A full-season, spoiler-filled review of Silo Season 3, from Juliette’s lost memories and the Before Times conspiracy to Troy, Silo 1 and the limits of survival.

A random Plex suggestion took me from stolen ecstasy to three elderly witches, an ancient god and one of the most confusing horror-film endings I’ve seen. A spoiler-filled review of Jaume Balagueró’s Venus (2022).

Why do ruined worlds feel strangely familiar? From Station Eleven to The Last of Us, ordinary meals, music, art and relationships have become the heart of post-apocalyptic storytelling.

From Flordeluna and John en Marsha to Knight Rider, Airwolf and the extraordinary changes of 1986, remembering the television that shaped childhood evenings in Manila.

A personal, spoiler-filled Stranger Things Season 5 finale review: Will, Max, Vecna, Eleven's uncertain fate and the last Dungeons & Dragons game in Hawkins.

Vince Gilligan’s Pluribus turns happiness into a form of control. A personal look at Carol, Zosia, the Joined and the disturbing Season 1 finale.

I liked the first Fall, so I wondered why it needed a sequel. Then the filmmakers put two more climbers on a cliffside plank walkway and reminded me that I apparently enjoy being terrified of heights.

Spoilers for Troll (2022) and Troll 2 (2025). There is a peculiar pleasure in returning to a film you remember liking but no longer remember very well. The broad shapes remain — a mountain, a very large creature, Ine Marie Wilmann looking alarmed but determined — while the connective tissue has quietly vanished. That was roughly where I was with…

IT: Welcome to Derry finds its most unsettling horrors not only in Pennywise, but in the people who make the town possible. A spoiler-filled review of the Black Spot, Winter Fire and the Season 1 finale.

Na Hong-jin's Hope (2026) brings extraordinary cinematography, uneasy CGI aliens and a fascinating change of perspective — then stops just as the story gets interesting.

Paradise Season 2 breaks open its perfect bunker and follows the survivors left outside. An eight-episode review of Annie, Xavier, Teri, Sinatra, Link, Gary, Jane, Alex and the finale.

A Sequel I Had Apparently Prepared for by Forgetting the First Film A few minutes into Influencers, I had the mildly embarrassing feeling that the film knew more about my viewing history than I did. The beaches, the carefully manufactured smiles, Cassandra Naud’s CW and that unmistakable birthmark all felt familiar, but not familiar enough. Then the obvious finally arrived: this was not simply another social-media thriller with an annoyingly similar title.

Before Power Rangers, Philippine TV had Star Rangers: five numbered heroes, improbable monsters and an English dub that has nearly disappeared.

A personal deep dive into Voltes V: the five-machine combination, family tragedy, Boazanian revolution, the Marcos-era Philippine ban and the robot’s remarkable afterlife.

The theatrical artwork for Posthouse, built around the image of damaged film and a face literally obscured by the medium. I started Posthouse at about eight in the morning with a fresh cup of coffee beside me, which in retrospect may have been the wrong setting for a film built around dim rooms, old machinery and stretches of silence that seem determined to slow your pulse rather than spike it.

A 2002 pop-rock single that passed as bright, polished radio fare carried a much darker story about power, secrecy and the cost of not being heard.

I found Black Mirror before the Netflix move, when it still felt like a slightly illicit Channel 4 transmission. Looking back from the age of AI, subscription everything and algorithmic life, the series feels less prophetic than uncomfortably observant.

A six-episode sea-monster thriller with Josh Hartnett, an ancient squid, Newfoundland folklore and a resettlement conspiracy. An affectionate, spoiler-heavy review of Netflix's Below.

Jalmari Helander’s sequel puts Aatami Korpi back on the road with a dismantled house, a personal enemy and even less respect for physics. Somehow, beneath the explosions, the grief still lands.

Before on-demand viewing, Manila children had to be there when the cartoons aired. A personal look back at RPN-9’s Saturday Fun Machine, from Super Friends and Space Ghost to the slow disappearance of appointment television.

I finished the Ted Lasso Season 4 finale knowing perfectly well what the programme was doing to me. Four seasons in, I can see most of the machinery — the music, the pauses, the carefully placed emotional conversations — and somehow it still works.

The Zombie Film That Somehow Slipped Past Me As a huge zombie film fan, I am still not entirely sure how The Night Eats the World missed my radar. By 2018, I thought I had at least a working map of the modern zombie landscape. The obvious landmarks were all there: Romero, 28 Days Later, Dawn of the Dead…

From Deckard’s blaster and Ghostbusters proton packs to Starfleet comm badges, lightsabres and the Lament Configuration, some screen objects escape their stories and become desirable things in their own right.

There is something almost indecently efficient about the phrase “Spanish Civil War zombie movie”. It arrives already carrying its own poster, trailer and late-night viewing logic, which was more than enough to get me through the door. I did not expect Valley of the Dead — or Malnazidos, its better and nastier Spanish title — to reinvent the undead, but I liked the idea of moving them somewhere with actual historical weight: Spain in 1938, late in the Civil War, where Nationalist and Republican fighters already have perfectly good reasons to distrust one another before Nazi experimentation gives everybody a worse problem.

TLC’s CrazySexyCool, the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Blood Sugar Sex Magik, and the slightly battered red Pajero that turned two cassettes into the soundtrack of long drives to Los Baños with my younger sister Tin-Tin.

I knew the name, the bombs and the cabin, but very little about the actual Unabomber case. Netflix’s 2026 drama turned a random Friday-afternoon choice into a surprisingly watchable route into the history behind it.

I found There Are Monsters through a stray clip online and stayed for the oldest body-snatcher fear: the familiar face that suddenly looks wrong. Jay Dahl’s low-budget mock-documentary has some superbly uncanny images — and enough shaky camera work to make me argue with it all the way to the end.

Park Chan-wook’s No Other Choice turned a murderous job-market satire into something uncomfortably personal: a film about work, masculinity, usefulness and the fear of becoming unnecessary.

The B-52s built a pop language from surf guitar, thrift-store futurism, deadpan humour and dance-floor joy. A retrospective on Ricky Wilson, Cosmic Thing, Love Shack and the strange durability of staying weird.

There is a particular kind of television show that does not merely sit in memory as entertainment. It lodges itself somewhere more awkward. It becomes part of how you remember the years when you watched it. Person of Interest was one of those shows for me. I followed it semi-religiously during its original run, which is not something I say lightly.

The Police turned private anguish into a catalogue of sunspots, trapped animals and bruised symbols. Revisiting “King of Pain” now, I hear less melodrama than the careful craft of making sadness legible.

A former ballet prodigy, a red transforming motorcycle and a near-future police state should not fit together as neatly as they do. Revisiting Madhouse's 2009 Rideback, I look at Rin Ogata, Fuego, the series' remarkable sense of movement, its uneasy political turn and why this odd little fusion of dance, mecha and technology still holds up.

Frank Darabont’s The Mist is remembered for its monsters, but its real horror lies in what fear, certainty and a few lost minutes do to ordinary people.

A personal deep dive into The Smashing Pumpkins’ “1979”: the double-album ritual, Billy Corgan’s rainy Chicago memory, the song’s last-minute recording, and why its picture of youth still feels more like memory than nostalgia.

Nearly twenty-five years after Smallville first put Clark Kent in flannel instead of a cape, I went back to the beginning — and found a show whose old technology, long seasons and earnest moral machinery look very different now that the future has caught up with it.

A personal revisit of Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles”: the piano hook, the moving-piano video, its White Chicks afterlife, and the strange burden of being remembered for one enormous song.

Six films in, Insidious still knows exactly which dark corner I am going to look at. Out of the Further expands the rules with Gemma, a Courier who can bring the dead back with her.

I came to The Smiths slowly, from Manila rather than Manchester. Decades later, the records still open up — even as Morrissey, memory, politics and the machinery around the band make the listening more complicated.

A return to Highschool of the Dead: the sharp zombie-survival momentum, the ensemble that still works, the fan service that often does not, and the unfinished road that keeps the series oddly alive.

DreamWorks’ Filipino fantasy is loud, neon, funny and occasionally overstuffed, but beneath the manananggal, cassette-era pop and anime detours is something quieter: the fear that growing up means misplacing the people who made us who we are.

Spoilers for all eight episodes of The Boroughs Season 1. Netflix’s retirement-community mystery begins with the promise of more time, then spends eight episodes asking what that promise is worth, who pays for it, and why the biggest answer in the room is still being kept for later. The promise of more time There is a particular kind of retirement-community fantasy that American film and television enjoys: clean pavements, polite golf carts, pastel houses, everyone somehow financially organised enough to spend their later years near a pool.

Put on Dave Matthews Band’s “#41” and it does not so much begin as gather itself. The guitar starts circling, the rhythm section settles into a pulse that seems loose until you notice how precisely it is being held together, and Dave Matthews enters sounding less like he is delivering a statement than trying to work one out while the song is already moving beneath him.

Whistle has a compelling curse, a strange artefact and two performances worth following. I wanted its history and characters to carry as much weight as its scares.

The Police turned a suburban breakfast, a humiliating workday and a monster rising from Loch Ness into one of 1983’s most tightly wound rock songs. Revisiting “Synchronicity II” through middle age, Jungian coincidence, visual design and the sound of a band close to breaking point.

Revisiting Viral (2016) after the pandemic years: a modest parasite-horror film whose quarantine, family separation and infected-sister dilemma now land rather differently.

Tori Amos’ “Sleeps With Butterflies” once sounded almost too gentle to me. Revisiting it now, I hear a sharper idea underneath the prettiness: loving someone without turning love into possession.

I came to Obsession for the hype and stayed for Inde Navarrette’s performance. Curry Barker turns a novelty-store wish into an unsettling story about desire, consent and what survives afterwards.

There is a peculiar kind of song that does not arrive at the moment of crisis but afterwards, when the shouting has stopped and you are left with the less cinematic work of understanding what happened. Alanis Morissette’s “Thank U” has always sounded like that to me: not a victory lap after Jagged Little Pill, and not a retreat from its anger, but the sound of somebody discovering that even a justified scream cannot be a permanent address.

Ready or Not 2: Here I Come goes bigger, bloodier and messier than the 2019 original, but Samara Weaving and Kathryn Newton give its expanding mythology a surprisingly human centre.

Nile Rodgers found the hit inside “The Reflex”. Four decades on, Duran Duran’s strangest No. 1 still works because the gloss never buried the groove.