The Stanford Prison Experiment: Unlocking the Truth on Hulu is a powerful exploration of psychology’s most notorious study, even as it leans on memories that may be as vulnerable to narrative influence as the original experiment.

This three-part docuseries dives deep into Dr. Philip Zimbardo’s 1971 study, which took ordinary college students and, with unsettling ease, turned them into guards and prisoners with real psychological consequences.

Featuring firsthand accounts from those who lived through the study, as well as Zimbardo’s own reflections, the series provides viewers with an unfiltered look at the lasting effects of this disturbing experiment and challenges us to confront the darker aspects of human nature.

One of the series’ biggest achievements is its balance between storytelling and reflection. The episodes are paced to build an almost thriller-like tension, pulling us into a space where ethics and authority are dangerously blurred.

Rather than sensationalizing, Unlocking the Truth dives into the nuances, revealing how the dynamics of power affected everyone involved, with fresh interviews that make the history feel personal and urgent. It’s a must-watch for anyone fascinated by the human mind, particularly in situations that test our moral boundaries.

The docuseries excels in showing how each participant wrestled with their role in the study’s unraveling. Through their intimate, often uncomfortable testimonies, viewers get a rare glimpse into the complex psychology of authority and obedience, inviting us to reflect on our own vulnerabilities.

There’s a chilling sense of authenticity as former guards and prisoners recall how they became enmeshed in their roles, providing a visceral reminder of how easily our actions can be shaped by context, even without realizing it.

However, the docuseries does rely heavily on the participants’ memories, which, after four decades, may be as susceptible to narrative reshaping as the study itself. Memory is notoriously malleable, particularly under the influence of time, media, and the evolving ways we process our pasts.

The series doesn’t shy away from this complexity, but it’s worth noting that, like the experiment it covers, this retelling is ultimately a reflection filtered through human perception.

Yet, this potential vulnerability in its foundation only adds to the intrigue. The Stanford Prison Experiment becomes more than just a historical recount; it is a meditation on the fragility of memory and the challenge of piecing together truth from conflicting narratives.

Saturday Night is a brilliant, chaotic love letter to the birth of comedy’s last frontier, capturing the thrill and terror of live television in a way that feels both nostalgic and electric.

From the first frame, director Jason Reitman plunges us headfirst into a world where the stakes feel almost unbearably high, as though each joke, each sketch, each breath could be the difference between success and disaster.

It’s a relentless pace that matches the energy and fear of those early days, where a scrappy crew of unknowns was trying to invent something new on live television. The film isn’t just a story; it’s an experience that’s somehow as thrilling as it is familiar, evoking the same raw ambition that made Saturday Night Live iconic in the first place.

Reitman doesn’t aim for a precise recreation of the events surrounding the show’s debut, and that’s what makes it sing. Instead, he distills the chaos, the camaraderie, and the undercurrent of anxiety that defined the era.

The production design and cinematography work hand-in-hand, conjuring up the cramped offices, the smoky bars, the dimly lit studios where dreams took shape. Every shot has a purpose, every detail feels intentional, and the result is a film that’s immersive, capturing a moment in time without becoming a parody of it.

The ensemble cast is superb, breathing life into characters we feel we know yet showing us sides we’ve never quite seen. The actors portraying John Belushi (Matt Wood), Gilda Radner (Ella Hunt), and Chevy Chase (Corey Michael Smith) in particular bring authenticity without veering into impersonation, walking a fine line that could easily have tripped them up. There’s a vulnerability, a rawness to each character that reminds us these comedy legends were young and uncertain, pushing forward despite their doubts.

But even a well-oiled machine can have a few squeaky gears, and here, the choice of actor for the role of Andy Kaufman and Jim Henson is an odd one. The performance is skillful, capturing Kaufman’s strange, surreal humor and Henson’s quiet, thoughtful demeanor, but actor Nicholas Haun’s 6’ 7” height feels jarringly out of place. In a cast so carefully chosen, his physicality creates an odd visual mismatch.

Kaufman, especially, was an underdog in his time, a figure who seemed to operate on a different frequency. Here, his towering stature clashes with that legacy. It’s a small quirk, but one that pulls you out of the story, if only momentarily.

Despite the misstep, Saturday Night is a triumph. Reitman’s direction is inspired, balancing reverence with a sense of realism that keeps the film grounded. He understands that the magic of Saturday Night Live wasn’t just in the jokes—it was in the risk, the tension, the sense of walking a tightrope and hoping you didn’t fall. And he captures that spirit beautifully, giving us a film that’s as vibrant, funny, and brave as the show itself.

Saturday Night isn’t just a film for fans of SNL; it’s for anyone who understands what it means to dream big and face the uncertainty of whether that dream will come true. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the most remarkable things come from throwing caution to the wind and embracing the chaos.

And in this, Reitman has crafted a film that celebrates not just a show, but a spirit that continues to resonate decades later.