👊 Writer specializing in action and hard-hitting thrillers. His prose goes straight to the jugular, without academic flourishes or intellectual mercy.
"Adrenaline is the only plot that interests me."
Jitters exposes the seams of British independent cinema with a lack of resources that becomes its sole aesthetic truth.
Ryu, Ken, Chun-Li and a green Jason Momoa in an adaptation that adores the video game and can't tell a story. Worth watching? No: 4.8/10. Game over.
Brad Pitt and a war dog named Odin against Alaska, bears and wolves: a tough, effective survival film. Worth watching? Yes, with reservations: 7.2/10.
A sequel that smells rotten from the very first frame. Garland and DaCosta try to revive the genre, but the result is a technical knockout dressed up as a masterpiece.
A mutant parasite hijacks four misfortunates in a roadside gas station. 82 minutes of cheap but pulsating creature feature. It's not The Thing, but it hits hard.
De Niro as a textbook psychopath, Scorsese at his dirtiest, and a script that leaves you gasping for air. Psychological terror in its rawest form.
A devastating takedown of the film *Old Hag*—a cinematic exorcism that leaves you gasping for air and questioning your life choices.
Roman Polanski delivers a technical knockout to film noir: flawless script, Nicholson in a state of grace, and an ending that stings worse than a liver shot. Masterpiece or dirty fight?
Paul Thomas Anderson gifts us a nostalgic trip to '73 that reeks of gasoline, teenage sweat, and missed opportunities. A masterpiece or just a self-indulgent wank?
Louis Leterrier delivers a claustrophobic thriller with more holes than a Swiss cheese factory. Greta Lee shines, but the script drowns in its own flop sweat. A masterpiece? Not even close.
A scathing look at Ryan Coogler’s latest cinematic gut-punch
The Indonesian horror flick that’ll leave you gasping for air—or praying for a quick death
Brandon Cronenberg delivers a corporate body horror that bites harder than Dad. Andrea Riseborough is a hurricane of flesh and silicone. 8.0/10.
Damian McCarthy delivers an Irish horror flick with more style than scares. Carolyn Bracken shines, but the script trips over its own wooden dummy. Cult classic or mere oddity?
Genki Kawamura adapts *The Exit 8* video game with more loops than a politician’s campaign promises. Will it escape the purgatory of J-horror, or is it doomed to linger in its own terminal?
One night, one comet, and reality goes down the cosmic toilet.
Srđan Spasojević serves up a depravity feast swinging between gratuitous shock and social commentary. Genius or pretentious trash? Claqueta Ácida dissects it with surgical precision.
David Cronenberg turns a traffic accident into a carnival of flesh, metal, and perversion. Art or autopsy? Here’s the acidic verdict.
Paco Campano serves us a cocktail of cheap psychedelia and rusted robotics in 'Quantum Rave.' Art or cosmic vomit? Claqueta Ácida decides with boxing gloves on.
A Japanese supernatural drama that reeks of cheap incense and telenovela tears. A masterpiece of intimate terror or a kimono-clad exercise in self-indulgence?
Dario Argento turns horror into a psychedelic light show drenched in gore. Claqueta Ácida dissects his masterpiece: *art or a technicolor nightmare?*
Eli Roth turns Slovakia into a backpacker slaughterhouse with this festive gore-fest that reeks of blood, sweat, and adolescent testosterone. Art? No. Fun? Plenty.
Rodrigo Cortés delivers a prison thriller that reeks of mothballs and a screenwriting workshop script. Mario Casas shines, but not even he can save this self-help pamphlet with handcuffs.
A scathing, no-holds-barred evisceration of *Crematorio*—the Spanish series that didn’t just show you the sewers of power, but handed you a shovel and dared you to dig deeper.
An acidic review of the environmental and commercial controversy surrounding James Cameron's ode to Pandora.
Spielberg peddles yet another alien invasion—this time with carnival-grade effects and dialogue straight out of a self-help manual. The truth stings worse than those bargain-bin UFOs.
A scathing yet oddly affectionate roast of *Nebraska*, Alexander Payne’s black-and-white ode to delusional dreams and Midwestern despair.
A devastating takedown of *Raging Bull*. What’s in store for you?
Dive into Claqueta Ácida’s scathing review of *Weapons*—where ambition backfires, style overshadows substance, and Zach Cregger takes a shot at greatness… and grazes his own foot.
A scorching review of *Bosch*, the series that leaves you craving more—because, against all odds, it actually delivers.
A review of Jon Favreau’s *Star Wars* film—a feature-length production that feels like a stretched-out TV episode, solely designed to rescue Disney’s merchandising division.
A fiery industry controversy over the use of music in films without the artists' permission—because nothing says "art" like corporate looting in a tuxedo.
Steven R. Monroe helmed this controversial and savage remake of the 1978 exploitation classic—a raw tale of humiliation, survival, and unflinching vengeance that pulls no punches.
A review of Ridley Scott’s long-awaited sequel—a colossal spectacle that dazzles in its naval battles but lacks the dramatic nobility and mystique of the original classic.
*Hamnet* review. Maggie O’Farrell’s novel adaptation crowns itself as a devastating work of art, with a masterful Jessie Buckley at its core.
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