’Trap’ Feels Like One

M. Night Shyamalan’s Trap is yet another misfire in a career defined by diminishing returns.

What starts as a promising concept—a father caught in an FBI sting at a concert—quickly devolves into an incoherent mess that relies on contrived plot devices and cheap gimmicks to hold the audience’s attention.

Josh Hartnett’s performance as Cooper, a doting father and secret serial killer, is the film’s only redeeming quality. He does his best with a script that gives him almost nothing to work with.

But no matter how much nuance Hartnett brings, it’s impossible to save a character whose survival depends on absurd twists and laughable luck. Shyamalan doesn’t trust his audience or his characters enough to let them breathe, opting instead for increasingly ridiculous scenarios that stretch believability to the breaking point.

The film’s setting, a concert by a pop star with godlike status, is squandered by poor execution. The arena, which should be a claustrophobic nightmare, feels hollow and uninspired.

Worse, the casting of Shyamalan’s daughter, Saleka, as the concert’s megastar, feels like nepotism at its worst. Her performance is wooden and lacks the charisma needed to pull off the role, leaving her scenes flat and cringeworthy .

Shyamalan’s signature twist, expected by now, is delivered so early that it barely qualifies as one. Instead, the film limps along, with each new revelation feeling more absurd than the last. By the time the credits roll, you’re left wondering how such an interesting premise could go so wrong .

Ultimately, Trap is a film that’s trapped by its own mediocrity. Hartnett’s effort is wasted in a movie that is more interested in cheap tricks than delivering on the promise of its intriguing setup.

It’s a disposable thriller that will be forgotten as soon as the lights come up.

Daily Tear Therapy


I try to cry daily.

Sometimes it’s as simple as thinking of Sam. Other times, I need a little more: Jack realizing he’s dead along with his father at the end of Lost (oh yeah, spoiler), or Harold and Maude saying their last goodbyes. Or maybe it’s a song from my “Break My Heart” playlist, which is 29 hours of music and growing.

I think crying regularly is important—at least as often and as hard as I laugh.

That part’s easy, though. You’ve got The Simpsons on demand for instant laughs.

But here’s the real point: don’t be afraid of feeling shitty. In the bland, smiley Alphaverse, I know that’s frowned upon, but maybe that’s why they’re so fucked up.

We’ve built a world that treats sadness like a flaw. If the Alphaverse crew had their way, they’d probably patch it out of the human condition in the next software update.

But those tears? They aren’t bugs in the system—they’re proof it’s working.

Each time I press play on that 29-hour playlist, I’m making the choice to feel it all. Every song unlocks a different memory, a new room in the heart. I visit all regularly. A memory opens each door, a memory shuts it the same way.

You can’t selectively numb emotions. Try to block out sadness, and joy has a harder time getting through. Shut down the tears, and you’ll eventually forget how to laugh from your gut.

There’s also science behind this. Crying isn’t just about emotional release—it’s a physical process that benefits your body. When you cry emotional tears, your body releases stress hormones like cortisol. Studies have shown that crying can lower heart rate, blood pressure, and even promote better sleep .

Emotional tears are chemically different from the ones you shed cutting onions; they contain more protein, which helps remove toxins from your system . It’s like a mini detox, triggered by your emotions.

Crying can stimulate the release of endorphins—your body’s natural painkillers. That’s why you often feel calmer, even relieved, after a good cry.

So yeah, bring on the tearjerkers. Give me the playlist that cuts deep. Let me think about Sam until the tears come. Because in a world that’s afraid to feel anything too deeply, maybe crying daily isn’t just therapeutic—it’s resigned rebellion.

When Harold says goodbye to Maude, when Jack’s face crumples with realization, when the perfect song hits just right—that’s when I know I’m still human. Still feeling. And that’s the point of all art.