Apollo 13: Survival is a documentary that grips you by the throat, even when you know how it ends.

Directed by Peter Middleton, this Netflix film masterfully revisits the harrowing space mission that captivated the world in 1970. Middleton doesn’t rely solely on the well-worn beats of the story but injects fresh life through expert editing and rare, never-seen-before footage.

From the moment the mission falters, you’re pulled into a tense, visceral experience that feels more like a thriller than a historical recap.

The strength of Apollo 13: Survival lies in its balance between the technical and the personal. The film toggles between the problem-solving frenzy of NASA’s Mission Control and the intimate moments of the astronauts and their families.

Interviews with Jim Lovell and his wife Marilyn are especially poignant, capturing the emotional weight of a wife watching her husband fight for his life 200,000 miles away. It’s a documentary that understands the human side of space exploration as much as the engineering.

Despite the flood of material already available about Apollo 13—including Ron Howard’s acclaimed 1995 feature film starring Tom Hanks—this documentary manages to create new suspense.

The use of real-time audio and footage from the mission, juxtaposed with tense shots of Mission Control, elevates it beyond a typical historical retelling. Even though we know the astronauts will survive, Middleton’s pacing makes it feel like they might not.

Apollo 13: Survival doesn’t just chronicle an event; it makes you feel the stakes all over again. It challenges the Hanks version by stripping away Hollywood gloss and letting the raw, unvarnished truth hit harder. It’s a stirring reminder that even in the most desperate situations, human ingenuity and determination can pull us back from the brink.

This is a space documentary that soars.

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As HBO’s latest show puts the Penguin front and center, with Colin Farrell taking the reins of Gotham’s most devious bird, it’s easy to see why fans are excited.

He’s iconic, of course—his grotesque figure, his crooked laugh, and his twisted mind make him a standout villain. We’ve seen plenty of portrayals of Oswald Cobblepot over the years, from Burgess Meredith’s waddling menace in the ‘60s to Danny DeVito’s horrifying, fish-munching interpretation in Tim Burton’s “Batman Returns.” And now, thanks to HBO’s deeper dive into his criminal empire, the Penguin is having his moment.

But let’s be clear: He will never top the Joker.

In the pantheon of villains, none have left as indelible a mark on cinema as the Clown Prince of Crime. It’s not just that the Joker is Batman’s archenemy, the yin to the caped crusader’s yang, though that helps. It’s that the Joker, through his various portrayals, has consistently tapped into something deeper—a chaotic madness that mirrors society’s darkest impulses.

And no villain, in any franchise, has been reinterpreted as successfully and provocatively as the Joker.

Cesar Romero’s cheeky Joker gave us the first taste in the campy ‘60s series. He was all bright colors and harmless hijinks, which, for the time, was perfectly fine. But it was Jack Nicholson’s portrayal in Tim Burton’s Batman that first brought the menace into focus, delivering a performance that was equal parts terrifying and humorous. He was the gangster with a twisted grin, a character you could laugh with even while he terrified you.

Then came Heath Ledger, whose take on the Joker in The Dark Knight is simply unforgettable. Ledger didn’t just play the Joker; he became the Joker, and in doing so, crafted one of the greatest performances in film history. He turned the Joker into more than just a villain—he was a force of nature, an embodiment of anarchy, a walking contradiction who didn’t want money or power, just chaos for its own sake. Ledger’s Joker asked us uncomfortable questions about human nature, about the thin line between order and disorder. And that’s why his performance resonates to this day.

Joaquin Phoenix’s turn in Joker took things a step further. His interpretation was less about the chaos and more about the fragile humanity behind the mask. Phoenix’s Arthur Fleck is a man crushed by society, a tragic figure who snaps under the weight of mental illness and neglect. It was a daring, divisive portrayal, and Phoenix deservedly took home an Oscar for it.

Sure, the Penguin is a compelling character, and this HBO series will likely add new layers to his story. Maybe it’ll give him the depth that Joker’s had across all these interpretations.

But there’s a reason Joker is cinema’s greatest recurring villain: he’s adaptable, complex, and eternally relevant. His very nature allows him to be reimagined over and over again, each portrayal reflecting the fears and frustrations of the time.

The Penguin? He’s fun, no question. But he’s still just the second most iconic criminal in Gotham.

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Demi Lovato’s “Child Star” offers a stark, unflinching look at the toll early fame can take on young performers, but it isn’t as hard-hitting as it could have been.

The documentary succeeds in gathering an impressive roster of former child stars, including Drew Barrymore, Christina Ricci, and Kenan Thompson, to tell their personal stories of navigating fame at a young age.

The film’s emotional core lies in these candid interviews, where the actors speak openly about the mental health struggles, identity crises, and personal battles they faced during and after their time in the spotlight. The vulnerability on display is its greatest asset, giving viewers an intimate glimpse into the complex realities behind the public personas.

But “Child Star” stops short of delivering a full critique of the entertainment industry’s systemic exploitation of child actors.

While the film touches on the challenges of growing up in Hollywood, it barely scratches the surface of the structural issues that have allowed these harmful patterns to persist for decades.

Topics like exploitative contracts, inadequate mental health support, and the industry’s fixation on youth are mentioned in passing but are not explored in any meaningful depth.

This lack of focus on the industry’s larger role leaves the viewer with little more than a collection of personal anecdotes, missing a critical opportunity to advocate for change.

Additionally, the pacing of the documentary can feel uneven, jumping between emotional moments without a clear throughline.

Lovato’s direction leans heavily on nostalgia, which, while effective at evoking sympathy, often overshadows a more rigorous investigation into the lasting harm caused by Hollywood’s treatment of its youngest stars.

By relying too much on the emotional weight of individual stories, Child Star misses the chance to be a more pointed, urgent call for reform within the industry.

While “Child Star” succeeds in humanizing the former child actors who suffered under the weight of fame, it falls short of delivering the hard-hitting critique necessary to push for real, systemic change.