In this episode of The Never Seen It Podcast, we dive headfirst into Paul Thomas Anderson’s “One Battle After Another,” one of the most talked-about films of the 2025–2026 awards season. With a stacked cast including Leonardo DiCaprio, Sean Penn, Teyana Taylor, Chase Infinity, Regina Hall, Wood Harris, Tony Goldwyn, and Benicio Del Toro, this film has quickly become a lightning rod for controversy, praise, and heated debate.

We start with a spoiler-light overview of the premise:
After their extremist nemesis resurfaces 16 years later, a group of former revolutionaries reunite to rescue the daughter of one of their own—only to realize that the past is far from buried.

From there, we ask the big question:
Can “One Battle After Another” actually win Best Picture?

With ten films competing—including Sinners, Hamnet, Marty Supreme, Train Dreams, and Begonia—we debate whether the Academy is spreading the love too thin, or quietly signaling which film will be the “safe” winner.

We spend a lot of time on the explosive opening act set in an internment camp, where we meet Leo and Teyana Taylor as revolutionaries fighting against a militarized white supremacist faction led by Sean Penn’s chilling “Lockjaw.”
Some of us call it a screenwriting masterclass—a bold, in-media-res plunge into character, motivation, and chaos. Others feel it’s intentionally rushed, designed to shock us into the story rather than let us live in it.

We wrestle with the idea that this film arrived at the exact wrong—or right—moment. The movie’s themes of extremism, surveillance, rebellion, and generational trauma feel ripped straight from today’s headlines.
Is it art imitating life… or life imitating art?

We also spotlight Chase Infinity’s performance as the daughter caught between revolution and survival. The visual parallels between her and her mother—especially the machine gun imagery—become one of the film’s most powerful generational echoes.

Opinions clash:

Some of us think Sinners will sweep the night.

Others believe Hamnet is the Academy’s “safe” choice.

A few of us argue that One Battle After Another is too bold to ignore—and might win because of the political climate, not in spite of it.

And yes… we also go on a few wild tangents about:

The Patriots conspiracy theory

Bad Bunny, Green Day, and the Super Bowl

Desert Hot Springs, colonics, and cults

And why Timothée Chalamet might need to calm down 😅

It’s chaotic, it’s hilarious, and it’s one of our most passionate film debates yet.

In this episode, we take on Good Boy (2025)—a haunting, emotionally strange horror film told largely through the eyes of a dog. The movie follows Indy, a loyal pup who moves with his owner Todd to a rural family home that may—or may not—be cursed. What begins as an eerie atmosphere slowly unfolds into something deeper, as the house, the illness, and the past all seem to blur together.

We talk about why this film stood out as such a bold experiment in visual storytelling, from its decision to shoot at a dog’s eye level to its near-total absence of human facial closeups. The perspective shift forces us to experience fear, confusion, and loss in a completely different way—and we debate whether the movie would even work without this creative choice.

Our conversation digs into the film’s layered themes:

Is the “monster” a literal supernatural entity—or a metaphor for disease and generational trauma?

Is the house cursed, or is it a symbol of inherited pain?

Can animals sense things we can’t—whether that’s illness, danger, or something beyond logic?

We also explore how Good Boy connects to other atmospheric horror films, the power of non-verbal storytelling, and why this movie feels more like a “vibes” experience than a traditional narrative. The discussion branches into topics like paranormal belief, emotional isolation, community, and how fear hits harder when an innocent animal is at the center of the story.

Finally, we talk about what makes Indy such a compelling “lead,” why this movie feels deeply human despite barely showing human faces, and how Good Boy uses horror as a lens for grief, loyalty, and letting go.

In this episode of The Never Seen It Podcast, we take a deep, thoughtful, and often hilarious look at Train Dreams (2025), the Clint Bentley–directed period drama starring Joel Edgerton, Felicity Jones, and a scene-stealing William H. Macy .

Chosen by special returning guest Chris (MilkmanAmerica), Train Dreams is described as “a thinking movie and a feeling movie” that challenges the idea of what it means for a film to be entertaining . Rather than focusing on traditional plot, the movie observes the quiet, often brutal life of a logger during the early 20th century as America undergoes massive industrial change.

We talk about how the film feels intentionally “plotless” and why the narration is essential to grounding us in Robert’s internal life . With minimal dialogue and a slow, meditative pace, the movie asks us to sit with grief, silence, and memory instead of chasing spectacle.

Existential themes and the fragility of life

The devastating loss of Robert’s wife and daughter in the cabin fire

William H. Macy as the “Gandalf” archetype and why his death is so symbolic

The brutal realities of the railroad era and racial violence against Chinese workers

Whether Joel Edgerton “carries” a film the way Leonardo DiCaprio does

The meaning behind the sudden, shocking death of Apostle Frank

Why the movie feels like a meditation on grief rather than a traditional story

We also explore how Train Dreams reflects the dangers of the industrial revolution, showing a world without safety nets, HR, or even basic sanitation. Life is cheap, work is deadly, and survival is never guaranteed.

The score by Bryce Dessner and the original song by Nick Cave are subtle but emotionally devastating. Alex connects Cave’s real-life losses to the emotional weight of the film, arguing that grief is not just a theme—it’s the soul of Train Dreams .

This episode is part film breakdown, part philosophy session, part chaos—and that’s exactly why we love it. Train Dreams may not be for everyone, but it’s a movie that lingers long after the credits roll.

In this episode of Never Seen It, we unpack Bugonia (2025), the latest mind-bending film from director Yorgos Lanthimos, and one of his most deceptively accessible movies to date. We went in blind—and quickly found ourselves spiraling into questions about conspiracy culture, corporate power, alienation (literal and metaphorical), and how trauma reshapes reality.

We break down the film’s central premise: two conspiracy-obsessed men kidnap a powerful tech CEO, convinced she’s an alien sent to destroy Earth. What sounds absurd at first becomes increasingly plausible as the film unfolds. Jesse Plemons delivers a chilling performance as Teddy, a man whose grief, abuse, and ideological freefall lead him to radical certainty. Emma Stone is pitch-perfect as a hyper-controlled CEO whose emotional detachment blurs the line between capitalist overlord and extraterrestrial invader.

We spend a lot of time wrestling with the film’s biggest question: at what point did we believe she really was an alien? From disturbing electroshock scenes set to pop music, to superhuman physical moments, to the horrifying calm with which violence is absorbed, Bugonia constantly shifts our certainty. Lanthimos weaponizes tone—jumping from dark comedy to outright dread—to keep us off balance.

The episode also explores the film’s deeper themes, including:

How conspiracy thinking often grows out of real trauma

The overlap between tech CEOs and “inhuman” behavior

The symbolism of bees, control, and resource extraction

Power dynamics between captor and captive

Why making the conspiracy true is the film’s most unsettling choice

We also discuss the film’s shocking supporting turns, including Stavros Halkias as a cop whose presence introduces another layer of moral rot, and how childhood abuse, corporate negligence, and ideological extremism all feed into the story’s bleak worldview.

By the end, we agree on one thing: Bugonia isn’t just asking whether aliens walk among us—it’s asking whether unchecked power has already made monsters of us all.

In our latest episode of Never Seen It, we finally take on Zack Snyder’s 2011 cult favorite (and critical punching bag), Sucker Punch. What starts as a discussion about flashy visuals and over-the-top action quickly evolves into a deeper conversation about interpretation, symbolism, and whether the film has been unfairly dismissed over the years.

We talk through the film’s central premise: a young woman institutionalized by her abusive stepfather escapes into elaborate fantasy worlds as a coping mechanism. From there, we debate one of the movie’s biggest questions: are these action sequences alternate dimensions, metaphorical fantasies, or a theatrical abstraction meant to challenge the audience? The ambiguity becomes a key point of discussion, especially as we unpack how the film frames reality, performance, and agency.

A major focus of the episode is the idea that Sucker Punch may itself be a “sucker punch” to the audience, presenting itself as glossy, male-gaze-driven action while quietly subverting expectations with themes pulled straight from Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey. We explore the theory that Baby Doll functions as a guardian angel or fragmented self for Sweet Pea, and how sacrifice, refusal of the call, and transformation play into the film’s controversial ending.

We also spend time discussing female empowerment versus exploitation, pushing back on surface-level critiques that dismiss the movie outright. Is Snyder objectifying his characters, or is the film commenting on how women reclaim power within systems designed to control them? We don’t fully agree, but that tension is exactly what makes the conversation compelling.

The episode also dives into Snyder’s visual style, comparing it to video game cutscenes, music videos, and heightened fantasy aesthetics. While we’re critical of the script in places, we all agree that Snyder knows how to compose striking images, and that Sucker Punch never looks bad, even when it frustrates.

We highlight standout performances from Emily Browning, Abby Cornish, Jenna Malone, Vanessa Hudgens, Jamie Chung, Oscar Isaac, Carla Gugino, and even a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Jon Hamm appearance. We also talk about Browning’s surprisingly restrained performance and her decision to step away from major franchise stardom.

Music plays a huge role in this episode as well. We break down the significance of Björk’s “Army of Me” and “Where Is My Mind?”, discussing how the soundtrack reinforces the film’s themes of agency, motivation, and internal conflict. The music isn’t just aesthetic, it’s narrative.

Ultimately, this episode isn’t about declaring Sucker Punch a hidden masterpiece or a total failure. It’s about wrestling with a movie that sparks debate, invites multiple interpretations, and refuses to fit neatly into one box. Whether you love it, hate it, or are just confused by it, Sucker Punch gives us plenty to talk about, and we do.

In this episode, we finally tackle Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, a film that has only grown more divisive with time. We approach it not just as a Tarantino film, but as a meditation on Hollywood nostalgia, aging masculinity, and the mythmaking power of cinema itself.

We start by talking about the film’s loose, meandering structure and how it operates more like a hangout movie than a traditional narrative. Rather than building toward constant plot escalation, the movie asks us to live alongside Rick Dalton and Cliff Booth as they drift through late-1960s Los Angeles. For some of us, that vibe is intoxicating; for others, it can feel indulgent and self-satisfied.

We spend a lot of time on Leonardo DiCaprio’s performance as Rick Dalton, breaking down how his insecurity, desperation, and occasional self-awareness make him one of Tarantino’s most human characters. His fear of irrelevance hits especially hard in a story obsessed with the end of an era. We contrast that with Brad Pitt’s Cliff Booth, cool, capable, and intentionally opaque, and debate whether the character is aspirational, troubling, or both.

Margot Robbie’s Sharon Tate becomes a major point of discussion as well. We examine Tarantino’s choice to portray her more as a presence than a fully fleshed-out character, and whether that approach feels respectful, reductive, or somewhere in between. Her scenes embody the film’s nostalgia but also raise questions about agency and perspective.

Naturally, we dig into Tarantino’s revisionist history and the insane third act. We talk about why rewriting real-world violence into cathartic fantasy has become such a defining feature of his later career, and whether Once Upon a Time in Hollywood earns that ending emotionally and thematically.

By the end, we land in a complicated place. We admire the craft, performances, and atmosphere, even as we wrestle with the film’s pacing, indulgence, and tonal choices. It’s a movie we don’t entirely love, but one we can’t stop thinking about, which might be the most Tarantino outcome possible.

In this episode, we sit down to discuss Left-Handed Girl, the 2025 film directed by Shih-Ching Tsou, making her long-awaited solo directorial debut after years of collaboration with Sean Baker (Take Out, Tangerine, Anora). The film follows a mother and her two daughters as they relocate to Taipei to open a noodle stand in a bustling night market, hoping for a fresh start—only to find that family secrets, tradition, and unresolved trauma come with them.

We talk about how Left-Handed Girl uses the idea of left-handedness as both a literal and symbolic device, touching on cultural superstition, childhood imagination, and the way shame and fear can be passed down through generations. The character of I-Jing becomes a fascinating lens for how kids internalize adult anxieties, sometimes in playful ways, sometimes in destructive ones.

Visually, we break down how the film was shot largely on an iPhone, and why it never feels like a gimmick. Instead, the vibrant colors, natural lighting, and fluid camera movement make Taipei feel alive. The night markets, streets, and small apartments aren’t just settings—they’re characters. We discuss how limited resources, small crews, and real locations actually enhance the authenticity of the film rather than holding it back.

We also share insights from the San Diego Asian Film Festival, where the film screened and where Shih-Ching Tsou participated in a Q&A, including the revelation that Left-Handed Girl had been in development for nearly two decades. That long gestation shows in the confidence of the storytelling and the emotional precision of the performances—especially from the young lead, who delivers one of the most natural child performances we’ve seen in recent years.

Throughout the episode, we reflect on why films like Left-Handed Girl are so inspiring for independent filmmakers, how Sean Baker’s influence can be felt without overpowering Tsou’s voice, and why this quiet, observational drama lingers long after the credits roll. If you’re interested in Asian cinema, indie filmmaking, or character-driven storytelling, this is one we highly recommend.

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In this episode of Never Seen It, we finally sit down with Joe Dante’s Gremlins (1984), a movie that somehow balances Christmas cheer, creature-feature horror, slapstick comedy, and sharp social commentary all at once.

We talk about watching Gremlins through fresh eyes, especially for those of us who only remembered scattered images from childhood like Gizmo in the toy car, the bar scene, or Stripe causing chaos. Rewatching it now, we explore how the film functions as both a holiday movie and a subversive horror film, complete with genuinely dark moments hiding under its family-friendly reputation.

The conversation digs into practical effects and puppetry, praising how the gremlins’ physical presence gives the movie a texture that modern CGI often can’t replicate. We also highlight how the green blood, exaggerated violence, and cartoon logic allowed the film to push boundaries while still landing a PG rating.

We examine the film’s Reagan-era themes, including American consumerism, corporate greed, and authority figures who are hilariously useless when things go wrong. That naturally leads us into a candid discussion about the movie’s problematic racial elements, particularly how Eastern mysticism and warnings are ignored and what that says about Western arrogance baked into the story.

We also connect Gremlins to its cinematic lineage, including Chris Columbus’s original script, Steven Spielberg’s producer influence, Jerry Goldsmith’s iconic score, and how the film echoes earlier gremlin myths, The Twilight Zone, and even Bugs Bunny cartoons.

Of course, we can’t avoid some of the movie’s most infamous moments, including Phoebe Cates’ wildly dark monologue, the bar scene chaos, and the sheer audacity of calling this a Christmas movie. We wrap things up with final ratings, thoughts on rewatchability, and whether Gremlins still works for new generations, including whether it’s safe or insane to show it to kids.

Whether you’re a lifelong fan or watching it for the first time, Gremlins proves that holiday movies don’t have to be wholesome to be unforgettable.

In this end-of-year wrap-up episode of the Never Seen It Podcast, we take a step back from our usual deep dives and instead run through a rapid-fire list of movies that stood out to us this year, an intentionally uncomfortable storyfilms we watched, argued about, and couldn’t stop thinking about, even if they never got a full episode of their own.

We kick things off by reflecting on the sheer volume of movies released this year and why this episode exists in the first place: there’s simply too much great cinema to cover everything in depth. That leads us into a broader conversation about what we’re excited to see next year, including upcoming releases, returning franchises, and how modern studios are increasingly blurring the line between filmmaking and corporate branding.

One of the central discussions revolves around Eddington, a deeply polarizing film set during the early days of the pandemic. We break down Joaquin Phoenix’s unsettling performance as a small-town sheriff, Pedro Pascal’s role as a politically charged mayor, and how the film layers social unrest, tribal land jurisdiction, and media spectacle into a story that’s intentionally uncomfortable. While not all of us landed in the same place on the movie, the conversation highlights how messy, challenging films can still be worth engaging with.

From there, we pivot into a nostalgic but revealing discussion about Ghost World and the evolution of color in cinema. We talk about how films from the late ’90s and early 2000s embraced bold, vibrant color palettes—even when the characters themselves were cynical or emotionally detached—and how modern movies and TV shows often favor muted, gray color grading. This sparks a broader conversation about “millennial gray,” production design, and how visual storytelling subtly affects how we emotionally experience films.

One of the biggest moments of the episode comes when we talk about watching Jaws for the first time. We dig into why Steven Spielberg’s 1975 classic still works so well today, how its themes of political denial and public safety feel eerily modern, and why its restraint—especially the limited use of the shark—makes it more terrifying than many contemporary horror films. We also unpack its massive cultural influence, from John Williams’ iconic score to references that continue popping up in movies, TV shows, and pop culture decades later.

Throughout the episode, we weave in personal anecdotes, side tangents, and genuine laughs—whether we’re talking about movie theaters, live concert screenings, classic directors, or the slow realization that we’re all getting older. We wrap things up by thanking listeners for sticking with us, shouting out new followers, and reflecting on the fact that the podcast has now been running for over five years.

This episode is less about rankings and more about celebrating why we love movies in the first place—how they linger, how they change with time, and how watching them together makes the experience even better.

In this episode, we dive deep into the film’s powerful and unsettling portrayal of schizophrenia, paying special attention to how the sound design creates an authentic sense of what it feels like to hear literal voices in your head. We talk about how the film uses audio to make the audience experience the same eerie confusion, fear, and disorientation that someone with schizophrenia might face.

We also explore the theme of secrets and how both central characters are hiding major parts of their lives from each other. Lucy Liu’s character is carrying a significant secret about her health, while her son struggles silently with symptoms he does not fully understand. We discuss how these unspoken truths build emotional walls between them and how the film uses these barriers to highlight the importance of communication in relationships.

Throughout the conversation, we look at how the lack of openness intensifies their struggles and how their journey reflects real-world challenges around mental health, trust, and vulnerability. We share our takeaways on why empathy and understanding are essential when dealing with mental health issues and how better communication could have changed the trajectory of their story.

If you’re interested in mental health representation in film, the psychology of sound design, or character-driven storytelling, this episode provides a thoughtful, engaging, and insightful breakdown of how the movie tackles schizophrenia, secrets, and emotional connection.

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Check out our website for episodes, short-form reviews, blogs and more @ www.neverseenitpodcast.com

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