licks magic items like they're popsicles, turning them into regular old items. And then I guess it finds the next guy running around with an unprotected magic sword and does the same thing to him.

Threat to Hawkins: If you categorize Eleven’s abilities as magic, then this is an easy 9 or 10. Without her, Hawkins is completely screwed. But otherwise, the only risk is to the magic that is Steve and Robin’s friendship. Therefore, this is obviously a 10/10.

While some of these creatures are just silly, most of them could work as Stranger Things antagonists, emphasis on strange. I’m actually inspired to bust a few of these out in my own game. Maybe use a herd of Stench Kows to drive the characters toward a clothesline where Death Linen hang to dry.

No, I was right before. That’d be lame.

Tom Cruise recently picked up his first Oscar at something called the Governor’s Awards. Bestowing honorary Oscars is a noble practice. It also casts further doubt on the annual habit of evaluating art and deciding on a winner; this is the kind of thing that happens when theater kids are always picked last at kickball.

Honorary Oscars recognize “extraordinary distinction in lifetime achievement in cinema and exceptional contributions to the state of motion picture arts and sciences.” Maybe it’s just me, but it feels less prestigious when you’re being awarded not because an individual performance demanded it, but simply because you’ve been in the game a long time. It’s a “fine, you wore us down” award.

You can probably tell from my tone that I think Oscars are dumb. Mostly because when I used to watched the ceremony, the movies I’d actually seen never won. I realize that probably says a lot about me but I’m fine with it. I’d rather watch F1 or Thunderbolts than any Wes Anderson movie.1 To this day, the best Academy Awards was the year The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King won everything. It felt like a lifetime of comeuppance all in one evening. Come to think of it, that year was basically an honorary award in recognition of the entire trilogy.

This year’s Governor’s Awards was the 16th. Basic math tells us the inaugural ceremony was held in 2011, when Arnold Schwarzenegger was ending his term as California’s governor. Probably a coincidence, but I choose to believe one of Arnie’s final acts was colonizing the ceremony and naming it in his honor. We can only assume calling it the Governator’s Awards was a step too far.

People like to talk about Tom Cruise being our last movie star. He’s not, but he very may well be cinema’s biggest fan. Dude loves movies. It’s quite endearing, actually, and almost makes you forget he’s the unofficial face of a cult and also has a history of bizarre relationships. Given the depth of his love for movies, his award might feel a bit self-congratulatory, as though by giving their #1 cheerleader a statute, Hollywood is also awarding itself. But even though I brought it up, I don’t think that’s a fair assessment. Cruise has been in a ton of iconic movies, and he’s a solidly good actor. He’s deserving.

He spent half of his acceptance speech honoring his fellow awardees, and generally gushing about how great movies are. I’ve never met the guy, but he is so likable. Is it all an act? Is he a better actor than we’ve given him credit for, or is his public-presenting persona close to the real deal? I lean toward the latter. But I also used to believe I’d drown if I ate a sandwich before swimming in a kiddie pool, so, you know, maybe form your own opinions.

Tom Cruise cares deeply about movies. You can’t watch his acceptance speech and come away thinking any differently.

On the other hand, I’m not certain Harrison Ford would show up to claim a consolation Oscar. He was famously a carpenter before a certain little space movie made him a household name, and he has retained the weary pragmatism of a working man. He loves acting, doesn’t seem to enjoy anything else involving movies.

“I never wanted to be rich and famous. I just wanted to be an actor.” ~ Harrison Ford, via People Magazine

Nonetheless, I’d like to nominate Ford for the next batch of honorees. I assume this is how it’s done? An obscure writer makes a passionate plea, and if the Powers That Be deign to listen, they Picard that shit? Like a letter-writing campaign, but it’s just me on my soap box, the same one that once aired my grievances with Santa.

This plan is foolproof.

Not to pit Cruise against Ford, but I feel it’s necessary to use someone as a comparison in making Ford’s case for a shiny participation trophy he probably doesn’t want. And since I only just heard of the Governator’s Awards yesterday, Tom Cruise is the only other actor I know who’s won via the prestigious, 16-year ceremony that occurs in late November while everyone is thinking about the holidays and their chances of making the fantasy football playoffs.

Also, Cruise is an easy actor to compare because I’m familiar with his work. And—even better—his peak years overlapped with Ford’s pretty neatly.

I want to suggest a few categories to corral this argument. Criteria gives the whole thing the illusion of rigor. The scientific approach, but make it lazy.

After some quiet reflection, I’ve landed on two categories, which perfectly aligns with the honorary Oscar’s mandate. Because I’m stealing their nomenclature.

Extraordinary Distinction

My interpretation: What movies have you been in, and were you any good in them?

I’m going to tackle the second part of that sentence first. And, since we’re talking about Oscars, we have an easy on-ramp: Academy Awards nominations.

Cruise has earned 3 acting nominations.

• 1990 Best Actor: Born on the Fourth of July

• 1997 Best Actor: Jerry Maguire

• 2000 Best Supporting Actor: Magnolia

Meanwhile, Ford was only nominated once.

• 1986 Best Actor: Witness

Ford lost to William Hurt for his role in Kiss of the Spider Woman, a movie about a smoking hot superhero. The movie is about how she solves crime by running around in ridiculous spandex outfits. It was rated NC-17 for obvious reasons.

Marvel studied the film closely as they prepared to bring the Incredible Hulk to the big screen, a character who spends most of the runtime half-naked. They wanted to steer toward the PG-13 demographic and sex-down the inherent allure of a giant monosyllabic green man dressed only in a tattered slip of cloth. It was all wasted effort, however, as they later discovered the Hulk has no bulge. Crisis averted.

I made up everything I just said, btw. I’ve never actually seen Kiss of the Spider Woman. I like my version of events.

Back to the topic at hand.

Cruise has three nominations to Ford’s one. Case closed? Not exactly. I think Cruise’s best performance was as a sociopathic hitman in Michael Mann’s Collateral. This underscores the ridiculous underlying premise of the Oscars. How do you define “great?” Winners are based more on the overlapping tastes of the voters than agreement about why one performance is more deserving than another.

At the same time, I’d argue Ford is a steadier hand. He’s always reliably great. Usually. I still have no idea what he was doing in Return of the Jedi. Let’s chalk it up to sci-fi apathy and a ton of cocaine. I have a dog in this fight though, so we’ll give the nod to Cruise just based on having more nominations.

Comparing their filmographies is a bigger lift. Rather than go through dozens of movies, let’s narrow this down a bit.

Iconic Roles

Minimally, you have to know the character’s name to qualify. A Few Good Men is a great movie, but do you know the name of Cruise’s character? Probably not. So it’s not iconic. Also, Cruise is majorly shaded by Jack Nicholson. No shame in that, but you can’t be second fiddle in your own movie.

Cruise iconic roles:

• Pete “Maverick” Mitchell

• Ethan Hunt

• Jack Reacher? Would we remember the character’s name if it wasn’t also the name of the movie? I think this is a no.

• Lestat? LOL

It’s an okay list, though I think Maverick and Ethan Hunt are the only real iconic characters. Jerry Maguire and Charlie Babbitt were in the mix because they’re memorable, unforgettable characters, but I wouldn’t exactly call them iconic. But don’t worry, we’ll come back to them shortly.

Ford iconic roles:

• Han Solo

• Indiana Jones

• Rick Deckard

• Jack Ryan

• Dr. Richard Kimble

Ford also played the president twice. Frankly, I’d give this go-around to Ford just based on Han or Indy. Cruise has yet to play a character in the same league. Maverick or Ethan Hunt also lack the rough edges and humanity that make Han and Indy compelling characters.

This is all just a way of quantifying what we knew for fact at the time: Harrison Ford was the biggest movie star in the world for 20 years. I don’t know how you account for that in terms of imaginary points for consolation Oscars, but it should count for something.

Point, Ford.

Iconic Movies

Now we’re going to try summing up a lifetime of work into a couple of paragraphs. I think the easy way to do it—if a bit morbid—is to think about what films would be mentioned at the top of their obituaries. Let’s limit it to 4.

Cruise obituary film list (in order of importance):

1. Top Gun (still his most iconic role)

2. Mission Impossible franchise (the stunts! moves into the top spot if Cruise dies making a Mission Impossible)

3. Jerry Maguire (maybe his best movie)

4. Rock of Ages Toss-up between A Few Good Men, Rain Man, and Risky Business

An argument could also be made for any of the films that earned him an Oscar nomination or Eyes Wide Shut. But I think I’ve got it right. An obituary highlights what they’re most well-known for. Example: The subtitle of Robert Redford’s mentioned All the President’s Men, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and The Sting.

Ford obituary film list (in order of importance):2

1. Indiana Jones trilogy (gets the nod because you can’t separate Indy from Ford)

2. Star Wars trilogy (much as Ford hates it, he knows it to be true)

3. The Fugitive (not gonna say it’s his best movie, but it’s a great one)

4. Toss-up between Witness and Blade Runner, with Shrinking as a dark horse candidate

These lists are hard to contrast, and rather quickly we’re comparing apples and oranges. I think Ford’s top 2 are far stronger, and Cruise’s last two are clearly better. We’ll call it a tie. So where does that leave us?

• Oscar nominations: Cruise (3 to 1)

• Iconic roles: Ford (5 to 2)

• Obituary films: Tie

So net, we ended up tied. Which is fine. The objective isn’t to prove Ford is more deserving. Just equally so. We’re on track.

Exceptional Contributions

Translation: Box office, but also ‘he improved how movies are made,’ which is harder to quantify.

Box office is largely an indicator of tent pole movies, because movies with lots of explosions tend to draw people to the theater. I offer myself as Exhibit A. I go to the movies 3-4 times a year, and only then if something begs to be seen on a big screen. You may disagree but when I watched Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret at home, there was no loss in fidelity. Great movie btw.

The box office is anathema to the Academy. They famously do not appreciate science fiction films—A New Hope and Dune were both robbed—and are also allergic to anything that hints at being too mainstream. They awarded Annie Hall over Star Wars. Annie Fucking Hall!

I get that artistic nuance can often only be appreciated by those closest to the craft. My bar for good writing is higher specifically because I’m a writer. But sometimes the unwashed masses are right. And the films that bring people to the theater pays for the artsy cinema Hollywood loves making. An honorary Oscar is just the kind of place to right such injustices. A mea culpa for being too uppity.

Worldwide box office as a leading man:

• Cruise: 41 films, $11.1 billion.

• Ford: 36 films, $6.2 billion

Cruise wins pretty handily.

Sort of.

The above numbers are not adjusted for inflation, which is a big deal considering how much damage Ford inflicted on wallets in the 80s and 90s. Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope grossed $307 million worldwide in its original domestic release. Adjusted for inflation, that’s $1.6 billion.3

A few more examples:

• Raiders of the Lost Ark: $367 million, adjusted $1.3 billion

• Temple of Doom: $333 million, adjusted $1 billion

• The Last Crusade: $474 million, adjusted $1.2 billion

The list goes on. The other two Star Wars films together add another billion in inflated-adjusted dollars. Some quick math tells me the original Star Wars and Indiana Jones trilogies alone add $4.8 billion in inflation monies to Ford’s box office tally, bringing it up to $11 billion.

It’s not like inflation doesn’t apply to Tom Cruise. It’s just not on the same scale. His run of tent pole movies doesn’t really start until 1996 with Mission Impossible. Inflation is still a factor, just not to the same degree.

• Top Gun (1986 release): $176 million, adjusted $524 million

• Rain Man: $412 million, adjusted $1.1 billion (wow!)

• Mission Impossible: $457 million, adjusted $947 million

I’m not doing an entire ‘fun times with box office inflation’ breakdown. Net result, I think Cruise probably still has a slightly higher inflation-adjusted box office but it’s very close. If Cruise comes out ahead, it’s only because he’s done more films.

We’ll call it a tie, though I’m inclined to give it to Ford. But I’m obviously biased.

As for the more nebulous, ‘he made a difference’ aspect of this category… it obviously goes to Cruise. He’s continued to push the envelope on stunts, often risking bodily harm to himself in service to our entertainment. Love to see it, though I’m certain he’s going to kill himself making a movie. On behalf of the Governator’s imaginary board of directors, I salute the effort.

As for Ford—in his own words, he just wants to be an actor. Leave him alone. He’d probably be so pissed if he knew I was writing this right now.

Because this is getting long and I need to remind myself—this category only had two measures:

• Box office: Using inflation-adjusted numbers and back of the napkin math, it’s basically a tie.

• Making a difference: Cruise, easily.

In Summary

So now that we went through this long, made-up process for a consolation prize that Harrison Ford probably doesn’t even want… where did we end up? Did we prove he’s been overlooked by the Governator Awards? Or that he’s at least as deserving as Cruise? Especially since he’s—checks notes—83-years-old?

Based on the preponderance of imaginary evidence, Ford is in the ballpark.

What this exercise really made me appreciate was how deserving Cruise was of his honorary Oscar. I’m happy he got it, especially since it clearly means so much to him.

The real question this line of inquiry raised: If the Incredible Hulk is a metaphor for ED, and Ant-Man is an euphemism for erections, when are we going to get the Hims-sponsored Hulk & Ant-Man team-up teased in Avengers: Endgame?

A couple of weeks ago I randomly threw on The Running Man (1987) while riding a stationary bike in the morning. That was necessary because riding a stationary bike is inherently boring. This may sound crazy but I would 100% rather run on a treadmill. Unfortunately, ours is broke-ish and pushing it beyond 3.5 speed is a formula for the kind of disaster you see on America’s Funniest Totally Not Staged Home Videos.

I could run outside but it’s November in Michigan and cold air and I do not get along. I’ve tried wearing a gator mask but that fogs up my glasses. Also: trying to breathe through a fabric that’s meant to be semi-impervious to air is not a good time. It’s a whole thing.

So: The Running Man.

It was only afterwards that I realized my accidental timing was impeccable—the Glen Powell-helmed remake hits theaters this week. I plan on going to see it eventually. It looks fun, and I’m a fan of Powell. Though I didn’t love his two most recent high-profile films.

The remake keeps the basic premise but jettisons the dystopian trappings. Or maybe it just masks them in a way that feels familiar and not futuristic. Powell competes because he needs money for his sick daughter. I don’t know if it’s supposed to occur in America 2025, but it could. The new The Running Man is less like a deadly version of American Gladiators and more like if John Wick was a newb who was being hunted across the globe. Cool idea. Can’t wait to see it.

If you’re tempted to rewatch the 1987 film before you check out the new hotness, let me stop you at the door. It’s not a good movie. At all. It’s schlocky and goofy. Arnold Schwarzenegger has never met a pun he doesn’t like; the only knock against Predator is his terrible one-liners. (At one point, he impales a dude to a wooden post with a knife and tells him to stick around. C’mon.) In The Running Man, his dialogue is almost all puns. (Not really. I’m exaggerating for effect. The point stands.)

The gladiators who hunt Arnold are an assortment of dime store villains. WWF by way of Mad Max and Saturday morning cartoons. The most ridiculous comic book villain ever is a guy named Codpiece, who uses an enormous phallic barrel to further his evil aims. His backstory is that a girl in his school told him he was too small, which he took as a slight against his manhood. Ridiculous, but Codpiece has more pathos than any of the dudes chasing Arnold.

What is interesting about The Running Man—the original—is the dystopian future it imagined for us. Here’s the film’s opening exposition:

By 2017 the world economy has collapsed. Food, natural resources, and oil are in short supply. A police state, divided into paramilitary zones, rules with an iron hand.

Television is controlled by the state and a sadistic game show called ‘The Running Man’ has become the most popular program in history. All art, music, and communications are censored. No dissent is tolerated, and yet a small resistance movement has managed to survive underground.

When high-tech gladiators are not enough to suppress the people’s yearning for freedom…

More direct methods become necessary.

The film then shows us these ‘more direct methods.’ Arnold plays a military helicopter pilot—perhaps the single goofiest thing in this movie—who’s ordered to fire upon a crowd of civilians peacefully demonstrating because they’re starving. He refuses. Long story short, he ends up competing on the Running Man, because the footage — the military records their operations, presumably because they also want to be TV stars, or probably actually to control the narrative — is doctored to make him look like a raving lunatic. Which, given the character is played by Arnold Schwarzenegger, isn’t that difficult.

One of the themes commonly explored in the 80s was the ability of media to distort and control reality. Even the cartoon G.I. Joe got in on the action; I’m slowly rewatching it and was recently shocked at an episode where Cobra hijacks the narrative by taking over TV stations and uses them to push alternate facts. How very prescient, especially for a show that exists solely to sell action figures.

This was a sub-genre of the evergreen ‘evil, faceless corporations’ genre. It being the 80s, media as a force of antagonism was often approached through a lens of cackling villainy (see also: G.I. Joe). There was no nuance. It ran the gamut from media executives hellbent on being the biggest TV station to a complete and callous disregard for life in service to ratings, as we find in The Running Man.

The film’s antagonist is a game show host (played by Richard Dawson, an actual game show host and real creeper; we’ll come back to that) who derives legitimate power from the show’s popularity. That seems outlandish on the surface, but I think we can draw a pretty straight line from there to news entertainment personalities who hold enormous sway over large parts of America today.

The experience of watching the 1987 film is one of reconciling two possible Americas: the one imagined 30 years ago, and our actual everyday reality. There are obvious, notable differences. We have not (yet) slid fully into an authoritarian state. Resources are still available. Freedom of speech and expression remain. Sorta. The most powerful man in the world is not a game show host; he’s a reality TV star.

At the same time, the power of media and its ability to deflect and distract, if not outright deceive, is a very real problem. As is our embrace of screens—be they TV or phones—as the window through which we experience the world. And our preferred medicine to numb us to all the suck. Who doesn’t whip out their phone when they’re bored for 10 seconds? Even if it’s to read a book, we’re no longer comfortable with boredom or being alone with our own thoughts.

I started re-reading Ready Player One—on my phone, actually—another story in which everyone is crushed under capitalism’s jackboot. As fun as the futuristic, pop culture-obsessed story is, let’s not forget that it’s set in a world where people have so little to live for that they spend their lives roaming a virtual world. As in: not real. Much I as love the idea of a fully immersive VR experience, one where I can wield a lightsaber and drive a DeLorean—and believe me, I really, really do—there’s something so sad and vacant about the idea. It’s the same emptiness I felt after grinding a video game to unlock meaningless achievements, which awarded equally worthless points to my profile. As though life has a scoreboard and winning and losing can be so easily tracked.

Growing up in the 80s, there were two ways of thinking about the future.

1. Things are gonna be great. Flying cars and hoverboards.

2. Things are gonna suck. Nuclear winter and starvation.

Surprise! It’s been neither.

In comparison to those two possibilities, the future has been rather mundane and normal. Apart from the notable exception of the internet, in the macro life looks little different than it did 30 years ago. We still drive places and buy things and eat food.

TV—in this case, I’m broadening the definition to include anything you watch on a screen—has grown exponentially. Not just the sheer ubiquity of options, but in its reach. It has become the arbiter of truth, and given rise to the Trump movement. Social media, influencers, reality TV stars—it’s only possible because we love watching other people. We’re all dirty little voyeurs at heart. So while the idea of little old ladies cheering as people get mauled to death might seem outrageous, is it really?

The future-looking films of the 80s imagined a world so desensitized to violence—thanks to the corrupting influence of TV—that people no longer feel any moral ambiguity or discomfort in watching someone get killed. That we would lose the ability to distinguish fact from fiction because it’s all entertainment in the end. That screens ultimately dehumanize us. (The culpability of the very films prophesying such a future in the creation of that very outcome was largely sidestepped, because entertainment.)

Watching the glorified bloodshed, I was reminded of when I’d accidentally stumbled onto the subreddit r/CombatFootage. It was during the early weeks of Russia’s attack on Ukraine and I, like a lot of people, was looking for information about the war and hope for Ukraine’s chances. Per the name, the subreddit is a place to see and share actual footage of the war. As in, people dying, in near-realtime.

Though I want to see Russia crushed and Putin removed from power, I was very uncomfortable with how people cheered the violent, often visceral deaths of young soldiers as though they were watching a sporting event. This isn’t a fringe, snuff film equivalent of a community—the subreddit has 1.8 million followers, many of whom view the war as a kind of gladiatorial theater best enjoyed from the comfort of a screen thousands of miles from the frontline.

Speaking of gross.

So Richard Dawson is in this movie. According to Wikipedia, he was an actor, but I only know him as the skeevy host of Family Feud, who kissed every single female contestant, married or not, willing or not. Not even the kids were safe.

Hmm. Where have I heard that before?

The newspaper ad read:

$13 an hour.

No experience necessary.

The year was 1996. I was a poor college freshman. My plan to focus on school and hang out with friends was derailed by a shocking and sobering reality: living away from home is kind of expensive.

I’d saved up all summer for the fun things college entailed. But after getting outfit with the essentials and the essentially nonessential—a PlayStation and a bunch of games—my war chest was looking bare. And it was only October.

It didn’t help that my plan to subsist on dorm food had been waylaid by the inedible nature of dorm food.

I started looking for a job.

Nearly 30 years later, $13 an hour doesn’t seem like much. I can promise you, at the time it was unheard of. My first job bagging groceries started at $4.25. I worked there 3 years. When I quit before college, I was making $5.50 (I think). $13 was a king’s ransom.

It was too good to be true. I was too greedy to see it.

I called the number. The woman was friendly but evasive. She asked a few basic questions and gave me a time and a location. I now realize this sounds like a drug deal or cult initiation. And in a way, it ended up being both. But I was too blinded by dollar signs to pay attention to a little old worm of doubt.

I went.

Part 1: Initiation

The location was about an hour away, in a city I’d never been to. I borrowed my girlfriend’s car because I was without.

I checked in with the receptionist and filled out some paperwork. There were other people in the waiting room. My competition, I guessed. I still had no idea what the job entailed.

She gave me a name tag and told me to find a seat in the next room. There were already about 20 people inside; what kind of interview was this? The best seats—the ones in back—were taken. I found one in the front third and settled in to wait.

The chairs were all facing the same direction, like at a conference. If you’ve seen The Office, picture the part where Andy hosts a free business seminar, with the goal of upselling the attendees. It was like that—larger, less ridiculous, and likewise filled with hopeful rubes. It’s all so obvious in retrospect but, again, I was young and stupid.

A mid-20s guy emerged from a door at the front of the room. He was very enthusiastic. I don’t think he did the call-and-response thing with the audience, the kind where you’re badgered into expressing excitement you may or may not feel, but he was definitely the type. Today he’d absolutely be a hustle bro.

He began by talking about all the money we could make. All the money he had made. How he was his own boss. Set his own hours. And how this miracle of miracles could be attained by all of us, if we were willing to work for it.

Nobody likes to be accused of being lazy, even if it’s true. Besides, $13/hour.

He then exposed us to the previously unknown world of high end cutlery. Exposed being the operative word. A tablecloth was dramatically thrown back, like this was a magic trick: Watch as I turn these ordinary kitchen utensils into fat stacks.

At the time, the extent of my culinary prowess began and ended at pasta. But even I could see the allure of these knives. It was self-evident. I’d never heard of Cutco before, but I took that to be a personal failing. This wasn’t ‘as seen on TV’ Ginsu garbage. This was legit. He cut a penny in half with a pair of kitchen shears! I didn’t even know you used pennies in the kitchen.

He revealed that $13/hour was the low-end of what we could make. We’d potentially be making many multiples of that. You unlocked higher commissions at certain sales gates, as well as other incentives. The incentives had their own literature, like those school fundraisers that promised a bike if you sold $5000 of World’s Finest Chocolate.

The day ended with him answering questions and talking privately to each attendee for a few minutes. I was enthusiastic to sell myself, as though this was a real interview for a real job. It’s definitely a good thing I’ve never been courted by an actual cult.

Remember in Revenge of the Sith when Palpatine was going full court press on the #benefits of the Dark Side, and stupid Anakin is all agog, and asks if it’s possible for a Jedi to learn such magic? And Palpatine says, lol yeah right bro?

In this scenario, I was Anakin. Although I didn’t ask for tutelage. None of us did. We didn’t have to. He could see it in our eyes.

Knife Bro said, “Come back tomorrow.”

We did.

Well, most of us did. There’d been a few older people in the crowd. That alone made them oddballs. It also conferred a desperation that was practically rank. (Ironic, isn’t it?) None of them returned for the 2nd day of what would be a 3-day commitment. I noted their absence smugly. They couldn’t hack it.

Day two began with a closer examination of the wares. Knife Bro went over all the merch in great detail. He then shared the fine art of selling something to someone who didn’t ask for it and may not want it. The trick: they just don’t realize they want it yet. It’s the Biff Tannen approach to sales.

Materials were distributed. There would be homework. There was an actual script to memorize. Still, $13/hour. Minimum.

That hourly rate didn’t include the 9 hours this entire song and dance ended up taking, for which I received nothing but foolish optimism. In fact, I paid for the privilege.

Day two concluded with him telling us to bring $79 tomorrow. We needed to purchase our own sales kits—an oddball assortment of knives and utensils to demonstrate the superiority of our product and thereby close deals. It was a surprise, but merely a speed bump. I was in too deep to realize how deep I was.

It was all the money I had. It was an investment.

The third and final day was spent practicing with our newly-formed sales muscles. We paired off and took turns running through the script. My first partner was an awkward kid with acne who made me feel like a sales god. My second partner was a blonde girl with strong ‘what-if’ energy. She acted as though she didn’t care, but her continued presence indicated she very much did.

Knife Bro took over again and shared how we could grow our pie further by recruiting new salespeople to the cause. We’d earn a percentage on any sales they made. That, he confided, unironically, is where the real money was made.

There’s a term for this. I didn’t know it yet.

And then we were turned loose on an unsuspecting world, secure in its ignorance of cutlery.

Part 2: Eric the Sales Guru

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One of the internet’s evergreen obsessions is deciphering what’s going on in men’s heads. You’ve probably seen the memes.

This stems from, I think, the fact that women are generally more expressive than men and therefore wonder what our problem is. Our silence is sometimes assigned ulterior motives. If you ask a man what he’s thinking about, there’s a 90% chance he’ll say, “nothing.” And that may be true! Sometimes our minds are a vacant space.

But often we’re thinking about something so left field, it can be accurately dismissed as nothing. It’s not truly nothing. It’s just not relevant to anything going on in our lives or the world. It’s empty calories. Randomly remembering a funny scene. Pondering fantasy football moves. Mapping out in careful detail how to handle winning a mega lottery.

The Roman Empire trend from 2023—gads, has it been 2 years?—posited that men think about Ancient Rome on the regular.1 It’s a cute meme because it sheds further light into the dark recesses of the male mind. And it’s kinda true. I do think a lot of men are fascinated by the Romans. They ruled one of the largest empires the world has ever known and also had gladiators. But the meme ultimately rings false.

I’m a history nerd who plays D&D. Ancient Rome isn’t just in my wheelhouse—it should be the entire thing. But I barely think about Rome. I’m more likely to think about heroically saving my family and complete strangers from a surprise terrorist attack. I bet if you ask a dude in your life, he’ll say the same.

I blame movies.

I have zero combat training. I’ve fired a gun once. I am 100% more Austin Powers than James Bond.2 Nonetheless, movies have convinced me I could rise to the occasion in moments of true danger. This is how deep the fantasy runs: when I go to a restaurant, I never sit with my back to the door.3 If I’m in a public location, I identify the exits in case a quick escape is necessary. Even on an airplane!

I didn’t realize how much this worldview stems from one movie, Toy Soldiers (1991)—not to be confused with Small Soldiers, a movie about toy soldiers—until I recently revisited it. Toy Soldiers is about a prep school for boys that gets taken over by terrorists. The students are all sons of important Americans, and the terrorists want to use the hostages to force the government to release the father of the main terrorist. It’s actually a pretty sound plot, as far as these things go.

Toy Soldiers is a teenage version of Die Hard. Sorta. The film begins with a woman being thrown out a window to her death, and minutes later a priest is yeeted from helicopter. These terrorists are not messing around. The film is rated R and stars a bunch of teenagers, which makes you wonder who the target audience is. The Die Hard comp holds up though because much of the film involves the teenagers sneaking around, including the ubiquitous ventilator shaft scene. The teenage-helmed story is a bit farfetched but not completely out of the realm of possibility.

Sean Astin stars as a troubled kid who has bounced from one school to the next. This is actually the most ridiculous part of the movie. Astin’s a one pitch hitter—he can knock it out of the park as earnest, slightly gullible dudes. (See: The Goonies, Rudy, The Lord of the Rings, Stranger Things.) Anything else is a whiff. I don’t care how many wife beaters you put him in—I’m not buying him as an outlaw.

He’s a lowercase ‘t’ troublemaker, but also a leader of (young) men and secretly a boss hacker. He’s got potential written all over him, which is why the school’s headmaster takes him under his wing. I’m a huge fan of the ‘Louis Gossett Jr. mentoring a young white dude’ genre, which I first discovered in Iron Eagle.4 Gossett Jr. reprises the role here. There’s something about the setup that just works. He’s not going to let you get away with any shit, but he also secretly enjoys shenanigans. Frankly, Obi-Wan Kenobi could’ve used more Louis Gossett Jr. in his game.

Like many movies of its era, Toy Soldiers arises from and is secretly consumed with the relationship between kids and absentee parents. Gen X was going through it, and that was reflected in our movies. With enough distance, the plots of E.T., The Karate Kid, and The Lost Boys are the same: boy is abandoned by his father, boy fills the gap. I just randomly picked those movies from my mental lexicon. There are dozens of others with identical premises. The Last Crusade even retconned the entire franchise to give Indiana Jones daddy issues.

Toy Soldiers is the most daddy issue of daddy issue movies.

The characters are at a prep school specifically because their fathers are too important to parent. An entire school of kids struggling with deep-seated daddy issues, and Louis Gossett Jr. as a stern-but-fair surrogate father figure for them all. And then this whole scenario pops off because the terrorist’s daddy is in jail, which just goes to show that daddy issues know no bounds.

All of this was of great interest to young Eric, and remains so today. But in revisiting the film, mostly what I noticed is how it seems to have inspired the wild daydreams I have about singlehandedly averting danger anytime I leave the house.

Toy Soldiers wisely never has the teens fight the terrorists directly… because they’re just kids. The movie actually does a good job of balancing the inherent tension between ‘terrorists very bad’ and ‘teenagers stupid but brave.’ The teens fight back the only way they can—by trying to pass information to the FBI. It’s a quietly obstinate rebellion. Even as a kid, I recognized the story was more realistic than ones in which the teens become gun-touting heroes capable of stopping trained killers.5

What stuck with me was the courage and resourcefulness of these teenagers thrust into a dangerous situation. The bad guys invaded their school. The kids tried to find a way out.

For the past 30 years, I’ve been mentally playing my own version of Toy Soldiers. It’s not even intentional. I’ll be sitting in a theater waiting for a movie and start thinking about how to respond if some nutso bursts in and starts shooting up the place. It’s frankly not all that different from when I was a kid and imagined I was Batman. It’s silly. I know that. Still do it.

I think some of it is just trying to be prepared for gun violence in America. But I also know a deeper part of it—most of it, even—stems from movies like Toy Soldiers. Especially since being a hero didn’t mean being something I’m not. I’m not the guy to shoot up all the baddies. But outsmart them and escape? Maybe.

I watched Toy Soldiers when my mind was still malleable. An impression was formed. It remains.

I guess the lesson is: be careful exposing your children to a mulleted Sean Astin.

Though I’m an avid fan of the genre, I’m not what you’d call ‘pro-vampire.’

I’m of the old school. Stake ‘em, burn ‘em, strike their head off. With the notable exclusion of Count Chocula, the only good vampire is a dead one.1 Many attempts have been made to make vampires into creatures deserving our empathy if not sympathy, but their humanity is only a mask to lure in the sheep. Seduction is part of the game, but you’re not the vampire’s lover. You’re not even a pet. You’re a blood-filled Twinkie.

For me, the allure of vampire stories is the battle between the embodiment of ancient evil and mere mortals, distracted and disbelieving, with nothing less than their souls hanging in the balance. In my favorite vampire stories—Salem’s Lot, The Historian, and, of course, Dracula—the protagonists are both hunter and hunted. Stories in which the most terrifying thing is dusk, when all the light slowly drains from the world, ripping away whatever faint hope the heroes clung to. When all of man’s technological progress and assuredness gives way to nameless terror.

There’s a reason Unsolved Mysteries aired at night. It’s easy to laugh off stories about skunk apes during the afternoon. Less so when it’s dark and you can’t see the skunk ape lurking outside your window. During commercial breaks, I’d walk around the house and make sure all the doors were locked. Sometimes I’d even check the windows. I haven’t watched Unsolved Mysteries in 30 years but I still check the locks every night.2

Humans instinctively fear the dark. It’s hardwired into us. That fear arises again anytime we have to go into a dark place. Afterwards, safely sheltered by light, we quietly laugh at the silliness of our reaction. If we think on our fear at all, we consider it a vestige of childhood, nothing more.

Vampires give teeth back to the night. They reclaim it as a domain of evil, a witching hour when mortals hunker behind doors and try to ignore the strange noises coming from outside. Good vampire stories do that.

Interview With the Vampire is not that kind of story.

It's tailor-made to make vampires sympathetic, but only succeeds in outing them as insufferable bores. Vampires are the protagonists and also the antagonists. It’s a vampire soap opera. Vampires on vampires, in all senses of the meaning.

They still kill lots of innocent people. But! Louis (Brad Pitt, bored or out of his depth) is super bummed about like, life and stuff. He thought accepting Lestat’s (Tom Cruise, having a blast) dark gift would make all his problems go away. But becoming a vampire just denies an end to his suffering, and also piles on guilt about having to feed on people. Louis is crippled by so much anxiety and self-doubt, the movie should’ve been titled My So-Called Unlife. We don’t sympathize with Louis so much as we want to give him a puppy or something.

Immortality has always been part of the vampire deal, right up there with fang teeth and a sexual undercurrent thick as blood. That’s the perk of going vampire, maybe the only selling point unless you’re a fan of dusty mausoleums—never having to taste death’s kiss.

Humans have long sought to escape death. In ancient days, pharaohs constructed elaborate, trap-riddled tombs to preserve their wealth and earthly remains for the next life. Billionaires today infuse themselves with blood from young people in an attempt to deny aging and, maybe, if they spend enough money, death itself.3

Both ancient and modern attempts of throwing money at death seem pretty futile from where I’m sitting. But it speaks to a universal desire to not die. And from that perspective, and that alone, vampirism makes sense. Not that I’d do it. I can barely stomach the sight of my own blood, and then only in very limited quantities. But I can understand why one would consider it.

The real dilemma is: Immortality, at what cost? In the film, Louis grapples with the devil’s bargain he entered into. He rails at the idea of killing people (even though he understood what a vampire was before he agreed to become one). But while he dances around the periphery of the problem, he never truly engages with it. He morosely subsists on rats like Capri Sun juice pouches, clinging to the shadow of his humanity. In a moment of hunger, or perhaps mercy, he bites Claudia (Kirsten Dunst, blowing everyone else out of the water), a young girl orphaned by plague. From that moment forward, his conscious is clean. Humans are food. The conflict—the steep price of eternal life—isn’t resolved so much as it’s quietly closeted.

If Interview With the Vampire is about anything, it’s the tedium of immortality. But it’s not even intentionally about that. Not in a way that’s interesting. We get the sense that the vampires are hella bored, but they make no attempt to rectify the situation. Maybe there’s something to that. Perhaps creativity and imagination are inherently human traits, things lost during the transition. That would make sense, but it doesn’t hold up.

Claudia is a talented artist and learns to play the piano. We later meet a clutch of Parisian theater vamps. So vampires clearly can appreciate and partake in the arts. Frankly, that’s great news. If by-chance I’m seduced by a vampire while taking out the trash, I’ll have plenty of time to devote to all the novels I want to write. I’ll probably have to bite my Dungeons & Dragons friends so we can continue playing forever, but I doubt they’ll complain. The hardest part of playing D&D is finding the time to play. Problem solved.

That’s exactly what these vampires need—a few good hobbies. Having innumerable decades and doing nothing with them is more horrific than anything that happens in this film. At least from my time-poor situation. Maybe a retiree out there is more disgusted by Christian Slater basically playing himself.

The most interesting thing about Interview With the Vampire springs directly from the immortality conundrum, but unfortunately never rises above a footnote. The flip side of the whole ageless immortal deal is being locked in stasis, frozen at the time of vampirification. Claudia physically remains a little girl even though decades pass.

But while vampires are forever young, the world continues to change. It’s an inverse of the Wooderson corollary. Progress is inexorable. In the blink of undying eyes, the world becomes foreign, unknowable. Like anyone else, vampires are products of their time. And their time was long, long ago.

They stand on society’s shadowy periphery, terrified of the new artificial sights and sounds. For all the bragging about their accrued centuries, they really don’t like feeling the weight of all those years. Who does? This actually makes the vampires a bit sympathetic. (As much as you can sympathize with such creatures.) Time’s capricious hand made them irrelevant. They no longer recognize the society they dine up.

I was reminded how I felt when I stopped keeping up with new music and hot trends. Once you get off that train, you don’t get back on. And if you try, you quickly discover you aren’t in Kansas anymore.

A month ago, google served up an article about a pop star who had a dead body in his car. The artist’s name was D4vd. How do you even pronounce that? D-four-vd? Davd? It honestly looks like a gaming account name.4 It was just another reminder, like Gen Z lingo or the Stanley bottle craze, that I have been left behind by popular culture. I’m fine with it. In fact, I’m relieved not to have to care.

Aging is both a privilege and a curse. We want to go on living, we hate getting old. There’s a hint of this truth at the heart of Interview With the Vampire. But the movie is too depressed to notice. The lasting takeaway is likewise unintentional: Immorality sucks.

This post is not about Zero Day, a Netflix political thriller starring Robert De Niro as an ex-president and America’s Last Great Hope. I actually want to talk about notebooks. But the TV series prompted these thoughts. And this is mostly a pop culture newsletter.

So: Zero Day.

One of the first scenes involves President De Niro (not the character’s name, but c’mon, it’s De Niro) in the swankiest office you can imagine. Fireplace, upholstered chairs, wall-to-wall book shelves. Light and space. Mahogany for days.1 The only thing missing is one of those nifty ladders on rollers to access the top shelf.2 De Niro is working on a memoir, and during the scene he stands before a shelf filled with used notebooks. He wants to confirm some obscure detail from his past, but all I could think was: “Damn, Bobby—you actually use your notebooks?!”

The funny thing about Zero Day—a very not-funny series in which people die—is how frequently notebooks feature into the story. De Niro carries around a notebook and, as setup in the intro, he actually uses it. Not just uses it—the notebook does heavy narrative lifting. There are probably a dozen shots where the only thing we see is the notebook. I can just imagine the director saying, “I get it, Bobby—you’re a famously awesome actor. But I need you to step aside. I want to run another iso play for the notebook.”

I genuinely expected to see the notebook listed as the 4th credit:

• Ex-President: Robert De Niro

• Landry Clarke: Jesse Plemons

• Tami Taylor: Connie Britton3

• The Notebook: Moleskine

This is probably one of those instances where the viewer’s worldview amplifies something in the narrative. My wife was too busy untangling plot threads to pay much attention to the notebook. She loves thrillers. For her, the notebook was the plot device it was intended to be. Me? I love notebooks and therefore assigned something like personhood upon it.

That’s not really a surprise. Of all the people in the world, I know myself the best. It was just strange to see my paper-bound fetish reflected in a Netflix series. The only reason we get all the gratuitous notebook porn—is there anything more satisfying than opening a used notebook and running your fingers across the text and feeling indentations left long ago by one’s own hand?—is because someone associated with Zero Day (read: a writer) put it there. Because they feel that way too. Because all writers are filthy little notebook devotees when you get down to it.

If the last notebook you bought was a spiral-bound number at a back-to-school sale, there’s a good chance you’re wondering: WTF is a Moleskine. No, it’s not a notebook bound in the skin of a mole. But I can see how you got there.

Moleskine4 is both a brand and a distinct kind of notebook. I don’t actually know if De Niro was carrying around an actual Moleskine. It had the distinct markings of one, which has been replicated by other brands and, of course, cheap knockoffs. You’ve probably seen it before: black covers, rounded corners, an elastic band to keep it closed. The notebooks also have stitched bindings, a ribbon bookmark, and an expandable pocket tucked into the back cover. They’re the Lamborghini of notebooks. They attempt to evoke prestige from bound paper.

It works.

I was actually afraid to use the first Moleskine I bought. True story. I just sorta admired the idea of using it. I wouldn’t have articulated that at the time, but I felt like a notebook of such caliber should be reserved from something significant, which I didn’t feel capable of producing at the time. For a while I just collected Moleskines with the idea that I’d use them someday.

Apart from the sheer pleasure of holding something well-crafted, Moleskines tap into the mystique that surrounds the craft of writing when you’re an aspirant looking for a way in. The thinking goes something like: “I’ll be a writer when I have all the proper writerly things. Ernest Hemingway used moleskine notebooks. I’d like to be a writer like him, even though I thought The Old Man and the Sea was boring.”

It’s reductionist thinking that ignores an obvious truth. You can only be a writer by writing.

I crossed that conceptual bridge long ago. But even though I confidently, some might say brazenly, consider myself a writer, I still treat notebooks like vintage Star Wars toys: something to be collected but not used.

I own at least a dozen unused Moleskines—which go for over $20 a pop, though I once scored a Star Wars one for $5 years ago and to this day regret not buying dozens, I’m not even joking. I also have a gorgeous leather journal that resembles a map of Middle-Earth, and another that looks like a D&D prop. I have a metal-bound notebook with a dragon head embossing. I have baby-sized Moleskines to carry when I leave the house, as though a change of venue might inspire me to bust out a pen (it doesn’t). I have a huge stack of soft cover notebooks I bought for D&D but instead use an old yellow legal pad.

Last week, my wife and I went to Michaels for something she needed. I had no agenda and wandered off on my own. Do you know where I ended up? The section with journals. Every time I pass the notebook aisle at Target, I rubberneck for a fleeting glimpse. I used to get excited for back-to-school shopping because it meant I had a valid excuse to fawn over notebooks and pens. I never buy anything. I’ve already bought too much. But I still like to look. I must look.

It’s seems crazy that I can easily write words on the internet for public consumption, but find myself unable or unwilling to write in notebook just for myself. I’m currently trying to bullet journal—again—as a way to get myself in the habit of opening a notebook everyday. I’ve already seen value. A notebook encourages me to slow down, to think. It helps clarifies my intentions and gives heft to my goals. Plus the tactile experience is unmatched.

Since we finished Zero Day, I’ve started keeping a Moleskine on my desk. I’ve even written in it a bit. A few short journal entries. My goals for the week. I have zero desire to be a diarist. I’m still looking for the use case that clicks for me, for that elusive ‘aha!’ moment. I’m trying to make myself into someone who uses a notebook, by actually using a notebook. Maybe that’s all it takes.

I’m reminded of something George R.R. Martin once said about writing:

“Some writers enjoy writing, I am told. Not me. I enjoy having written.”

Tell us something we don’t know, George. 14 years later, we’re still waiting for The Winds of Winter. But he speaks truth. I enjoy the creative act of writing, but most of my satisfaction is found in the completion of something. Perhaps I’ll enjoy writing in my notebooks once I’ve already written in them.

In the meantime, I’m just going to carry around a Moleskine like I’m a deep thinker of important thoughts. They don’t need to know my notebook is full of D&D maps and writing plans and things that struck me as funny. Maybe I need to treat it less like something profound and more like a commonplace book, the kitchen drawer of notebooks.

I want to use my notebooks, because I’d really like to buy more.