Imperfect but undeniably compelling, Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man offers a fittingly tragic final chapter for one of television’s most iconic antiheroes.

A strange, singular cinematic gem that feels as combustible as the ammunition lining its frames.

It’s almost there - right on the cusp of being the next great absurdist cult comedy - but the hit rate on the jokes just isn’t consistent enough to fully carry its comedic ambition.

Running at a tight 82 minutes, it never wastes a second — packing in wit, heartfelt character dynamics, and a vibrant sense of style that makes every frame pop.

This isn’t just a greatest-hits victory lap or a museum-piece curio; it’s a thunderous, sweat-soaked immersion into what made Elvis one of the most electrifying performers to ever step on a stage.

An ambitious swing that lands more often than not, and it offers moments of haunting beauty and thematic bite to boot.

There’s simply nothing here we haven’t already heard, and usually in smarter, more layered ways.

One particular sequence had my entire theater audibly gagging, groaning, and laughing in unison. It was a beautiful reminder that communal revulsion is one of cinema’s great unifiers.

A few solid ideas, some decent scares, and an aesthetic worth admiring - all hampered by a script that never quite pulls its demons together.

While it doesn’t always hit peak greatness, it is consistently stylish and distinct in a genre that so often defaults to familiarity.

The Only Living Pickpocket in New York exudes a lived-in quality from the very first frame to the last. It’s a movie grounded in brilliant texture and acutely tuned to the emotional spaces between the dialogue.

A masterclass about the cost of growing up, the terror of parenting, and the impossible, yet endearingly hopeful task of teaching a child how to survive a world that has already failed them.

Its flaws are loud, but so is its voice. And sometimes, that’s enough to make the mess worth wading through.

It may not match the sheer aesthetic audacity of last year’s reinvention, but it compensates by giving its performers space to drive the story and by pushing the franchise’s philosophical ambitions even further.

Neither film is exactly a classic, but taken together, they make for a fascinating snapshot of where modern creature features are at, or perhaps where they’re just forever destined to be.

It’s an emotionally intelligent take on the genre while still delivering the tense, horror-driven thrills that audiences expect from a zombie film.

This isn’t just a documentary about saving a building. It’s about saving spaces where art is allowed to be messy, confrontational, inclusive, and alive. A very hopeful way to start 2026.

Like Marty himself, the film is impressive, exhausting, and impossible to fully shake once it’s over. A prime example of a project firing on all cylinders.

Something angrier, more confident, and far more spiritually grounded than the series has ever been.