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  • Charli XCX, “360” (2024)

    A swirling buzzsaw boast song that forgets to actually boast about anything.

    The second single from BRAT — literally every critic’s #1 (or #2) album of the year — was brought up by a friend as something different, but fantastically so. Yet neither of us had any idea what the lyrics meant. So, let’s break them down.

    “I went my own way and I made it
    I’m your favorite reference, baby
    Call me Gabbriette, you’re so inspired.”

    The opening is a boast, but one laced with irony. Gabbriette refers to Gabbriette Bechtel, a model and influencer who was part of the band Nasty Cherry. In Netflix’s short-lived reality series I’m With the Band: Nasty Cherry, Charli XCX wasn’t a member — she was the creator, producer, and mentor.

    No, this isn’t Neneh Cherry of “Buffalo Stance” fame. You’ve probably never heard of Nasty Cherry. They have around 60,000 Spotify listeners, three EPs, and a handful of singles. The reality show fizzled after six episodes, and despite the band naming their second EP Season 2, there was no actual second season. The third EP, fittingly titled The Movie, brought the project to a close.

    Charli seems in on the joke. The line “You’re so inspired” mocks the idea that anyone would overhype her more obscure accomplishments. It’s a sly jab at fans who try to impress her by knowing everything. “Call me Gabbriette” isn’t a boast of greatness — it’s a reminder that even her minor failures are apparently iconic.

    “I’m tectonic, moves, I make ’em
    Shock you like defibrillators
    No style? I can’t relate
    I’ll always be the one.”

    Charli leans into grand, nerdy imagery. Tectonic plates cause earthquakes when they shift — a term that pops up in music when artists want to sound powerful. Pairing that with defibrillators (devices used to shock a heart back to life) adds to the drama.

    This whole section is a playful exaggeration. She’s no heavyweight rapper; this is indie-pop braggadocio, cartoonishly exaggerated. “I’m so powerful I’ll knock the earth off its axis and bring you back to life with a single beat.”

    “Drop down, yeah
    Put the camera flash on
    So stylish
    Baby tee is all gone.”

    “Drop down” is striking a pose — a model’s move. And while a baby tee was once the peak of Y2K fashion, it’s now a symbol of immaturity. Charli isn’t playing cute anymore; she’s ditching the trends. This shift from “baby tee” to “icon” is all part of her fashion evolution.

    “Yeah, 360
    When you’re in the mirror, do you like what you see?
    When you’re in the mirror, you’re just looking at me
    I’m everywhere, I’m so Julia.”

    A 360 spin — posing from every angle — is the ultimate model flex. But Charli isn’t a supermodel. She’s taking on the persona of her famous friends, like Julia Fox, the actress and model best known for Uncut Gems and brief relationship with Kanye West.

    Julia isn’t exactly Cindy Crawford or Heidi Klum; she’s more in the Chloë Sevigny or Alexa Chung category — an “It Girl” whose fame is driven as much by her personality as her career. Charli isn’t trying to be a traditional star; she’s part of the same effortlessly cool orbit.

    “When you’re in the party b-b-bumpin’ that beat
    666 with a princess streak
    I’m everywhere, I’m so Julia.”

    The “666” lyric is Charli playing into her devil-may-care image, contrasted with a princess streak — a little girly indulgence. It’s punkish, unserious, and dripping with irony.

    And then there’s the line:

    “That city sewer slut’s the vibe.”

    It’s as grotesque as it is deliberate. The sewer slut aesthetic — gritty, trashy, and hyper-stylized — is a fashion statement. Charli’s adopting the exaggerated grunge of downtown club kids. It’s not real filth; it’s curated filth.

    A.G. Cook and the Boast Track Subversion

    “Legacy is undebated
    You gon’ jump if A.G. made it
    If you love it, if you hate it
    I don’t fing care what you think.”

    A.G. Cook is Charli’s longtime collaborator and a pioneer of hyperpop. The “jump” she refers to is both literal and metaphorical — his chaotic production inspires movement, even from reluctant listeners.

    There’s a tradition of boast tracks in pop and hip-hop — songs dripping with excess and confidence. Charli’s version twists the trope. Unlike the diamonds and champagne of Ariana Grande’s “7 Rings” or the opulent flexes of Cardi B’s “Money”, Charli brags about her obscure reality show, her niche producer friend, and a DIY fashion sense.

    Even compared to Biggie’s “Juicy”, where the late rapper celebrated middle-class comforts like a Super Nintendo, Charli’s boasts are gleefully unserious. No private jets or penthouses here — just selfies, baby tees, and the thrill of making a scene.

    Final Thoughts

    The production of “360” is gloriously chaotic. Charli’s voice punches through buzzing synths and clapping percussion, her monotone delivery serving as a rhythmic anchor. She’s not trying to croon a beautiful melody — she’s demanding your attention.

    The video adds to the absurdity. There’s Charli pouring red wine while wobbling on a vibration plate (an exercise device of questionable effectiveness). She straddles a hospital bed-ridden man, poses with outdated computers, and walks through a crumbling restaurant as waiters smash chairs for her dramatic entrance. It’s a farce, but a glamorous one.

    That “360” made it to pop radio at all is astonishing. It’s not a hit in the traditional sense, but it’s infectious. And for all its bizarre references and self-deprecating boasts, it’s proof that Charli’s pop sensibility remains undeniable.

    Lyrical Content: B+
    Song Rating: 4.5/5

  • Addison Rae, “Diet Pepsi” (2024)

    Remember those days in your second car? Good times.

    “Diet Pepsi” might be the best somewhat-popular song of 2024 that you still don’t know. In a year where many young women have made the jump from casual artists to superstars (Charli XCX, Sabrina Carpenter, Chappell Roan), it’s nice to see the underdog baton being passed to the next wave.

    Analysis of the Lyrics

    My boy’s a winner, he loves the game
    My lips reflect off his cross-gold chain.
    I like the way he’s telling me
    My ass looks good in these ripped blue jeans

    A quickly painted picture of a girl fawning over her alpha-male boyfriend. He likes glitz and glamour, but I don’t get the sense that she requires that in a guy. She appreciates that it’s his style—and that she can accessorize him, too.

    A cursory listen makes the word “ass” really stand out. It’s rather shocking, actually. The song has a Taylor Swift-esque pop sound, but Swift would never objectify her body this overtly—or if she did, she wouldn’t sing about enjoying that some guy did it. This is a girly girl who enjoys the attention and validation.

    My cheeks are red like cherries in the spring
    Body’s a work of art you’d die to see
    Untouched, XO
    Young lust, let’s—(ah)

    Firstly, cherries don’t ripen until May or June. Cherry trees do bloom in the spring, but their flowers are white or pink, not red. So, she’s not a botanist. But I like that there’s a line about cherries in a song called “Diet Pepsi.” Along with the bubbly production and understated, sped-up vocal delivery (which we’ll get to later),  a sense of sugary coldness is conveyed here.

    I don’t buy that Addison is singing about a girl who has never had sex. She and this guy have likely been together for a while, but when it’s time to have sex, she likes to role-play as if it’s her first time. There are less fulfilling sexual fantasies.

    When we drive in your car, I’m your baby (so sweet)
    Losing all my innocence in the back seat
    Say you love, say you love, say you love me (love me)
    Losing all my innocence in the back seat

    Addison defines herself as an accessory to her boyfriend’s lifestyle. She doesn’t feel like she matters less to him than his jewelry or his car—it’s just that everything fits together perfectly.

    “Losing all my innocence in the backseat.” This song isn’t for young girls losing their virginity. It’s for women in their late thirties and up, evoking memories of making out in the backseat of a car with the stereo playing. Do you remember the first time you made out with a guy in his car? That.

    Most notable about the chorus is the way “losing all my innocence” is pitch-shifted, giving her voice a Chipmunk-like quality. Coupled with reverb and a high-pass filter that thins out the vocal, the song has a dreamlike, ethereal quality.

    I always find significant pitch shifting interesting—how did she even write this melody? She likely didn’t originally conceive it at that pitch; it was probably a production decision that elevates the song’s uniqueness. My guess is that she wrote the melody an octave lower, and then a producer suggested raising it artificially. She may have recorded that line with the track slowed down so she could naturally hit those notes before speeding it back up. The result is a pristine, glass-like effect that stands out from anything on the radio right now.

    Break all the rules ’til we get caught
    Fog up the windows in the parking lot
    Summer love (ah, ah), sexy
    Sitting on his lap, sippin’ Diet Pepsi

    She and her guy create their own little world in his car. Normal rules don’t apply. When I was in high school, there always seemed to be that one couple who could get away with making out in the school parking lot. The reaction wasn’t “PDA? Gross.” It was more like, “They must be so in love.”

    “Diet Pepsi” feels meticulously crafted to evoke nostalgia—a longing for a relationship where your first time feels just as special as your first-ever experience. I doubt Addison Rae is reflecting on her actual first time; that was probably mundane or awkward. What she’s doing is crafting an idealized memory: a moment where everything feels perfect. “Losing all my innocence” could just as easily be read as roleplay, which is why she emphasizes it so insistently.

    I enjoy that the song is called “Diet Pepsi” and that it’s just a throwaway detail in the second verse. When I think of Diet Pepsi, I picture a glass bottle freshly pulled out of an ice-filled cooler. On a summer night where the windows are fogging up from body heat, what could be more refreshing? (I just don’t know where they’re getting a Diet Pepsi in a random parking lot. Did they bring a cooler?)

    Some songs that use noticeable pitch shifting (at least half a pitch or more) include “Oblivion” by Grimes, “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards” by Tame Impala, and “When I’m Sixty-Four” and “Strawberry Fiekds Forever” by The Beatles. The reason this section sounds so much like Grimes (my favorite modern recording artist) is that it achieves that same high-pitched, dreamlike vocal effect without her voice going into head voice. It retains its fullness while sitting at an almost impossibly high register.

    I write my name with lipstick on your chest
    I leave a mark so you know I’m the best

    This line is funny. Is she actually pulling out a tube of lipstick and writing “Addison Rae” on his torso? She’s obviously just kissing him all over with his shirt off, leaving little marks so that if anyone sees him shirtless before he showers, they’ll know he was with her. “Writing her name with lipstick” is a playful euphemism.

    As the song nears its conclusion, the production takes a twist. There’s a break, but a few beats later, the music comes back with a key shift. However, it’s not a standard key change—it sounds like the entire track has been slowed down, enhancing the song’s hazy, surreal atmosphere.

    How does she perform this song live? She does not appear to actually sing the line “losing all my innocence in the backseat.” She sings the first half and then dances around and smiles for the second part. I’m still a bit perplexed by the exact recording techniques used in the song. That line was definitely recorded while the music was slowed down (before being sped back up). But it could also be, “When I’m Sixty-Four”-style, that the entire track was originally sped up for the first 80% of the song. To then shift the pitch speed in the form of a key change feels like a fresh, novel approach.

    As far as I know, this is the only pop hit that uses this trick so dramatically. For the last chorus to sound like it’s coming from a cassette tape played at a different speed is subtly innovative. It’s rare for a pop song to intentionally call attention to the artificiality of its own vocal processing.

    The song seems revolutionary in its own quiet way.

    Lyrical content: C+/B-
    Song rating: 4/5

  • Amyl and the Sniffers, “Tiny Bikini” (2024)

    One for all the girls at punk rock shows.

    Amyl and The Sniffers are probably the best pure punk band making new music right now. They are known for their live performances. I have never seen them play, but I can imagine their unique vibe making for a memorable, energetic show.

    The band released their third LP, Cartoon Darkness, in 2024, and it is great—a mix of early/second-generation punk, like Minor Threat and Dead Kennedys, blended with arena-ready hard rock, like AC/DC. The song “Tiny Bikini” stood out to me for its big riffs and playful lyrics. It is my favorite song on the album. Someone said, “Why don’t you write a review for it?”

    So here we are. Doing a deep dive on a two-minute fifteen second song about wearing a bikini. I am fascinated by the thought. Will analyzing every line reveal hidden layers of meaning?

    The Music

    With this one, what stood out most was the music, so let’s start here. The song kicks off with a syncopation-less, anthem-like headbanger riff that calls to mind Beavis and Butt-Head bands AC/DC and Judas Priest.

    Thematically, the song appears to evoke “Sharp Dressed Man  by ZZ Top and “Money for Nothing” by Dire Straits. A cursory listen gives a sense of glamour and excess.

    The “Ooohs” that start each line in the verses sound like two girls being impressed by something beautiful, like a dress at a red carpet gala or a precious piece of jewelry. The hook riff is pure “Money for Nothing”, which seems to be saying, “This song is about living cool—like a rock star.”

    The Lyrics

    But what do the lyrics mean? I had no idea, and I was afraid that analyzing them would reveal nothing and make me like the song less. But here we go.

    “Oooh, you like it when I stay up late
    Is there anywhere in this world a dream can’t take me?”

    This premise is actually quite funny. I didn’t realize this song was about vocalist Amy Taylor falling asleep and talking to a dream version of herself. She has stayed up late, likely performing until 3 a.m. at a punk show, and she’s very likely to have vivid dreams—being sleep-deprived and full of stimulation from being around a lot of people all night. So far, so good.

    “Ooh, I know it’s technically my space
    But I’m the only one here in a bikini”

    What a funny premise. She’s having a lucid dream where she should be able to do anything she wants—you’d think she’d be the one in control. Maybe she could imagine everyone else in their underwear. No such luck. “But I’m the only one in a bikini.” Ah, cruel irony.

    “Ooh, I just wanna wear my bikini
    Ah, I just wanna wear my shorts”

    Hilarious. Now that she’s here, at a crowded after-party wearing just a bikini top and suggestive shorts, she’s going to make the most of it. It’s not that she wants everyone to stare at her—she just doesn’t care. Being proud of your girl parts can make you feel confident. Societal norms and good etiquette be damned.

    “Eh, there’s too many snags at the party
    Eh, so I’m just gonna walk”

    I get the sense that the party she was at earlier in the night felt too stuck-up and pretentious. There’s a sense of self-awareness—like she wishes she had done this in reality when it really would have counted. Instead, she’s going to enjoy the freling in this very good dream.

    “Ooh, you think the world is not man enough?
    So I’m gonna inject some of this cunt”

    Ahh, so there’s another layer going on here. These punk rock after-parties are full of hyper-masculine dudes trying to out-bro each other. So, while she’s showing off her breasts and feminine wiles, she isn’t doing it in a playful, sexy way. She’s doing it to be just as cool as everyone else—except she’s the only one doing something in-your-face and definitive.

    “Ooh, if I didn’t show up in something spicy
    The cold world would feel even more icy”

    It’s not just that the party is full of dudes who are too pretentious for school—she feels like no one was having any fun at all. That isn’t Amy’s style. She might not want to be the one objectified and exposed, but she’s willing to take one for the team to make everyone else have a good time.

    I initially thought the point of the song was casual narcissism upon a casual listen, but I still rather liked it. It had a playful punk attitude and vibe. Knowing the full details not only made the song make sense, but it also made me actually laugh out loud.

    Peehaps more than anything, this song is a tongue in cheeky homage to the rebellious swagger of The Shangri-Las, pride in being the feminine role in a scene filled with gruff uber-masculinity. “I’m just gonna wear my bikini” has its place for the girls who go to these punk shows and feel like the stranded 10 percent.

    Lyrical content: B+
    Song rating: 4.5/5

  • Grand Theft Hamlet (2025)

    Hmm. This is just the making of Grand Theft Hamlet.

    So, what is Grand Theft Hamlet? It’s a performance of Hamlet staged within Grand Theft Auto Online. Here is what that looks like:

    Grand theft auto trailer.

    But what exactly is GTA Online?

    It’s an “open-world, action-adventure, multiplayer” sandbox game. That might sound like World of Warcraft mixed with Grand Theft Auto, but not really. GTA Online is actually part of Grand Theft Auto V, rather than a separate MMO. Only 30 players can be in the same session at a time—far fewer than the thousands in WoW.

    But is GTA Online any good? That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. The game had a mixed critical reception when it launched on PS3, likely due to server issues and bugs. Even after a PS4-era re-release, reviews remained similar. GTA V as a whole is beloved—often considered one of the best games of its generation—but I’m not sure how much of that acclaim extends to its online component.

    One thing’s for sure: GTA Online is popular. Over 20 million people still play it every month, even today. Considering GTA V has sold 205 million copies, that means about 10% of people who bought a game originally released 12 years ago still log in regularly. That’s remarkable longevity. It might not be my thing, but it must have done something right.

    So how was the performance of Hamlet?

    No idea. Out of Grand Theft Hamlet’s 90-minute runtime, only about 10 minutes are dedicated to the performance itself. No full scene is shown. I was hyped to see Shakespeare—I even prepped by familiarizing myself with the themes, characters, and plot. But I didn’t need to. The full performance isn’t available online. And if the filmmakers didn’t want to show it, I have to assume it wasn’t very good.

    As a documentary, Grand Theft Hamlet is a fascinating making-of feature. But it’s more like a DVD bonus than a full-fledged film. The project was marketed as a complete in-game performance of Hamlet, but the documentary isn’t that—it’s about the attempt to make it happen.

    Was GTA Online the right place for this?

    Probably not.

    The idea started when two out-of-work Shakespearean actors, stuck at home during the COVID-19 lockdown, discovered a massive outdoor theater while exploring GTA Online. They wondered, Could we stage a play here? They tried performing lines, announcing their impromptu show to any players nearby. Before they could start, another player in the audience shot them, looted their corpses, and left.

    Not a great start.

    But they persisted, bringing in a documentary filmmaker to capture their attempt to perform Hamlet in full.

    At first, I thought GTA Online was a large enough MMO that thousands of players could gather to watch, but with only 30 per session, that wasn’t the case. Even then, the idea of Hamlet performed in the chaos of GTA—grenades going off, cars ramming the stage, audience members shooting each other—sounded like a trainwreck I needed to see.

    It wasn’t quite that, but it was still a trainwreck. They struggled to recruit actors, often getting killed mid-rehearsal. Every time they died, they respawned at their home base and had to drive all the way back—assuming their car didn’t explode on the way.

    I appreciate that GTA Online sparked the idea: Let’s perform a play in an online world. But they put zero effort into considering other platforms. VRChat, Rec Room, Neos VR, Second Life, Minecraft, Roblox, Mozilla Hubs—all arguably better suited for virtual theater. But because they got the idea while playing GTA Online, that’s what they used.

    As a gimmick for a documentary, it’s clever. The contrast between GTA’s violence and Shakespeare’s high art is intriguing. But if the goal was to explore whether online theater works, the film needed to dig deeper. I’d love to see a documentary that actually tested different platforms to see which one best supports digital performance.

    “I’ve been sitting at home. Alone.”

    More than anything, Grand Theft Hamlet is about pandemic-era isolation and how people filled that time. Unless you worked in an essential field, you were probably stuck at home, wondering how to stay productive. (Charli XCX: Alone Together tackles a similar theme—though in that case, the result was How I’m Feeling Now, one of her best albums.)

    Many people got pulled into video game routines. One actor even asks his wife, “Do you think I spend too much time playing this game?” She says, “Yeah, a little bit.” His friend stays up late rehearsing, while he spends all night “buying planes” in GTA Online. He even misses his wife’s birthday. She tells him she has to log into the game just to spend time with him.

    At one point, he says, “I want to give you a hug.”
    She replies, “You can in real life. I live in the same house as you.”

    While Grand Theft Hamlet has more to say about video game addiction than Shakespeare, it’s still worth a watch. If you’re interested in how video games are changing the way people connect and create, this documentary offers a glimpse of what’s starting to be possible—while also highlighting the many limitations.

    Final Thoughts

    The idea of performing Hamlet in a video game is interesting, but this documentary sells the concept of a great film rather than being one itself. That said, it got me thinking. Online theater is still underexplored. I’d love to see a documentary that takes a methodical, America’s Test Kitchen approach—experimenting with different platforms to see how Shakespeare (or any play) translates into a digital environment.

    If their Hamlet is unavailable, maybe it just didn’t work. But I’d love to see someone try again—this time, with a game that actually supports the concept.

    Rating: 7.5/10

  • Youth Lagoon, “Football” (2025)

    The tragic case of the wrong person becoming a generation’s voice.

    Full lyrics

    Make America Great. Again.

    Let’s be clear from the start: this song is about Donald Trump—or at least a powerful, Trump-like executive or political figure. It opens with the line, “Donnie dug a hole,” immediately evoking the phrase “Drill, baby, drill!” from Trump’s rallies. But more broadly, it paints a picture of someone powerful who keeps digging their own grave, constantly making a mess of things.

    Then comes, “Momma turns to dust. She was on the train tracks waitin’ for the blood to rush.” His mother, full of ambition for her son, was waiting for him to become a great man. But she died before seeing how it all played out.

    The perspective then shifts to Donnie himself:
    “And you told me I was stayin’ strong
    When all I’ve done is play along
    And they put it on, they put it on me.”

    This feels like a confession—Mama, I tried to be the man you thought I would be, but I never wanted this.

    Then comes the pivotal line: “Maybe you’re not the person who caught the football.”

    The imagery here is striking: a football player runs into the end zone, convinced he has scored the winning touchdown. He celebrates as if he’s the star of the game—only to look at the scoreboard and realize his team has lost. What happened?

    This perfectly conveys misplaced confidence—someone who believes they’re destined for greatness, only to face the reality that they weren’t the right person for the job. It’s reminiscent of politicians who prematurely celebrate election victories.

    Hillary Clinton’s 2016 campaign famously planned an election-night celebration at the Javits Center in New York, complete with confetti cannons meant to simulate breaking a glass ceiling. Many Bernie Sanders supporters believed he was the rightful nominee, and when Clinton lost, it only fueled their frustration.

    Trump had his own moment of misplaced victory. On election night in 2020, he declared himself the winner before the results were in. When he ultimately lost, he refused to accept it—leading to the events of January 6th, when a mob stormed the U.S. Capitol, forcing members of Congress to flee.

    Both Hillary’s balloon drop and the chaos of January 6th would pair beautifully with “Football”—a politician at a bar, drink in hand, watching these moments unfold on TV.

    The second verse shifts focus to Mary, seemingly a stand-in for conservative influencers or televangelists:

    “Her faith was wearin’ thin like an old shoe sole.”

    The song describes Mary’s faith exactly the same as Donnie’s old, withered face. It conveys someone who is struggling to seem overwhelmingly confident in their beliefs but ultimately is just putting on a show.
    “She would even f___ the preacher if he paid enough.”

    She is so determined to profit from faith that she’s willing to compromise its core principles.

    Then comes a moment of intimacy, or perhaps an alliance:
    “And his ring is off and his button down
    And he tore it off and she tore around.”

    This isn’t necessarily literal. It suggests a politician forming a mutually beneficial relationship with a powerful religious figure—two people bound together by influence rather than love.

    “Put a bullet in and pull it on three.
    Don’t pull it on me.”

    This line speaks to the ruthless nature of power—finding scapegoats and sacrificial lambs to stay on top. No one wants to be the one taking the fall.

    Despite the weight of the lyrics, the music itself is surprisingly delicate. A Norah Jones-like piano line cascades in gentle triplets over a steady 4/4 drumbeat, creating a sense of fragile beauty. The lead melody—played on a lap steel guitar with heavy reverb and a volume pedal—feels ethereal, each note swelling into existence rather than being plucked outright. It’s the perfect soundtrack for staring out a coffee shop window on a gray, rainy morning.

    It’s a striking contrast—lush, haunting instrumentation paired with biting political commentary. The song’s subtle steel drum accents and whispered vocal overdubs (“leave, don’t leave”) add to its dreamlike, weightless atmosphere. Yet at its core, it remains grounded in its message: arrogance, misplaced faith, and the sobering realization that power isn’t always what it seems.

    If this idea could be distilled into a postcard, it would fly off the shelves. The song lingers, both sonically and thematically, long after it ends.

    Lyrical content: A
    Overall rating: 4.5/5

  • Scream (2022)

    Releasable, but not otherwise a cause for celebration.

    “Oh my God. They’re making a re-quel.”
    “A what?”
    “Or a Legacy-quel. Fans aren’t quite sure on the terminology.”

    That’s not a good sign. If the trend you’re referencing doesn’t even have a proper name, you might not want to hinge your entire script on it.

    So let’s investigate this legacy-quel idea. If I understand it based on Scream (2022), it’s when a movie shares the same name as the original, looks like a remake, but is actually a sequel. It takes place in the same world, continuing the story while trying to pass the torch to new characters. The film presents this as a major trend worth parodying. But… is it?

    At the time of this movie’s production, there was really only one clear case: David Gordon Green’s Halloween (2018). For some reason, they just called it Halloween, instead of adding a number or subtitle, making it confusing for audiences. But even that wasn’t entirely new—Halloween H20 had already tried to ignore past sequels and return to the original’s vibe. The franchise then spiraled into chaos with Halloween: Resurrection (widely considered the worst entry), Rob Zombie’s divisive remakes, and finally, a nine-year dormancy before the 2018 reboot.

    So, was Halloween (2018) really the start of a trend? At the time Scream (2022) was being written, two more so-called “legacy-quels” were in development: Candyman and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. But those movies weren’t even out yet. Scream treats legacy-quels like they’re an established Hollywood phenomenon, but this feels premature—more like the filmmakers heard the term floating around and rushed to cash in.

    And even among recent sequels that revive old franchises, most don’t just reuse the original title. Ghostbusters: Afterlife, Blade Runner 2049, Star Wars: The Force Awakens—all of these continued the story but at least had unique names. The only recent example I can find of a sequel taking the exact same name as the original is Ted, the TV series. And even that could have just been called Ted: The TV Show—but I guess that sounded too much like CSI: Crime Scene Investigation – The Board Game.

    The worst offender is Scream itself. Naming Scream 5 just Scream is obnoxious. It forces fans to refer to it as Scream (2022)—which I hate typing—just to differentiate it from the 1996 classic. If Hollywood insists on doing this, at least give us a color-coded logo system, like Peter Gabriel and Weezer do with their self-titled albums.

    So how’s the movie?

    It’s fine. It seems aware that modern horror has evolved past the slasher formula, but instead of fully embracing that, it just points it out. The characters openly discuss how “elevated horror” (The Babadook, It Follows, Hereditary) is what people actually watch now. That’s another bad sign. If your own script admits the genre has moved on, why are we here?

    The script overall is hammy and half-baked. The vibe is: “We noticed this trend, so we rushed this out the door. We didn’t put much effort in, because this won’t be relevant anyway.” Reviews have been generous, probably because they brought back as many surviving original characters as possible. Scream (1996) had the benefit of satirizing a slasher trend that was still relevant enough to participate in. Scream (2022) tries to satirize a trend that barely exists.

    As for the returning cast, the energy feels like:
    “I’m too old for this. But what else am I doing? This is the script? Really? I’ll only need to be there for a week? Good enough, let’s go.”

    The movie strains with its meta-humor and callbacks. “Do you know what happens to the expert?” You mean Jamie Kennedy? He survives the first movie. So, “Do you know what happens to you?” “Yeah. I’ll survive… for a while at least.” The self-awareness borders on lazy winking.

    There are a couple of cute modern touches: kids watching YouTube breakdowns of bad sequels, using phone tracking apps to monitor a partner’s location. These ideas feel relevant but barely impact the plot. They were probably brainstormed in the writers’ room and then forgotten.

    The Most Unrealistic Scream Movie Yet?

    For a franchise built on exaggerated horror tropes, this might be the most unrealistic Scream yet. Where are the returning characters’ partners and kids? Wouldn’t they have obligations keeping them from abruptly chasing down a serial killer? Also, how does Scream (2022) manage to reference the exact dialogue from the original’s opening scene? Spoiler: everyone present in that scene was dead. Even if they made a movie (Stab) based on those events, how would they have an exact transcript?

    The ending is… fine. It doesn’t make much sense, but it has the pulpy, page-turning quality of an airport thriller. There are enough twists that I didn’t outright reject the movie.

    But Scream (2022) definitely misjudged the legacy-quel concept, or at least overestimated its importance. It’s trying to make a trend happen that doesn’t really exist.

    Final Verdict

    The sixth installment is supposedly “just as good” as this one. I might watch it.

    Rating: 4.5/10

  • Kinda Pregnant (2025)

    Cringe.

    Has Amy Schumer lost her mind?

    It’s hard to believe she followed up Trainwreck—with its subtle humor and emotional poignancy—with Kinda Pregnant, a film that has more in common with the worst sitcoms of all time.

    The entire plot is based on an absurd premise: Amy Schumer’s character, Rainy, has a pregnant friend, so she wears a fake belly in public for fun. She loves the attention so much that she keeps wearing it… all the time.

    That’s not a terrible idea—it could work in the right hands. But it doesn’t. Nearly every scene has something deeply wrong with it. Rainy is portrayed as a neurotic sociopath, making up outrageous lies and somehow getting away with them despite being terrible at it. She’s also a high school teacher, which is hard to believe. She has an expletive-ridden meltdown in front of her class—how is she not fired? How does she function in life at all?

    Then there’s the yoga class for pregnant women (why is she even there?). It’s so ridiculous that it feels like no one bothered with research:

    “Breathe in through your vagina. Then exhale through your butt hole.”
    (Everyone starts farting.)

    90% of the humor relies on Rainy making incomprehensibly bad decisions. You might laugh, but for the wrong reasons—out of secondhand embarrassment, or disbelief that someone could act so inappropriately. I cringed constantly.

    The worst part? Nothing is followed through. There’s potential for real dramatic moments, but the film never commits. It’s an absurd premise, sure, and Rainy keeps making terrible choices—but if it all built up to something, maybe a big confrontation or a well-choreographed comedic disaster, it might have been worth it. But no. Nothing. Just bad writing.

    The good: Will Forte comes out relatively unscathed. His character, Josh, is likable and charming—you root for him to find the right girl (which is obviously not Rainy, who even uses her fake pregnancy as an excuse to avoid sex with him—except when she doesn’t). She sleeps with him, but does everything she can to keep him from seeing or feeling her body, maintaining the illusion of her fake pregnancy. There’s even some raunchy dialogue that only adds to the absurdity of the situation. The scenes between Rainy and her actually pregnant best friend are solid. Most of the supporting characters are fine—sane, even. I didn’t mind the broader attempts at humor, like a scene at a butterfly tent where Rainy’s friend (NOT Rebel Wilson) yells for bug spray and starts a fight. I didn’t laugh, but I smiled.

    I want to believe Amy Schumer is better than this. Either she’s lost her ability to write, or—more likely—she “reworked” someone else’s D-list script in a week and called it a day. She’s also too old for this role.

    Kinda Pregnant. Only kinda funny.

    3.5/10.