I’m not certain whether Rober Eggers believes in god. But I’m sure he believes in the devil. Witness Nosferatu.

Nosferatu is a masterpiece of shadow and menace, a triumph of Gothic horror that rekindles the haunting allure of the original while standing as a singular vision in its own right.

Eggers’ Nosferatu is more than a remake—it’s a reinvention, a vivid nightmare brought to life with unrelenting artistry. Channeling the eerie stillness of F.W. Murnau’s 1922 silent classic, Eggers weaves a tapestry of dread that feels at once timeless and bracingly new.

This is not homage for the sake of homage but a director at the height of his craft, paying reverence while daring to reimagine.

Bill Skarsgård as Count Orlok delivers a performance that chills to the bone. With his gaunt, almost alien physicality, he embodies the grotesque allure of a predator who is both repellent and magnetic.His every movement feels deliberate, calculated, and impossibly inhuman—a living shadow haunting the screen.

Opposite him, Lily-Rose Depp brings unexpected depth to Ellen Hutter, transforming what could have been a passive victim into a figure of quiet strength and tragic beauty. Depp’s Ellen is more than prey; she is a soul wrestling with fate, her luminous presence cutting through the film’s enveloping darkness.

The cinematography, by Jarin Blaschke, deserves special mention. Every frame is painterly, drenched in ominous blues and searing blacks, where light fights desperately against encroaching darkness.

The interplay of shadow and silhouette is breathtaking, recalling German Expressionism while feeling utterly contemporary. Eggers’ attention to historical detail and his obsession with atmosphere result in a film where every element, from the creak of a door to the whisper of wind, pulls us into its otherworldly grip.

Eggers is a filmmaker unafraid of taking risks, and Nosferatu thrives on its slow, deliberate pacing. Some may find its measured approach alienating, but those willing to surrender to its rhythms will find a film of rare power—horror that seeps into your bones rather than shocking you with sudden jolts.

Nosferatu is more than a film; it is an experience, a descent into the uncanny that lingers long after the credits roll. Eggers has crafted a rare horror movie, one that respects its roots while staking its claim as something wholly new.

‘Buy Now! The Shopping Conspiracy’ is a thought-provoking documentary that illuminates the forces driving modern consumerism.

Directed by Nic Stacey, it doesn’t necessarily tell us anything we don’t already suspect—that corporations design products to fail, manipulate our desires, and prioritize profit over sustainability—but it packages these ideas into a sharp, compelling narrative.

One of the documentary’s strongest moments is its unflinching look at the sheer scale of waste generated by consumer culture. The film captures the destruction of perfectly functional items—products discarded by corporations to maintain scarcity or protect profits.

Seeing mountains of goods needlessly destroyed is both shocking and infuriating, and it serves as a visceral reminder of how wasteful the system is. The scenes stay with you long after the credits roll.

The documentary’s strength also lies in its access to industry insiders like Maren Costa (formerly of Amazon) and Nirav Patel (a former Apple engineer), who share firsthand accounts of the tactics corporations use to keep us buying.

Their insights give credibility to the film’s arguments and remind us that consumerism isn’t just a byproduct of capitalism—it’s a deliberately engineered system. Hearing this directly from those who once worked within these companies makes the message land with more weight.

Visually, the film is clean and well-structured. However, the decision to use an AI narrator feels like a misstep.

It’s a clever concept in theory—invoking the voice of the machine—but in practice, it adds a layer of detachment that undermines the urgency of the film’s message. The information is engaging enough on its own without this stylistic gimmick.

‘Buy Now!’ doesn’t offer many groundbreaking revelations, and its solutions to the problems it presents are more implied than explicitly explored. However, it succeeds in making us think critically about the choices we make as consumers.

Released in the shadow of Black Friday, the film is a timely reminder that convenience and low prices often come with hidden costs—costs borne by the planet and the people working within these systems.

This is not a groundbreaking film, but it’s a solid and accessible entry point into the conversation about consumerism. For viewers willing to confront uncomfortable truths, it’s a worthwhile watch.

While not flawless, it does what a good documentary should:It informs, provokes, and leaves you asking questions.

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.