Category Archives: Reviews

The Devil Gets His ‘Grotesquerie’ On

Grotesquerie is an unsettling dive into the macabre, but it risks falling into the same over-the-top melodrama that has plagued some of Ryan Murphy’s past projects.

The series opens strong, with Niecy Nash-Betts playing Detective Lois Tryon, a hard-drinking cop investigating gruesome murders tied to religious symbols. Nash-Betts brings depth to Tryon, a character unraveling as she navigates her failing personal life and a case that seems to grow darker by the day.

Sister Megan, played by Micaela Diamond, adds an unusual energy as a nun obsessed with true crime. Her partnership with Tryon avoids feeling like the typical detective pairing, adding tension and intrigue.

Together, they navigate a world filled with grotesque crime scenes and questionable morality, with each murder more shocking than the last.

Murphy builds atmosphere well, using grim visuals and eerie soundscapes to keep the tension high. The show doesn’t shy away from disturbing images, pushing viewers into a brutal world that’s both fascinating and horrifying.

It’s here that Grotesquerie excels, keeping its audience on edge through suspense rather than cheap scares.

However, there are already signs that Grotesquerie could suffer from the same flaws that have hurt other Murphy shows.

The intense focus on shocking visuals risks overshadowing the story, and some critics have expressed concern that the series might descend into melodrama as it progresses. The balance between character-driven drama and horror could easily tip too far, leading to narrative chaos.

For now, Grotesquerie intrigues with its strong performances and eerie world-building.

But if it falls into the same traps as Murphy’s previous work, this promising start will be nothing more than a stylish descent into madness.

’Killer Heat’ Not Even Dry


Killer Heat arrives on the scene like a detective noir desperately trying to pretend it’s still 1940.

It’s got all the ingredients: a booze-soaked PI with personal demons, a femme fatale you can’t trust, and a murder mystery that reeks of cover-up.

But this film is about as hot as a damp washcloth.

Directed by Philippe Lacôte and based on Jo Nesbø’s short story The Jealousy Man, Killer Heat offers nothing new under the sun—whether that sun is shining down on Crete or burning away any sense of intrigue this film hoped to muster.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt tries his best to channel the disheveled, morally ambiguous private eye Nick Bali, but you can practically hear his inner monologue cashing the paycheck. You know things are bad when the most thrilling part of your noir thriller is realizing you’ve seen the twist coming since the opening credits.

Shailene Woodley, bless her, plays Penelope Vardakis with all the subtlety of someone reading a Greek myth off a cue card. The whole “jealousy between brothers” schtick is delivered with such leaden seriousness that you almost expect to see “Icarus” scrawled on someone’s forehead. And yet, even with a classic love triangle and a suspicious climbing accident, the stakes in Killer Heat feel about as high as a midweek matinee.

Let’s not forget Richard Madden playing twins—because who doesn’t love a tired dual-role gimmick? Unfortunately, the only thing distinguishable between the brothers is that one of them dies, and even that fails to stir much drama. Madden is capable, but here, he’s stuck in a narrative so predictable it makes Scooby-Doo look like Agatha Christie.

The pacing? Glacial. The tension? Nonexistent. You can practically feel the actors waiting for something interesting to happen, while the audience checks their watches wondering if they’ve accidentally tuned into a travel documentary on Greece.

Sure, the scenery is beautiful, but when your mystery’s primary twist can be spotted from a mile away—on foot, not even free-climbing—no amount of sun-drenched cliffs will save you.

To call Killer Heat a slow burn would be to suggest there’s any burn at all. If you’re looking for actual heat, I suggest you turn on the stove.

The Line Which Is Dotted: Glengarry Glen Ross

Few works of American drama cut as deep or hit as hard as David Mamet’s “Glengarry Glen Ross.” It’s a film that grabs you by the throat from its opening moments and doesn’t let go, driving forward with the relentless, toxic energy of its desperate characters.

At its core, it’s the story of four real estate salesmen and the lengths they’ll go to survive in a cutthroat world, but it’s also so much more – a searing indictment of capitalism, a meditation on masculinity, and a showcase for some of the most electric dialogue ever written.

Mamet’s language in “Glengarry” is like jazz – profane, rhythmic, and precisely crafted while feeling utterly spontaneous. The salesmen speak in a brutal poetry of desperation, their words overlapping and colliding as they fight for their economic lives.

Every conversation is a battle, every interaction loaded with subtext and danger. The characters wield language like weapons, whether it’s Ricky Roma smooth-talking a client or Shelley “The Machine” Levene trying to recapture his glory days with increasingly manic energy.

The salesmen themselves are unforgettable characters who have become American archetypes, brought to life by an extraordinary ensemble cast.

The film adaptation added Alec Baldwin’s brief but Oscar-nominated performance as Blake, a vicious corporate motivator whose “Always Be Closing” monologue distills the entire toxic culture into one blistering scene. Baldwin commands the screen for only seven minutes, but his presence haunts the rest of the film, embodying the ruthless system that created and ultimately destroys these men.

The cultural impact of “Glengarry Glen Ross” cannot be overstated. Its phrases have entered the lexicon, and its clear-eyed examination of sales culture remains painfully relevant decades later. The script picks apart the myth of the American Dream, showing how it can become a nightmare of endless competition and moral compromise.

At the heart of the film is Al Pacino’s masterful performance as Ricky Roma, culminating in his methodical undressing of Kevin Spacey’s office manager Williamson.

In the scene, Roma’s surgical dismantling of Williamson goes beyond mere insults – it’s a calculated destruction of a man’s identity, using words as precisely as a matador uses his sword. Pacino builds the scene with a predator’s patience, starting with quiet disdain and slowly escalating to thunderous contempt, all while Spacey’s Williamson shrinks before him.

When Roma spits “You don’t know what a shot is,” it’s not just an insult, but an existential judgment. The scene showcases Mamet’s dialogue at its finest, with Pacino delivering each line like a boxer landing combinations, systematically breaking down his opponent’s defenses.

What makes “Glengarry” truly great is that it manages to be both a scathing critique and a compelling human drama. Even as we recognize the toxicity of the world these men inhabit, we can’t help but be drawn into their struggles and hopes.

We feel the weight of Levene’s desperation, the seductive power of Roma’s confidence, the creeping fear that haunts them all. In their own ways, the characters of “Glengarry Glen Ross” always were closing.