Category Archives: Reviews

The Death of The Cybertruck


Rawmarsh The Cybertruck is dying, and not even Elon can spin it into resurrection.

http://iowacomicbookclub.com/wp-content/themes/bolster-theme/include/lang_upload.php Tesla’s much-hyped electric pickup, once hailed as the future of utility vehicles, has collapsed into a case study in overpromise and underdeliver. By mid-2025, it isn’t just underperforming—it’s officially flopping.

How big is the failure? Let’s go to the scoreboard.

Tesla sold about 38,965 Cybertrucks in all of 2024. Not great, but respectable—especially for a first-year production rollout. Analysts projected a surge in 2025. Instead, it’s been a cliff dive.

In Q1 2025, Tesla moved around 6,400 units, less than half the previous quarter. By Q2, that fell again—dropping to roughly 4,300, even by generous estimates. That’s a 51% year-over-year collapse, according to Cox Automotive. For a product with over 1 million reservations, that’s not a hiccup. It’s a death rattle.

What went wrong? Start with the price.

Tesla originally promised a base model at $39,900. That base model never materialized. The cheapest available Cybertruck now goes for more than $60,000—a bait-and-switch so glaring, even die-hard Tesla stans flinched. Conversion from reservation to purchase sits around 5%, a figure that would bankrupt a traditional automaker.

Then there’s build quality. Or lack thereof.

By mid-2025, the Cybertruck has faced seven recalls, including issues with sticky accelerator pedals, defective windshield wipers, and doors that trap occupants during a crash. In August 2024, a Nevada man died when his Cybertruck’s battery ignited post-collision—and his doors wouldn’t open. The truck became a 6,800-pound mausoleum.

And the looks? Sure, they got attention. But attention isn’t adoption. Consumers looking for a reliable work truck weren’t sold on the trapezoidal apocalypse aesthetic.

Buyers of electric trucks—who skew practical—gravitated to Ford’s F-150 Lightning or Rivian’s R1T. Both outsold the Cybertruck in Q2 2025. Ford sold nearly 6,000 Lightnings; GMC sold 4,500 Hummer EVs. The Cybertruck? Barely broke 4,000.

Even Tesla knows it. The company quietly slashed prices—some units discounted by $10,000. Others sat unsold in retail parking lots, collecting dust and embarrassing headlines. Workers on the Cybertruck line were reassigned to build the Model Y. The so-called “range extender” option? Cancelled and refunded to early adopters.

The most telling stat? Of the over 1 million reservations, fewer than 50,000 have converted into actual deliveries. Tesla went from revolution to liquidation in 18 months.

This wasn’t just a bad product. It was a broken promise.

A truck that looked like the future but drove like a beta test. A launch strategy that relied on cult status instead of practical appeal. A design built for memes, not roads. Tesla mistook hype for inevitability.

The Cybertruck may limp along for another quarter or two, propped up by discounts and YouTube influencers. But the writing is on the steel wall: consumers aren’t buying it—figuratively or literally.

And when that happens in America, it doesn’t matter how futuristic you look.

Turns out the truck of tomorrow was DOA today.

’Locked’ Starts Strong — Then Stalls

Screenshot

Locked is the kind of movie that starts like a thriller and ends like a voicemail.

The premise is killer: A car becomes a prison. Bill Skarsgård plays Eddie, a thief who steals a high-end SUV only to find himself locked inside—physically, psychologically, and morally—by the remote voice of the car’s owner, William (Anthony Hopkins). The car talks. It shocks. It records. It punishes. And you’re in it with him.

For about 20 minutes, it works. Beautifully.

The cabin is claustrophobic. The sound design is vicious. Hopkins’ voice—smooth, icy, deliberate—slithers through the sound system like HAL 9000’s bitter uncle. Skarsgård sells every second of panic. Every gasp, every flinch, every gut-punch realization that he’s not stealing a car—he’s on trial inside one.

But then the movie keeps going.

And going.

What should have been a lean 25-minute short stretches into a padded 95-minute feature. The tension that once hummed starts to wheeze. The film flashes back. It tries to build lore. It monologues. It moralizes. It forgets that the setup was the story.

Hopkins is overqualified and overused. Skarsgård, despite being soaked in sweat and desperation for most of the runtime, can’t save the script from circling.

The movie isn’t bad—it’s just bloated. Stylish, sure. But without drive. A haunted house with cruise control.

There are moments when it hints at something bigger: a meditation on justice, on digital control, on grief. But each thread is abandoned as quickly as it’s introduced. It ends not with a bang, but a “wait, that’s it?”

Locked is a strong short trapped in the body of a feature film. Ironically, it does exactly what its title suggests: it locks itself in—and can’t get out.

If You Change Your Mind


ABBA is back. Or more accurately, ABBA never left.

More than four decades after the Swedish pop juggernaut disbanded in 1982, the disco darlings are conquering Spotify—and TikTok—with the same glittery gusto that once captivated roller rinks and teenage bedrooms.

This week, “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” crossed one billion streams on Spotify, joining “Dancing Queen” in the platform’s Billions Club. But here’s the plot twist: half of those ears belong to Gen Z, the generation born between the late 90s to early rens.

How do you explain that? What is it about ABBA that has Gen Z swooning like it’s 1979?

For a generation raised on hyper-processed pop and algorithmic playlists, ABBA’s catalog offers something radical: sincerity. The music may sparkle with disco flair, but the emotions underneath—yearning, heartbreak, euphoria—are raw and real.

There’s no irony in “The Winner Takes It All,” just devastation dressed in satin. And Gen Z, for all their online wit and digital fluency, crave that kind of vulnerability.

But there’s more to this intergenerational love affair.

First, there’s the sound. ABBA’s arrangements are lush, their hooks undeniable. In a music space of minimalist bedroom pop and trap beats, the maximalist sheen of ABBA feels refreshing.

Songs like “Lay All Your Love on Me” and “Super Trouper” overflow with harmonies, strings, and synths. Even “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!,” a plea for companionship, gallops forward like a dopamine train.

Second, there’s the aesthetic. Gen Z didn’t invent vintage, but they perfected it. From fashion to fonts to filters, they’re remixing the past with 21st-century savvy.

ABBA’s sequins, flared pants, and glam stage presence fit perfectly into the digital nostalgia carousel. On TikTok, “Gimme!” has become the soundtrack for choreographed dances, makeup transitions, and tongue-in-cheek thirst traps. It’s disco as meme, and ABBA—knowingly or not—gets the punchline.

Third, there’s the story. Gen Z loves a saga, and ABBA has one. The romantic entanglements, the dramatic breakups, the against-all-odds reunion—all of it is rich with emotional lore.

Add in the theatricality of Mamma Mia! (both the musical and film franchise), and you’ve got a full-fledged mythology.

Spotify confirms that in 2025, Gen Z accounts for a whopping 50% of all ABBA streams. That’s over 11 million young listeners discovering the group for the first time—half of all new ABBA fans. And they’re not just playing the hits. Tracks like “Chiquitita” and “Money, Money, Money” are climbing Gen Z’s most-streamed list, suggesting the deep cuts resonate, too.

There’s a beautiful irony in it all. ABBA, long dismissed by critics as bubblegum fluff, now stand as emotional sages to a generation searching for meaning in the mess.

Their music is kitschy and deep, ridiculous and profound—sorta like life. When the world feels as unstable as a disco ball on a ceiling fan, maybe ABBA offers something stable: four voices in harmony, singing their guts out.

The winner DOES takes it all after all.