COYOTE vs ACME movie review

Simply delightful!

Coyote vs. Acme follows Wile E. after one defective Acme product too many. Tired of being crushed, blown up, launched from cliffs, and otherwise betrayed by the company’s inventions, he hires struggling attorney Kevin Avery—played by Will Forte—and takes the Acme Corporation to court. It’s like Who Framed Roger Rabbit meets Erin Brockovich in a live-action and animated comedy wrapped around a thoughtful David-versus-Goliath story.

The plotting is solid, the characters possess surprising complexity, and the filmmakers pack the movie with Easter eggs and affectionate nods to the Looney Tunes legacy. There is even a clever touch before the story begins. Beneath the Warner Bros. logo appears an asterisk identifying the studio as “a wholly owned subsidiary of the Acme Corporation”—meaning the movie is ostensibly being released by its own villains.

The animated characters remain wonderfully expressive without needing dialogue. Wile E. Coyote can communicate a lifetime of hunger and frustration with a single glower. The Road Runner celebrates another narrow escape with the familiar—and apparently infuriating—“beep, beep.” The integration of animation and live action is not quite as convincing as it was in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. That film’s combination of celluloid photography and hand-drawn animation gave its characters a remarkable physical presence within the human world. The digital tools used here cannot entirely recreate that tactile magic.

But Coyote vs. Acme compensates with its warmth, wit, and understanding of these characters.

Like Roger Rabbit and Chip ’n Dale: Rescue Rangers, the film uses lovable cartoon figures to soften the darkness of a crime story. But instead of a jaded detective or washed-up celebrity, Kevin is a perennial loser who has always been too afraid to try.

Facing Acme’s wealthy, polished, and bullying legal team—led by John Cena’s Buddy Crane—it is easy to understand that fear. Watching Kevin find courage alongside a motley collection of screwups and goofballs is genuinely heartwarming. The movie also recognizes that there is nothing fantastical about the odds in a corporate David-versus-Goliath fight. Wile E. is not even granted a true jury of his peers. Only two of the twelve jurors are animated—and one of them is a silly goose.

After Warner Bros. originally shelved the completed film, its eventual theatrical release makes that theme especially resonant. The movie itself became an underdog battling a powerful corporation for the right to exist.

Audiences should have a wonderful time laughing together in the cinema. Coyote vs. Acme honors the Looney Tunes while reminding us that courage does not require wealth, polish, or privilege.

Sometimes all we have are our fellow screwups and goofballs. And together, we can still become our own warriors—whatever the rich, the powerful, and the “I say, I say, I say” privileged throw our way.

Ryan is the morning host on WLRH Public Radio in Huntsville, AL and host of the show  ReelTalk  “where you can enjoy the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

THE END OF OAK STREET dino-horror movie review

Dinosaurs are scary again.

The End of Oak Street is a solid piece of summertime entertainment—a fun, action-packed journey through the hidden dangers of suburbia that plays like a throwback to a 1960s B-movie. Most importantly, it makes dinosaurs scary again.

About: A mysterious cosmic event rips Oak Street from suburbia and transports a neighborhood to someplace unknown. The Platt family soon discovers that their very survival depends on sticking together as they navigate their now unrecognizable surroundings.

Shot on 35mm film, the picture has a warm, soft texture that somehow makes the terror feel even more immediate. Its old-school look and brisk pacing give the movie a tactile personality often missing from contemporary creature features. The external action plot works well, and the film understands the primal appeal of watching prehistoric predators invade an ordinary neighborhood.

In that respect, The End of Oak Street feels like the manifestation of a childhood fear many of us carried after seeing Jurassic Park. I certainly wondered what would happen if dinosaurs suddenly appeared in my own neighborhood after watching that film in theaters in 1993. Mitchell taps into that anxiety effectively, transforming familiar suburban streets and houses into places of danger.

The film also struggles to settle on a consistent tone. Mitchell seems caught between making a dinosaur horror movie and a dark comedy, and the picture repeatedly oscillates between the two without fully committing to either. Both approaches could have worked, but the uncertainty occasionally makes it difficult to determine how certain scenes are meant to land. The tonal inconsistency never overwhelms the film’s entertainment value, though it remains noticeable throughout.

Where the film falls short is in its unwillingness to fully explore the more reflective themes it introduces. The ideas are there, but they remain largely beneath the surface. The film introduces the question of God’s existence without meaningfully exploring it. One character explicitly rejects belief, another appears similarly skeptical, one is Catholic, and two others at least express curiosity. That range of perspectives could have supported a genuinely compelling thematic thread. Instead, the subject feels shoehorned into the screenplay in a way that subtly privileges a faithless worldview—particularly because the two characters coded as the most intelligent are also the least believing. Given that several others believe or remain open to belief, the film had an opportunity for balance and nuance that it ultimately leaves unexplored.

Mitchell also does not give the characters enough to do beyond reacting to the immediate crisis. The cast performs capably with the material provided, but the performative dimension is ultimately just that: capable. The characters are sufficiently compelling to carry the action, though few develop enough to linger afterward. But Anne Hathaway being chased by and fighting off dinosaurs…yes please! She did great.

The dinosaurs generally look good, and the visual effects are more convincing than the computer-generated creatures in many recent movies. They do not approach the groundbreaking naturalism of Jurassic Park, but they are considerably stronger than much of the CGI produced in its wake.

I could have done without the feathers. While there are scientific theories supporting feathered dinosaurs—and we cannot know with absolute certainty how every species appeared—the designs are initially distracting. Filmmakers should often strive for naturalism rather than strict realism. A creature must first look as though it belongs within the visual world of the movie, regardless of whether every detail reflects the latest scientific interpretation.

As a recent creature-feature comparison, The End of Oak Street shares some DNA with Crawl, although Crawl remains the stronger and more dramatically developed film. Still, Mitchell’s movie has heart, momentum, and enough old-fashioned monster-movie energy to make it an enjoyable capstone to the summer season.

This is also one to see on the big screen rather than postponing until streaming. The story may be simple, but its scale, sound, and creature action benefit considerably from a theatrical presentation. The End of Oak Street may not fully capitalize on all its ideas, but it delivers an entertaining ride—and reminds us that sometimes the most frightening monsters are the ones waiting just beyond the front lawn.

Ryan is the morning host on WLRH Public Radio in Huntsville, AL and host of the show  ReelTalk  “where you can enjoy the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

SUPERGIRL (2026) superhero movie review

Sometimes the greatest superpower a movie can possess is embracing its genre.

Supergirl delivers the kind of summer movie you remember from when you were a kid. For years, superhero films have become increasingly preoccupied with expanding cinematic universes, subverting audience expectations, or convincing viewers they are watching something more sophisticated than a comic-book movie. Supergirl takes a refreshingly different approach. It embraces the genre without apology, tells a straightforward story populated by engaging characters, and remembers that summer blockbusters are supposed to be fun.

About: When an unexpected and ruthless adversary strikes too close to home, Supergirl (Milly Alcock) reluctantly joins forces with an unlikely companion (Eve Ridley) for an interstellar journey of vengeance and justice.

An encouraging trend has begun to emerge this summer. Rather than chasing prestige or attempting to deconstruct their own genres, films like Mortal Kombat II, Masters of the Universe, and Supergirl have embraced the fundamentals of classical storytelling. Their plots are straightforward, their characters are engaging, and their primary objective is to entertain. In a season that has also produced films weighed down by self-seriousness and underdeveloped ideas, these adventures stand as reminders that fun and craftsmanship are not opposing virtues—they are often companions.

Despite a handful of technical shortcomings—including editing that occasionally lacks refinement and several action sequences hampered by murky lighting—Supergirl captures the spirit of the summer movies many of us grew up with. It moves confidently from one adventure to the next, balancing action, humor, and heart with an efficiency that keeps its brisk runtime moving at a steady pace.

Its greatest strength lies in its characters.

Kara Zor-El is more than simply another superhero navigating impossible circumstances. Her emotional journey is mirrored by that of Ruthye, whose determination and resilience immediately reminded me of Arya Stark from Game of Thrones. Together, the two characters offer contrasting responses to grief and trauma.

Kara represents what can happen when loss is internalized—when sorrow quietly shapes one’s identity and worldview. Ruthye, by contrast, refuses to allow tragedy to dictate her future. Rather than denying her pain, she demonstrates that healing begins when we decide to master our trauma rather than allowing it to master us.

The relationship between these two characters provides the emotional foundation for the entire film. Then, there is Lobo.

Played with infectious enthusiasm by Jason Momoa, Lobo provides much of the movie’s comic relief while simultaneously embodying a completely different response to suffering. If Kara internalizes trauma and Ruthye overcomes it, Lobo simply laughs in its face. His chaotic, nihilistic worldview makes him feel like an intergalactic descendant of Meat Loaf’s Eddie from The Rocky Horror Picture Show—equal parts absurd, dangerous, and strangely lovable. Momoa clearly understands exactly what kind of movie he’s in, and his performance is all the better for it.

Visually, Supergirl offers one of the most imaginative alien landscapes seen in a mainstream science-fiction film in years. Not since Star Trek: The Next Generation—or perhaps the original Star Wars trilogy—have I seen such a delightful assortment of extraterrestrial species occupying the same cinematic space. The production wisely relies on a combination of practical costumes, prosthetic makeup, and computer-generated creatures. Ironically, the practical work often proves more convincing than the fully digital creations, lending the universe a tangible charm that many contemporary blockbusters lack.

Perhaps the film’s most surprising accomplishment, however, is its confidence in traditional storytelling.

Rather than endlessly chasing twists or deconstructing the superhero formula, Supergirl embraces classical screenwriting structure. Every major dramatic beat—from the inciting incident and catalyst through the midpoint, crisis, climax, and resolution—arrives naturally and purposefully. The result is a narrative that feels coherent, satisfying, and remarkably well-paced. In an era where many blockbuster films mistake unpredictability for sophistication, there is something refreshing about a movie that understands the enduring value of solid dramatic construction.

No, Supergirl is not reinventing the superhero movie, nor should it have done so.

Instead, it reminds audiences why they fell in love with comic-book adventures in the first place. It delivers colorful worlds, memorable characters, genuine humor, emotional sincerity, and enough spectacle to satisfy without ever losing sight of the people at the center of the story. Sadly, that combination is becoming increasingly rare these days.

Supergirl may not aspire to redefine the genre, but it succeeds at something arguably more difficult: reminding us just how enjoyable a well-told superhero story can be.

Ryan is the morning host on WLRH Public Radio in Huntsville, AL and host of the show  ReelTalk  “where you can enjoy the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

MORTAL KOMBAT II (2026) movie review

A fun, energetic way to kick off the summer movie season.

Mortal Kombat II understands something that many modern blockbuster adaptations still struggle to grasp: audiences do not necessarily want filmmakers to reinvent beloved source material—they want filmmakers to respect it while translating it effectively into cinematic language. And surprisingly enough, this sequel largely succeeds. It is not attempting profound philosophical commentary or emotional devastation. Nor should it. The film knows exactly what it is, embraces its absurdity with confidence, and delivers a thoughtful sequel that also functions as one of the more effective big-screen adaptations of a video game in recent memory.

Mortal Kombat II is about how Johnny Cage joins other fighters in the ultimate, no-holds-barred battle to defeat the dark rule of Shao Kahn, a powerful tyrant who threatens the very existence of the Earthrealm and its defenders.

At the end of the day, Mortal Kombat II is a popcorn movie—an unapologetically violent, nostalgic crowd-pleaser designed first and foremost to entertain. The characters remain recognizable to longtime fans while also possessing enough cinematic depth to sustain an actual narrative. That balancing act matters. Too often, video game movies reduce their characters to costumes and catchphrases. Here, however, the fighters feel like people rather than playable avatars waiting for controller input.

As someone who always gravitated toward Kitana in the games, it was particularly satisfying to see her positioned as an emotional and narrative centerpiece. She is not simply present for fan service or aesthetic appeal; she has agency, motivation, and an arc that helps drive the story forward. In fact, one of the film’s greatest strengths is that no character feels disposable. Nobody feels like an NPC wandering through the background waiting to deliver exposition before disappearing. Each fighter is given at least some measure of journey or development.

Visually, the movie also strikes an effective balance between homage and expansion. Many of the settings evoke the iconic backgrounds from the games—the gothic arenas, shadowy temples, and otherworldly battlegrounds longtime fans will immediately recognize. But the film never feels trapped within them. Instead, those environments are punctuated throughout a larger cinematic world that feels appropriately expansive.

Narratively, the story is a fairly classical variation of good versus evil, but there is enough thematic grounding to give the conflict weight. Beneath the martial arts spectacle and supernatural mythology lies a struggle between freedom and authoritarian control—between individuality and the oppressive force of conformity. It is not especially subtle, but subtlety is not really the point here.

The point is fun. And on that level, the movie absolutely works.

The fight choreography is energetic, the pacing rarely drags, and yes—the fatalities are brutal. But importantly, the violence never tips into unpleasantness. The film retains enough of its heightened video-game aesthetic that the gore feels stylized rather than exploitative. There is restraint within the excess. The movie understands the difference between brutality and ugliness.

Most importantly, Mortal Kombat II remembers that adaptation does not require embarrassment. It never apologizes for being based on a video game. Instead, it embraces the mythology, the characters, the iconography, and even the inherent silliness of the premise with complete sincerity. That sincerity goes a long way.

This is a fun, energetic way to kick off the summer movie season, and longtime fans—particularly those who grew up with the original games—will likely leave the theater with a smile on their face. And sometimes, that is enough.

Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media and host of the show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

THE BRIDE! (2026) movie review

There’s a good movie somewhere inside The Bride!—perhaps several.

There’s a good movie somewhere inside The Bride!—perhaps several. The irony is that the film itself feels as Frankensteined together as the titular creation at its center. Maggie Gyllenhaal’s ambitious reinterpretation of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and James Whale’s immortal Bride of Frankenstein (1935) clearly springs from a place of imaginative vision. The problem is not the ideas. The problem is that too many of them are stitched together without the narrative cohesion necessary to bring the creature fully to life. What emerges is a fascinating but uneven cinematic experiment: a film whose strongest parts often struggle against the whole.

In 1930s Chicago, groundbreaking scientist Dr. Euphronious (Annette Bening) brings a murdered young woman Ida (Jessie Buckley) back to life to be a companion for Frankenstein’s monster (Christian Bale). What happens next is beyond what either of them could ever have imagined.

There is little doubt that Gyllenhaal set out to craft an imaginative and thought-provoking reexamination of Frankenstein mythology. The ambition is evident in nearly every frame. Yet the screenplay and editing lack the discipline required to shape that ambition into something structurally coherent. In an ironic parallel to Frankenstein’s own creation, the film is assembled from intriguing narrative parts—each compelling in isolation—but collectively they never quite form a unified organism. Any one of those narrative threads might have served as a more stable foundation than the combination presented here.

It is possible that The Bride! may one day find a second life as a cult curiosity. Cinema history is filled with examples of films—The Rocky Horror Picture Show and even Showgirls—that were initially met with confusion before later audiences embraced their eccentricities. But both of those films possessed an essential ingredient that this one struggles to sustain: entertainment. Each of them understood its own satirical target and leaned confidently into the theatricality of its premise. The Bride! gestures toward satire but never fully commits to it. The result is a tonal tug-of-war between melodrama and camp. Had the film embraced the latter more confidently, the experience might have been far more exhilarating. Intentional camp signals to the audience that the filmmakers are in on the joke; here, the film often takes its own eccentricities too seriously.

Narratively, the film wanders. Yet the performative dimension proves far sturdier. Jessie Buckley and Christian Bale share a compelling chemistry that anchors the film whenever the plot threatens to drift. Annette Bening brings welcome gravitas to her doctor, while Penélope Cruz’s detective—though played with conviction—is underserved by a character that ultimately has too little to do. Indeed, the performances are what keep the audience invested when the narrative itself begins to lose its footing.

Visually, however, Gyllenhaal demonstrates undeniable directorial confidence. Her eye for composition yields moments of striking cinematic beauty. The cinematography and production design elegantly bridge old and new interpretations of the mad scientist mythos. Laboratories glow with stylized menace while the broader world of the film evokes both classical Hollywood romanticism and contemporary visual flair. Particularly during the musical interludes, lighting and camera movement become expressive tools rather than mere ornamentation.

One of the film’s most charming creative flourishes lies in its affectionate nods to classic romantic melodramas and golden-age song-and-dance spectacles. Busby Berkeley’s Footlight Parade, Gold Diggers of 1933, and other Warner Bros. musical traditions echo throughout the film, not merely as nostalgic references but as narrative devices that illuminate the emotional worlds of the characters. The moments when Frank (Bale), Ida (Buckley), and the camera operator drift into choreographed reverie feel as though they have stepped directly off a 1930s soundstage. In these sequences, the film’s imagination briefly achieves the synthesis the rest of the narrative seeks.

Yet structurally the film remains overburdened. Elements of Romeo and Juliet, Bonnie and Clyde, and The Bride of Frankenstein all compete for narrative dominance, while the shadow of Mary Shelley herself looms as an interpretive framework. Any one of these inspirations could have produced a compelling through-line with traces of the others woven in. Instead, the film attempts to juggle all of them simultaneously. The result is a narrative compass that spins without settling on a clear direction.

This imbalance points toward a broader issue increasingly visible in contemporary cinema: the challenge of the writer-director auteur. Gyllenhaal clearly possesses a strong visual sensibility and a director’s instinct for atmosphere and composition. But here the screenplay does not display the same level of discipline as the filmmaking. The modern industry often encourages directors to function simultaneously as writers and producers, yet history demonstrates that some of the greatest films emerge from collaboration rather than singular authorship. There are exceptional writer-directors—but they remain the exception rather than the rule. In this case, Gyllenhaal’s imaginative vision might have benefited enormously from the partnership of a dedicated screenwriter capable of translating those ideas into a tighter narrative structure.

None of this diminishes the ambition behind The Bride!. The film is imaginative, visually striking, and intermittently electrifying. It simply struggles to unify its many inspirations into a cohesive whole. With a stronger narrative foundation, Gyllenhaal’s directorial instincts might have produced something truly extraordinary.

Instead, we are left with a fascinating creature assembled from promising parts—alive, perhaps, but never quite fully formed. And like Frankenstein’s creation itself, the result inspires equal parts admiration and frustration.

Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media and host of the show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry