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A unique energy comes with a story that isn’t afraid to get messy while figuring itself out. That makes OVERCOMPENSATING feel alive—it doesn’t chase perfection. Instead, it leans into its imperfections, confident that the cracks are where the most interesting parts emerge. At the center of the chaos is Benny, played by Benito Skinner, a former high school football star and homecoming king. He is a freshman navigating a college world that refuses to play by his old social rules. Benny walks onto campus carrying an image he can’t maintain and a truth he doesn’t know how to live. The accumulation of awkward interactions marks his journey, missed signals, and small revelations that slowly unravel the persona he once depended on.

Moody, meditative, and stubbornly opaque, this eerie descent into rural isolation starts with a whisper and never quite raises its voice—but that’s part of the tension. It’s less about startling the viewer and more about creating a slow, creeping discomfort. This isn’t a horror story filled with grand reveals or scream-worthy moments; instead, it lives in a space where questions matter more than answers. That’s both its secret weapon and its biggest gamble. It’s also been a little since I put my 2.5-star rating into context; this is a perfect example of a film I didn’t love but didn’t hate. It wasn’t for me, but that doesn’t mean it's bad. Some people will adore the experience!

What happens when a machine gains autonomy, not to conquer or to serve, but to become its true self? That’s the premise behind MURDERBOT, a science fiction series that sidesteps pretentious plotlines for a slower, more personal story. Based on Martha Wells' celebrated book series, this ten-episode Apple TV+ project trades the genre’s usual fixation on high-stakes action (although there is still some) for something less common: an exploration of emotional detachment, existential confusion, and the quiet desire for solitude. It’s a gamble that pays off, leaning into discomfort and awkwardness with dry humor and refusing to spell everything out.

Galaxies can stretch across timelines, but meaning doesn’t always make the journey. That’s the core dilemma faced by DUNE: PROPHECY: SEASON 1, an ambitious prequel that dares to peer 10,000 years into the past, hoping to unearth the genesis of one of science fiction’s most cryptic tales. As a foundational chapter in a mythos already defined by dense philosophy and speculative theology, the series wants to say something profound. The question is whether it trusts its audience enough to let them hear it.

There’s something deeply unnerving about a thriller that insists on treating its audience like part of the control room. Instead of explosions or space battles, this story leans hard into observation and deduction, trusting you to keep up as it moves from mystery to scientific breakdown. It doesn’t go for adrenaline. It prefers tension built from detail and a fear of what happens when systems fail. Set within the walls of a classified facility and wrapped in methodical procedures, the film strips away the usual noise of the genre, leaving behind a story that’s all business—and strangely captivating because of it.

There’s a unique kind of tension when a film builds its story around characters who don’t trust each other, stuck in a place too quiet to ignore what’s simmering beneath the surface. DEAD ON THE VINE finds its footing in that discomfort, using a simple scenario—a roadside stop gone awry—and turning it into a slow unraveling of secrets, suspicions, and forced civility. It's not the kind of thriller that chases big reveals; instead, it thrives on watching tension bubble in real time, daring the audience to figure out who’s bluffing and who’s dangerous.

Something is daring about a music documentary that chooses memory over marketing, focusing on the people rather than the identity. That’s the heart of HUNG UP ON A DREAM: THE ZOMBIES DOCUMENTARY. This film doesn’t inflate the band’s legacy with flashy superlatives or overly sentimental narration, but instead gives space for the story to speak through the people who lived it. What begins as a story of youthful ambition and unexpected success eventually unfolds into a deeply personal reflection on creative endurance, showing what happens after the applause fades and real life sets in.

Mid-20th-century science fiction was something special—its boldness, theatrics, and obsession with man’s ability (and tendency) to push nature too far. CRACK IN THE WORLD from 1965 is a shining example of that era's grand-scale paranoia, reimagined through speculative science and volcanic tension. In this special edition Blu-ray from Kino Lorber, the film reclaims its spot in the disaster-thriller pantheon, even if time hasn’t been entirely kind to every part of the film.

It started with a kid, a peculiar device, and a haywire summer vacation. But what BEN 10 became over time was nothing short of a storytelling evolution—one that dared to grow up alongside its audience without losing its imagination, energy, or heart. Across four distinct series, the franchise transformed from monster-of-the-week antics into a sprawling universe of intergalactic politics, emotional stakes, and personal identity. Watching them all back-to-back is like witnessing a character age in real time, and the new Complete Series release offers that experience in full form.

There’s something about a short film that invites you into its world without trying to amaze, instead relying on tension, performance, and atmosphere to pull you in. That’s the quiet power behind SISYPHUS UNBOUND, a brisk character piece that unfolds like a pressure cooker mid-boil. This project focuses more on emotional undercurrents than narrative. It doesn’t aim to reinvent storytelling, but it does lean hard into the discomfort of seeking approval from someone who’s already decided you don’t deserve it.

There is something undeniably intriguing about a story that invites its audience to question who’s pulling the strings, not through chaos or spectacle, but by quietly pressing on ideas we don’t always want to confront. That’s the draw here. It's a concept built on introspection, where the pen becomes more powerful than the writer using it expects, and the question of authorship takes on a whole new meaning. As much as it’s about imagination, it’s equally about the weight of grief, and how creativity doesn’t always lead to freedom—it can also backfire when we’re not careful.

What begins as a search for a missing sister quickly spirals into a chaotic tale of horror where the very fabric of reality unravels in unexpected ways. PROTANOPIA is a project that doesn’t just ask for your attention—it demands your surrender. Director Matthew Mahler crafts an experience that favors mood over clarity and experimentation over convention. While that may satisfy viewers who enjoy films that challenge their perceptions, it may alienate those seeking a clearer path.

When fiction and reality collide, the result isn’t always tidy, but with Jean Rouch behind the camera, it's always worth watching. The latest release from Icarus Films packages two of Rouch’s most thought-provoking works, THE HUMAN PYRAMID and THE PUNISHMENT, into one revealing and uneven but undeniably fascinating experience. These films don’t follow traditional narratives or structure. Instead, they act more like open experiments, inviting their subjects—and viewers—into a space where identity, perception, and power are up for debate.

PETE WALKER CRIME COLLECTION doesn’t just introduce you to four crime stories—it drops you straight into an underworld where morality is negotiable and violence lingers. This set from Kino Lorber uncovers a lesser-discussed chapter in Pete Walker’s career, veering away from the horror that would later define him, and instead spotlighting a filmmaker unafraid to get tangled up in London’s unseen side, exploitation-laced melodrama, and low-budget noir grit.

THE BEAST HAND walks, or maybe staggers, as it wrestles with body horror, underworld crime, and a doomed love story. It doesn’t always balance its many ambitions, but a raw, volatile energy at play earns attention, even if it doesn’t always earn admiration.