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A quiet Midwest suburb in 1982 gets cut out of the world and dropped into dinosaur times. That pitch should print money. Instead, we spend this conversation picking apart why a great high concept can still collapse when the movie refuses to build clear geography, believable survival behavior, or any meaningful setup and payoff. We keep it spoiler-heavy, because the details are the whole point: the “two-mile perimeter,” the random wandering, the missing sense of destination, and the way tension keeps getting teed up and then ignored. 

We also get into what we think genre stories owe the audience. If your premise is time travel and prehistoric monsters, we can absolutely suspend disbelief about air quality or dinosaur biology. What we can’t forgive is a story that breaks its own internal logic, shrugs at the consequences, and then asks for an emotional landing anyway. That takes us straight into the ending: the payphone, the pizza call, the timeline implications, and why it turns the final act into a moral mess the film never addresses. 

Along the way we nerd out on craft and tone: the attempt at an authentic 1982 vibe, the film grain slapped on in post, and a very heated rant about split diopter shots used like a film school party trick. We shout out the moments that do work, too, especially some striking dinosaur-in-the-neighborhood imagery and one genuinely heroic beat that belongs to the dog. 

If you enjoy movie reviews, horror and sci-fi criticism, screenwriting talk, and the difference between “implausible” and “badly written,” hit play. Subscribe, share the episode with a friend who loves creature features, and leave us a review with the one change you’d make to fix this movie.

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Tony: @tonydczech

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A castle in the Carpathians. Edgar Allan Poe name-drops. Secret doors, earthquakes, torture devices, and a title that promises haunted hills. So why does Elvira’s Haunted Hills feel like it forgot to include a story, or even a consistent joke? We put on our bad movie review hats and hate-watch our way through the 2002 horror comedy, calling out the dead-air pacing, bits that vanish for an hour, and scenes that play like everyone is waiting for their turn instead of actually playing together.

Along the way, we untangle a big misunderstanding: what Elvira is supposed to be. We talk about her roots as a classic TV horror host (think Svengoolie energy), why that persona can work on late-night television, and why it’s harder to stretch into a feature film without clear character motivation. If you like screenwriting and improv craft, we get nerdy about the core rule that makes comedy land: either the character is absurd in a grounded world, or the world has one clear broken premise. When everything is equally “wacky,” nothing has contrast, stakes, or payoff.

We also compare the movie’s approach to parody touchstones like Pee-wee’s Big Adventure, Austin Powers, and even the shadow of Young Frankenstein, then we wrap with what we’re watching for real: Josh Hartnett’s Netflix series Below and Mike Flanagan’s Carrie. Subscribe, share the show with a fellow Halloween-movie addict, and leave a review. What’s your favorite “vibes only” October movie that completely forgets to be scary?

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Dan: @shakybacon
Tony: @tonydczech

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One tiny detail can reveal everything that is broken about a movie, and for us it is this: the film cannot decide whether it lives in “Raccoon City” or the “City of Raccoon.” From there, we hit the gas and speed run Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City (2021), the franchise reboot that aims for faithful video game adaptation and lands in a weird limbo where the references are loud but the storytelling is missing.

We walk through the orphanage setup, Claire’s return, the hitchhiking chaos, the zombie dog nod, and the sudden “everyone is a cop” police station reveal, all while asking the same question: what is the movie trying to make us feel right now? We break down why the pacing never locks in, why the geography and timeline feel slippery, and how the edit keeps skipping the hard part of horror and action which is making the stakes legible. We also talk cast, character work, and why a handful of jump scares and attractive leads cannot replace structure, motivation, and payoff.

Along the way we take a quick detour into a very modern horror story: AI tools that confidently feed you wrong information, and how that same lack of trust shows up when a movie refuses to play by consistent rules. We close with what we are watching this week and tease next week’s Halloween pick, Elvira’s Haunted Hills, for a much-needed shift into horror comedy.

Subscribe for more movie breakdowns, share the episode with a friend who loves Resident Evil, and leave a review with your hottest take: what is the most unforgivable sin in a video game movie adaptation?

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M3GAN 2.0 should be an easy win: take a killer doll with attitude, push the horror, sharpen the satire, and give us a few scenes that people quote for years. Instead, we walk straight into a sequel that feels like it’s chasing a totally different movie, swapping dread for generic action beats and then forgetting to make those action beats exciting. We’re Dan and Tony, and we spend this one doing what the film refuses to do: actually look at what makes M3GAN fun, what makes a sequel work, and why “bigger” so often means “blander.”

We break down the plot that sprints from Iran to secret labs to billionaire parties, somehow involving nerve gas, an AI built around a motherboard that’s been “cooking” since 1984, and a second robot who’s basically “I’m a murder robot” with no flavor. We talk through the missing set pieces, the off-screen fights, the character whiplash, and the way the movie tries to wink at genre tropes without understanding them. And yes, we finally spotlight the single line that made us laugh, plus the running weirdness of Steven Seagal references and the “Jim muscles” joke that almost works.

Then we widen the lens to the episode’s bigger rabbit holes: what AI regulation could actually mean, why always-listening pocket devices feel dystopian, and which horror subgenre still gets under our skin. We also share what we’ve been enjoying lately, including a surprisingly tense new Resident Evil from Zach Cregger, plus Dan’s descent into a brutal Willy Wonka reality competition show. Stick around to hear our next watch pick: Resident Evil: Welcome To Raccoon City (2021).

Subscribe for more movie hate-watching, share the episode with a friend who loves bad sequels, and leave a review with your hottest take: what’s the most disappointing genre switch a franchise has pulled?

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Tony: @tonydczech

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A Top Gun homage is a dangerous game, and Mayday plays it on hard mode. We walk through Apple TV’s action comedy and try to figure out why it feels so watchable in the moment, yet so hard to love after the credits roll. The big issue is commitment: the movie wants 1987 Cold War stakes and modern punchline rhythm at the same time, and that split shows up everywhere from the dialogue to the action to the music choices. 

We get specific about casting and character. Kenneth Branagh feels like he belongs in the world, while Ryan Reynolds reads as a present-day superstar visiting the past, which makes the period vibe wobble. We also talk about what makes classic 80s action work: consequences, grit, and characters who actually suffer when they get hurt. When injuries turn into quick jokes and the plot keeps telegraphing its next move, the tension never has room to build. 

There are bright spots. The closet satellite phone sequence is genuinely funny and shows what the movie could have been if it kept that level of escalation and playfulness throughout. We also shout out moments where the visuals click, debate the final escape and asylum standoff, and then pivot to what we liked this week, including Parking Lot: The Movie and Chad Powers season two. Next up, we pick our next watch: Megan 2.0. 

Subscribe, share the show with a movie-loving friend, and leave a review if our nitpicks make your watchlist more fun. What would you fix first: the casting, the tone, or the stakes?

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A movie titled Disclosure Day practically dares you to imagine the one thing every alien story promises but rarely commits to: the moment the truth drops and the world has to live with it. We sit down as Dan and Tony to unpack why the trailer sells a sharp, high-stakes alien disclosure thriller, while the film itself drifts into vague vibes, strange plot mechanics, and a final message that boils down to one word: “listen.” If you’ve been searching for a Disclosure Day review, or you’re trying to make sense of what the movie is actually “about,” we try to do the hard work the screenplay skips.

We dig into the big ideas the movie reaches for: empathy versus manipulation, faith and religion in the face of proof, and whether aliens would change anything about what people already believe. We also get specific about the craft problems: characters who barely react to mind reading, a magical stick MacGuffin with no consistent rules, and action beats that feel written for a world without GPS, license plate readers, or omnipresent cameras. Along the way, we argue about the film’s nostalgia for trusted broadcast news, and why “just put it on TV” lands differently in a disinformation era.

By the end, we’re left with the same question the movie accidentally raises: if disclosure really happened, would people care, panic, deny it, meme it, or simply keep scrolling? Hit play, then tell us what you think the ending means, and if our “better movie” outline makes more sense. If you like what we do, subscribe, share the show with a friend, and leave a review so more bad-movie curious listeners can find us.

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Dan: @shakybacon
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Supergirl left us with a weird feeling we couldn’t shake: not anger in the fun way, not confusion in the mystery way, just a movie that keeps reaching for big themes without doing the work to make them land. So we go scene by scene and ask the questions the film seems allergic to answering. Who is Kara when the story starts, what does she actually want, and what choice forces her to change? When those pieces are missing, every “important” moment feels like it’s happening in a vacuum.

We dig into the craft too: the drab look, the muddy staging, and action scenes that hide impact instead of delivering it. We also talk needle drops and why a great song can feel offensive when it’s dropped into a scene that hasn’t earned the emotion. Along the way, we shout out the clearest bright spot: David Corenswet’s charisma, plus a candid take on why Jason Momoa’s Lobo feels like pure flavor with no narrative purpose.

Then we get philosophical. The episode turns into a debate about the trolley problem version of superhero morality, the “don’t become a killer” trope, and why vengeance sometimes gets framed as wisdom-free when stories refuse to grapple with trauma honestly. If you’re looking for a spoiler-heavy Supergirl review, a broader James Gunn DC Universe temperature check, and a conversation about what makes superhero storytelling actually work, hit play. Subscribe, share with a friend who loves arguing about comics movies, and leave a review with your hottest take on Kara’s ending decision.

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Dan: @shakybacon
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Tony says it first and he never lets it go: Under the Silver Lake is the most frustrating movie he has ever been forced to sit through. That reaction kicks off a surprisingly deep argument between us about what a movie owes its audience, and what “subversive” even means when the story seems determined to dodge emotion, consequences, and clarity.

We walk through the film’s conspiracy thriller setup in Los Angeles and the endless trail of codes, symbols, and “solve me” breadcrumbs. Dan loves the mood and the idea that the hunt itself is the point, a mirror for how we chase meaning in pop culture, music, and celebrity myth. Tony thinks that approach is a cheat: if the movie mocks the audience for looking for answers while still stuffing the frame with clues, it becomes the exact kind of smug Hollywood puzzle it pretends to critique.

Then we get into the harder stuff: the male gaze, misogyny, and why satire fails when the film never draws a line or shows a real counterpoint. We also debate craft at the nuts-and-bolts level, from stakes and pacing to why a great score can’t save a story that refuses to care about its own setup. By the end, we are not just reviewing a neo-noir mystery, we are arguing about modern filmmaking, audience trust, and what “a real movie” feels like.

If you enjoy movie podcasts, hate watch debates, and brutally honest film criticism, hit subscribe, share the episode with a friend who loves puzzle movies, and leave a review. Are you with Dan on the vibe, or with Tony on the fundamentals?

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To prepare for our next episode of Under the Silver Lake, we go back and revisit our discussion on It Follows. Still trash by the way....

A monster that follows you forever is a killer premise. The problem is when the movie can’t decide what its own rules are. We spend this whole chat arguing about *It Follows* like two people trapped in a car with the doors open, because once we start pulling on the thread, everything from the lighting to the pacing to the “timeless” props becomes part of the case for the prosecution and the defense.

We walk through the story beat by beat: the opening beach nightmare, Jay’s curse, the explanation scene, the cabin attempts, and the pool finale that tries to turn a supernatural threat into an electrical engineering project. Along the way we dig into horror movie logic, internal consistency, and why “always coming for you” stops being scary if the entity pauses to pose for cool shots. We also talk about how the film echoes classic slashers like *Halloween*, and why borrowing a vibe is not the same as earning tension.

Then we hit the bigger question people love to debate: is *It Follows* an STD allegory, and if so, what is it actually asking you to do? If the only way to buy time is to pass it on, the story flirts with a moral problem it rarely confronts directly, and that’s where we get stuck arguing. After the hate-watch, we cool down with what we’re enjoying this week, including *The Sinner* and the game *Marvel Snap*, plus a quick rant detour into *Halloween Ends*. If you’re into horror film analysis, funny movie reviews, and unfiltered takes, subscribe, share the episode, and leave a review. What rule in a horror movie matters most to you?

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A movie about endless yellow hallways should be pure nightmare fuel, so why did Backrooms leave us split between genuine admiration and total disbelief? We go scene by scene on what works, what collapses, and why the film’s biggest swing the “evil pirate” third act lands as either bold and terrifying or just plain silly, depending on what you want from horror.

We dig into the Backrooms lore problem: if the creator has a long web series and deep worldbuilding, how much should the movie explain for newcomers? We argue about rules versus answers, why audiences confuse the two, and how sound design, production design, and found footage choices can build real tension even when the story refuses to hand you clean explanations. We also get into the monster reveal debate and the question of whether modern “elevated horror” keeps getting labeled horror without delivering actual scares.

Then we go after the character layer. Clark reads like an anti-manosphere cautionary tale: entitled, self-deluded, and stuck performing change without wanting it. We talk through the therapist storyline, the mental health subtext, the off-screen “descent” we wanted to watch, and the alternative version of this film we think would turn the Backrooms into the main event instead of a backdrop.

If you love liminal space horror, internet-born mythology, and messy movie arguments where neither side backs down, hit play. Subscribe, share this with a friend who has strong horror opinions, and leave a review with your verdict: did Backrooms stick the landing or lose you on the monster?

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Be our friend!

Dan: @shakybacon
Tony: @tonydczech

And follow the podcast on IG: @hatewatchingDAT