Let’s be real: when you hear the name Nosferatu, you expect a certain level of eerie, gothic horror. You expect shadowy alleyways, haunting silence, and the slow, dreadful realization that something ancient and evil is creeping toward you. What you don’t expect is a bloated, overly self-serious art piece that stretches itself so thin you can practically see through it.

And yet, here we are.

Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu is what happens when a filmmaker is so focused on making a “serious” horror masterpiece that they forget to actually make it scary. Or engaging. Or, in some cases, even coherent. Sure, the film hits a few of the familiar beats of Dracula—because at the end of the day, that’s all Nosferatu really is, a bootleg Dracula with the serial numbers filed off—but it stretches itself over such a plodding runtime that it loses any real impact.

The result? A film that thinks it’s profound, but is actually just pretentious.

Let’s start with the title character himself: Count Orlok. Played by Bill Skarsgård, who has proven himself more than capable of being a terrifying horror villain (IT, Barbarian), Orlok in this version isn’t so much terrifying as he is just… weird.

First of all, that damn moustache. Who in the production department thought Nosferatu, one of the most unsettling vampire designs in cinematic history, should have facial hair? This isn’t The Grand Budapest Hotel, and Orlok isn’t some quirky Wes Anderson side character—he’s supposed to be an unholy thing, not the guy running the front desk at an Eastern European hotel in 1912. It’s genuinely baffling, because every time Orlok is on screen, instead of feeling dread, all you can think is, Why does he look like an evil landlord?

Aside from his questionable grooming choices, Orlok just isn’t that scary. He’s certainly grotesque, and Skarsgård does his best to channel something monstrous, but his version of the character often just comes off as a guy standing ominously in doorways. It’s less otherworldly terror and more your socially awkward coworker who doesn’t blink enough.

Then there’s Lily-Rose Depp as Ellen (the film’s stand-in for Mina Harker). Look, Depp is clearly trying here. She’s throwing herself into this role with everything she’s got, but the way the film frames her makes her come across less as a tragic gothic heroine and more like a freak (and not in the fun, Tim Burton way).

The movie can’t seem to decide whether she’s supposed to be innocent, tormented, possessed, or just plain unwell. Sometimes, she’s staring blankly into space like she’s in a perfume ad. Other times, she’s writhing in ways that suggest she might be in a different kind of horror film. If her performance seems confused, it’s because the script does her no favors. A stronger script might have given her more to work with, but as it stands, she spends most of the movie alternating between looking bewildered and looking like she’s trying to seduce Orlok for some reason.

And speaking of terrible character decisions…

Can we, as a society, please stop butchering Mina’s role in Dracula adaptations? Please?

Once again, we get a version of Dracula (Nosferatu, same thing) where Mina—sorry, Ellen—doesn’t get to be the intelligent, determined woman who outwits the vampire. No, no, that would be too much effort. Instead, the writers decide the best way to “empower” her character is to make her sacrifice herself to stop Orlok.

Why? Because horror movies still can’t grasp the idea that women in gothic horror stories don’t always have to die for the sake of emotional weight. The original Nosferatu did this too, so it’s not like this is new, but it’s still bullshit. It was bullshit in 1922, and it’s even more bullshit now.

The worst part? The way the movie frames her death as this grand, tragic moment, as if it’s some kind of profound statement. It’s not. It’s just lazy writing disguised as gothic storytelling.

Willem Dafoe, bless his unhinged little heart, seems to be the only person in this movie who realizes what kind of film he’s in. While the rest of the cast is drowning in self-seriousness, Dafoe is over here treating every line like he’s in a campy stage play, and honestly? It’s the best part of the movie.

Dafoe is always at his best when he’s allowed to lean into the absurd, and here, he takes that opportunity and runs with it. Every moment he’s on screen, you can feel the energy shift—suddenly, the film has life, because he refuses to let it wallow in its own misery. The downside? Every scene without Dafoe feels twice as slow by comparison.

Now, let’s talk about the changes this film makes to the classic Nosferatu/Dracula structure. Some of them could have been interesting, but instead, they feel completely arbitrary.

• Jonathan Harker (or Hutter, or whatever they want to call him in this version) is barely relevant. He exists, sure, but you could remove him entirely, and nothing about the story would change. He’s that pointless.

• Orlok’s motivations are vague at best. Why is he doing what he’s doing? What does he actually want? Unclear. He just sort of exists to be creepy and torment Ellen.

• The pacing is horrendous. The movie stretches itself out like it’s some slow-burn masterpiece, but it never earns that level of indulgence. Every scene lingers too long, every conversation takes twice as long as it should, and by the time anything interesting happens, you’re already mentally checked out.

At the end of the day, Nosferatu (2024) is a film that tries way too hard to be an artistic masterpiece but forgets that Nosferatu is, first and foremost, supposed to be scary. The horror is watered down, the pacing is sluggish, and the performances are a mixed bag of trying too hard and not trying hard enough.

Yes, there are some solid gothic visuals. Yes, Willem Dafoe is fun. But those things don’t make up for a film that’s so self-indulgent that it forgets to be entertaining.

And that damn moustache. I will never forgive them for that damn moustache.

Moana 2 takes us back to the breathtaking world of Oceania, but unfortunately, this follow-up feels more like a haphazard detour than a grand voyage. Directed by David G. Derrick Jr., Jason Hand, and Dana Ledoux Miller, the movie brings back the adventurous spirit of Moana, now paired with Maui and a cast of painfully irritating side characters. What should have been an epic cinematic journey instead feels like a collection of B-roll footage from a TV pilot that somehow wound up on the big screen.

First, the good: Auliʻi Cravalho continues to shine as Moana. Her voice acting is heartfelt, her singing is gorgeous, and it’s clear her talents have only grown since the original film. Every scene she’s in has a flicker of the magic that made Moana a classic. Unfortunately, she’s the only real anchor here, because nearly everything else about the movie feels like it’s struggling to stay afloat.

Dwayne Johnson’s Maui, who stole scenes in the first movie with his charm and bravado, is barely trying this time around. Johnson’s performance feels phoned in, as though he recorded his lines while scrolling Instagram. His much-anticipated new song, “Can I Get a Chee Hoo?”, is a cringe-inducing disaster that may go down as one of the worst Disney songs of all time. Imagine You’re Welcome stripped of its wit, catchiness, and joy, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of why this number should have been left on the cutting room floor.

Then we have the new crew. Oh boy. First up, Moni, who spends the entire movie fangirling over Maui to the point of exhaustion. His over-the-top adoration, which might have been cute in moderation, quickly becomes unbearable. Loto, another newcomer, is somehow even worse—her contribution to one of the film’s songs is completely illegible, a garbled mess that makes you wonder if the sound editors just gave up.

But the most baffling addition is Matangi, a bat-woman character who is, frankly, a walking question mark. She shows up as if she’s about to be the main antagonist, only to do a complete 180 when Moana walks into her life. Why? Who is she? What is she doing there? The movie gives us zero answers, leaving her as an incoherent jumble of motives and cryptic dialogue. Her presence feels like a placeholder for a villain who never got written into the script.

Speaking of villains, we don’t even meet the true antagonist until the post-credits scene. Yes, you read that right—the big bad is completely absent from the main film, which leaves the story feeling rudderless. Instead of building tension or stakes, Moana 2 drifts aimlessly through pretty set pieces and half-baked conflicts that never quite come together.

The rushed pacing only makes things worse. It’s obvious this wasn’t meant to be a standalone movie. The plot feels like it was ripped from a storyboard for a TV series, with loose threads and underdeveloped arcs everywhere you look. Every time the movie hints at something deeper, it cuts to the next scene without resolving anything, leaving you with the sinking feeling that you’ve missed an episode.

Even the music, which was a highlight of the original film, is a letdown here. Without Lin-Manuel Miranda’s touch, the songs lack the spark and emotional resonance that made Moana’s soundtrack unforgettable. Most of the numbers are bland and forgettable, and the absolute low point is Maui’s aforementioned “Chee Hoo”. It’s so bad you’ll be tempted to walk out of the room—or at least hit mute.

All in all, Moana 2 is an underwhelming sequel that struggles to justify its existence. While Auliʻi Cravalho’s performance and the occasional gorgeous animation remind us of what could have been, the weak story, insufferable side characters, and uninspired music drag the whole thing down. This was clearly meant to be a TV series, and as a movie, it feels out of place, incomplete, and just plain disappointing.

Verdict: Watch it once if you’re a die-hard Moana fan, but don’t expect to set sail on an adventure you’ll want to revisit.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is a ghoulishly entertaining sequel that takes us back to the kooky world of Winter River, and, well… it’s exactly what you’d expect. It’s fun in the moment, full of quirky visuals, and Michael Keaton is clearly having the time of his undead life, but beneath the surface, there’s not much that’s new. The movie leans heavily on nostalgia with a few fresh gags, but in the end, it’s a ghostly echo of the original.

Michael Keaton, as the iconic “bio-exorcist,” steals every scene with his signature chaotic energy. He’s a whirlwind of charisma, cracking wise and pulling faces as only he can. If you came for Beetlejuice himself, Keaton delivers and then some. The man is clearly having a blast, and his enthusiasm is infectious. It’s like he’s been waiting decades to let the ghost loose, and he goes full-throttle from start to finish.

Then we have Winona Ryder as Lydia, now a mom and low-key goth grandma. Ryder leans into her old lady voice, giving us shades of her softer, quieter performance from Edward Scissorhands. For some reason, though, her dialogue is often so quiet it’s like she’s ghost-whispering half the time. But Ryder brings a kind of gentle nostalgia to the role, even if she occasionally feels like she’s only half-there in a scene.

And then there’s the new addition: Jenna Ortega as Astrid, Lydia’s teenage daughter. Astrid, to put it bluntly, is the film’s designated “plot instigator.” Her character blunders through every obvious trap, earning her the unofficial award for “2024’s Dumbest Kid in a Movie.” She’s the one who accidentally opens the portal to the Afterlife, kicking off the whole plot, and while it’s clear the movie needed a trigger for chaos, Astrid’s decision-making is… let’s just say, questionable. Ortega’s performance doesn’t help either, as her delivery is flatter than a spirit in a séance. Whether that’s due to direction or a deliberate “teenage ennui” vibe, it’s hard to say, but her character feels more like a plot device than a fully formed person, which is a shame.

On the technical side, the film does a decent job with its visuals and set design. There’s a touch of the original’s whimsical horror, with quirky practical effects and a few memorable set pieces that nod to Tim Burton’s trademark style. And while there are plenty of callbacks and a bit of recycled material, it’s not so excessive that it becomes grating. However, the CGI and some of the effects can feel a bit lackluster, not quite reaching the eerie charm of the original’s practical effects.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice delivers a few laughs and plenty of nostalgia, but it’s more of a one-time romp than a classic rewatch. It’s fun in a popcorn-movie sort of way, with a few memorable moments, and if you’re a fan of Keaton’s Beetlejuice, it’s worth checking out. But when the dust settles, it’s ultimately just alright, an enjoyable but fleeting experience. It’s good for some laughs, but if you’re hoping for a fresh take or a truly haunting sequel, you might find yourself feeling like the movie missed the mark.