THAT TIME I GOT REINCARNATED AS A SLIME THE MOVIE: TEARS OF THE AZURE SEA (2026)

Rimuru and friends visit Celestial Emperor Hermesia's resort island after the Jura-Tempest Federations opening ceremony. During their vacation, they encounter a mysterious woman, leading to a new incident by the azure sea.

That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime the Movie: Tears of the Azure Sea arrives with the energy of a summer holiday special, only to reveal a more thoughtful and character-driven story beneath its bright surface. It is a playful escape from the usual political bustle of Tempest, yet it still carries the thematic threads that have defined the series. Most importantly, it finally gives Gobta the spotlight he has quietly earned over the years, and that choice reshapes the entire experience for the better.

The film begins with Rimuru and his inner circle accepting an invitation to a private island owned by the elven ruler Hermesia. On paper, it is a harmless getaway. In practice, it is a parade of some of the most powerful beings in the world arriving at a resort that was never built to host them. The early scenes lean into the humour of this setup. There are swimsuits, sun-soaked vistas, and the kind of breezy comedy that usually signals a low-stakes side story. The problem is that this stretch goes on a little too long. It is cheerful and colourful, but it delays the real story enough that the pacing starts to sag.

Copyright: © Taiki Kawakami, Fuse, KODANSHA/ “Ten-Sura” Project

For newcomers, this opening also tries to summarise the events of the anime so far. The effort is admirable, but the sheer number of characters and the dense political history of Tempest make it a tough entry point. Anyone unfamiliar with the series will likely feel lost before the plot even begins. For returning fans, though, the holiday antics are a warm reunion, even if they linger longer than necessary.

Once the story shifts gears, the film becomes far more interesting. Rimuru’s presence on the island triggers a chain of misunderstandings and manipulations. His overwhelming power has always been a double-edged sword, and the movie leans into the idea that even a peaceful visit can destabilise an entire region. Rimuru remains earnest and well-meaning, but his political naivety is on full display. He still struggles to grasp how others perceive him, and how fear can be weaponised by those with sharper agendas. The film uses this to explore the unintended consequences of power, a recurring theme in the franchise.

Yet Rimuru is not the heart of this story. That honour belongs to Gobta, and the film is stronger for it. Gobta has spent three seasons as a lovable nuisance, a loyal soldier who often stumbles into competence by accident. Tears of the Azure Sea finally lets him be more than a punchline. When the island’s troubles escalate, Gobta steps into a role that feels both surprising and completely earned. He becomes the grounded centre of a story filled with dragons, demon lords, and political intrigue.

Copyright: © Taiki Kawakami, Fuse, KODANSHA/ “Ten-Sura” Project

Gobta’s strength lies not in overwhelming magic but in instinct, agility, and a kind of scrappy determination that makes his fights some of the most enjoyable in the film. The action choreography shifts away from explosive spells and toward clever, physical combat. Gobta improvises, adapts, and survives through sheer grit. These scenes feel fresh for the franchise, and they give the movie a welcome sense of intimacy.

His interactions with Yura, a young priestess tied to the island’s deeper mysteries, give the film its emotional core. Yura is introduced as a figure burdened by ritual and responsibility, someone who has grown up surrounded by expectations. Gobta, by contrast, acts from the heart. He helps because it feels right, not because it benefits him politically. Their bond grows naturally through shared danger, quiet moments, and a mutual recognition of each other’s sincerity. It is a gentle, charming romance that never overwhelms the plot but gives it warmth.

The film’s visuals support this shift in tone. The new character designs, especially the vacation outfits, add a sense of novelty. The animation is fluid, and the dragon’s movement is a standout achievement.

Copyright: © Taiki Kawakami, Fuse, KODANSHA/ “Ten-Sura” Project

As the story approaches its climax, it takes a turn that will feel familiar to fans of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Without spoiling specifics, a late narrative choice involving Yura may divide audiences. Some will find it thematically appropriate, while others may feel it undercuts the emotional investment built throughout the film. It is not a deal breaker, but it does soften the impact of an otherwise strong character arc.

Even with that stumble, Tears of the Azure Sea succeeds by embracing a smaller scale. Gobta’s vulnerability makes the stakes feel more personal. Rimuru could flatten armies, but Gobta has to think, dodge, and trust the people beside him. That contrast gives the film a refreshing sense of balance. It is still a Slime movie, filled with magic and spectacle, but it is also a story about a loyal hobgoblin finally getting the attention he deserves.

For long-time fans, this is a delightful detour that celebrates a character who has quietly supported the series from the beginning. For newcomers, the dense lore and lengthy resort introduction may be a barrier. But for those already invested in Tempest and its citizens, Tears of the Azure Sea is a warm, playful, and surprisingly heartfelt addition to the franchise.

That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime the Movie: Tears of the Azure Sea will be released in NZ cinemas on April 30, 2026. Find your nearest screening here

Review written by Alex Moulton

WORLDWIDE RELEASE DATES

• April 28, 2026: Austria, Germany, Switzerland (German)
• April 29, 2026: Belgium, France, Switzerland (French)
• April 30, 2026: Australia, Brazil, Central America, Chile, Colombia, Denmark, Hungary, Iceland, Israel, Italy, Kazakhstan, Kuwait, Mexico, Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Peru, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Spain, UAE, Ukraine
• May 1, 2026: Canada, Finland, Ireland, Sweden, United Kingdom, United States
• May 7, 2026: Greece
• May 8, 2026: Poland, Romania

PROJECT HAIL MARY (2026)

Science teacher Ryland Grace wakes up alone on a spaceship light-years from Earth. As his memory returns, he uncovers a mission to stop a mysterious substance killing the sun, and save Earth. An unexpected friendship may be the key.

Project Hail Mary begins with a simple but gripping hook. A man wakes up alone on a spacecraft with no memory of who he is or why he is there. The room is sterile, the silence is heavy, and the only company he has are the lifeless bodies of his crewmates. It is a stark opening that immediately sets the tone for a story built on mystery, isolation, and the slow, methodical process of piecing together the truth. Ryan Gosling plays Ryland Grace, a middle school science teacher turned reluctant astronaut, and he brings a gentle, slightly bewildered charm to the role that makes the early scenes feel grounded even when the stakes are cosmic.

The film uses a dual timeline structure, cutting between Grace’s present in deep space and the events on Earth that led to his mission. This approach mirrors the structure of the novel and gives the story a puzzle-like rhythm. We watch Grace rediscover his identity in space while simultaneously learning how he ended up there in the first place. The idea is strong, but the execution is uneven. The transitions between timelines can feel abrupt, and the Earth-bound scenes sometimes lack the energy of the space sequences. They provide important context, but they do not always deepen the emotional impact. The pacing in the first act is especially slow, with long stretches of scientific problem solving that feel more functional than dramatic.

Still, the film has a clear emotional core, and it begins to reveal itself once Grace encounters Rocky, an alien engineer from a distant star system who is facing the same extinction-level threat. Their meeting is the moment the film truly comes alive. Rocky is brought to life with impressive visual effects that strike a balance between alien strangeness and expressive warmth. His design avoids the usual humanoid shortcuts, giving him a distinctive silhouette and a tactile presence that makes him feel real. The filmmakers lean into his physicality, letting him move, gesture, and react in ways that are both unfamiliar and endearing.

The relationship between Grace and Rocky becomes the heart of the film. Their attempts to communicate are funny, awkward, and surprisingly touching. They build a shared language through sound, gesture, and trial and error, and the process feels organic rather than rushed. Their dynamic is full of small, human moments that make the larger stakes feel more personal. Grace teaching Rocky a fist bump is a standout example. It is silly, warm, and exactly the kind of detail that makes their friendship believable. The film’s humour flows naturally from their interactions, never undercutting the tension but giving the story a sense of life and personality.

Gosling’s performance is central to this. He plays Grace as a man who never expected to be a hero and still does not quite believe he is one. His scientific curiosity, his quiet resilience, and his occasional flashes of panic all feel authentic. He carries the emotional weight of the story without ever slipping into melodrama. His scenes with Rocky are some of the most engaging in the film, and the chemistry between them is strong enough to carry the entire second act.

Visually, Project Hail Mary is consistently impressive. The spacecraft interiors feel functional and worn, with a sense of realism that grounds the more fantastical elements. The cosmic landscapes are rendered with clarity and scale, giving the film a sense of vastness without overwhelming the characters. Rocky’s homeworld, glimpsed through shared memories and scientific analysis, is depicted with imagination and detail. The visual effects team clearly put thought into how an alien species might evolve under different environmental pressures, and the result feels both creative and plausible.

The film’s biggest weaknesses lie in its pacing and editing. The early sections take their time, sometimes too much of it, and the flashback structure occasionally interrupts the emotional flow. The Earth scenes, while necessary for exposition, rarely match the energy of the space sequences. They introduce political tension, scientific debate, and the global stakes of the mission, but they do not always deepen our connection to Grace. The editing choices sometimes feel like speed bumps, slowing the momentum just as the story begins to build.

Despite these issues, the film steadily gains emotional strength as it moves toward its final act. The bond between Grace and Rocky becomes the driving force of the story, and the film leans into that connection with sincerity. The climax is both thrilling and unexpectedly tender, focusing less on spectacle and more on the personal sacrifices required to save not just one world but two. The ending avoids the usual bombast of sci-fi blockbusters and instead delivers something more intimate and heartfelt.

What makes Project Hail Mary stand out is its sincerity. It is a film that believes in cooperation, curiosity, and the idea that friendship can form across impossible distances. It is a story about two beings who should have nothing in common but discover that they share everything that matters. The film’s humour, heart, and sense of wonder all stem from that central relationship, and it is what lingers long after the credits roll.

Gosling anchors the film with a performance that is both understated and emotionally rich. The direction balances spectacle with character, and the visual effects bring Rocky to life in a way that feels fresh and memorable. The pacing issues and uneven editing hold the film back from greatness, but they do not diminish its emotional impact.

In the end, Project Hail Mary is a sci-fi adventure with genuine heart. It is slow in places and occasionally clunky, but it is also warm, funny, visually striking, and anchored by one of the most charming interspecies friendships ever put on screen. It is a story about hope, resilience, and the strange beauty of connection, even when the sun itself is fading.

Project Hail Mary is in NZ cinemas from March 19, 2026

Find your nearest screening here

Review written by Jack Kemp

Edited by Alex Moulton

28 YEARS LATER: THE BONE TEMPLE (2026)

As Spike is inducted into Jimmy Crystal's gang on the mainland, Dr. Kelson makes a discovery that could alter the world.

28 Years Later: The Bone Temple arrives as a strange and compelling artifact from a world that has been collapsing and rebuilding itself for nearly three decades. Director Nia DaCosta and writer Alex Garland choose not to expand the franchise outward into new territories. Instead, they burrow into the psychological and philosophical core of the universe that has grown around the Rage virus. The result is a film that feels ancient and newly imagined at the same time. It is chaotic in tone, intimate in scale, and surprisingly invigorating for a series that once defined the modern infected genre.

The earlier films in the franchise rarely paused to consider the infected as individuals. They were a force of nature, driven by fury rather than hunger, and the stories focused on the humans who tried to survive the storm. The Bone Temple overturns that long standing approach. It asks a question that has lingered in the background for years without ever being spoken aloud. What does the world feel like from inside the mind of an infected person?

The film answers this through one of the most unusual pairings the series has ever attempted. Ralph Fiennes returns as Dr Ian Kelson, a man who has spent so long alone that he seems carved from the same bleached bones he stacks into towering monuments. His companion is Samson, an Alpha infected whose enormous and unclothed body moves through the film with the presence of a mythic creature. Sedated by Kelson’s blowgun darts, Samson becomes something more than a monster. He becomes a being with a flicker of inner life, a presence that invites curiosity rather than fear.

Their scenes together are hypnotic. They nap in tall grass, sway to music, and share moments of stillness that feel almost sacred. At times, the film drifts into a dreamlike rhythm that resembles a strange hangout story between a scientist and the creature he refuses to abandon. Fiennes plays Kelson with a sincerity that borders on madness. He believes that compassion still matters, even after twenty eight years of devastation. Samson, played with surprising vulnerability by Chi Lewis Parry, becomes the first infected character in the franchise who feels like a person rather than a threat.

Running alongside this quiet and uncanny relationship is a far louder and more chaotic storyline. Spike, the child survivor from the previous film, is swept up by Jimmy Crystal. Jimmy was once an orphaned boy. He has now grown into a theatrical sadist who leads a gang of young men that share his name and his blond wig. Jack O’Connell plays him with the swagger of a street level mobster. His followers behave like a violent performance troupe, part cult and part roaming nightmare. Their scenes crackle with anarchic energy and recall the stylised brutality of A Clockwork Orange.

DaCosta avoids the specifically British tone that defined earlier entries. Instead, she frames the conflict as a mythic struggle between reason and fanaticism. Jimmy twists language into a tool of manipulation. He calls his cruelty “charity” and positions himself as a messianic figure of destruction. Kelson, in contrast, agonises over the infected and their inability to communicate at all. The film becomes a meditation on how words shape our humanity and how easily they can be corrupted. When Kelson and Jimmy finally collide, the result is theatrical, unsettling, and strangely beautiful in its own grim way.

Despite its thematic ambition, The Bone Temple is intentionally small. Gone are the sweeping landscapes and wide-ranging journeys of 28 Years Later. DaCosta narrows the world to a handful of characters and a few desolate locations. The effect is claustrophobic but purposeful. This is a story about what happens after survival. The apocalypse is no longer an event. It is a condition. The infected are no longer the only danger. The survivors have had decades to reinvent cruelty.

The film’s looseness will frustrate some viewers. Plot threads appear and vanish without resolution. A pregnant woman introduced midway through the story disappears entirely. Spike spends much of the runtime as a traumatised witness rather than an active participant. The narrative drifts between dreamlike sequences and abrupt violence. Yet this instability feels intentional. After twenty eight years of collapse, the world itself is unsteady.

What anchors the film is Fiennes. His performance is wild, tender, and completely committed. He elevates every scene he touches and grounds the film’s philosophical ideas in raw emotion. His Kelson is a man who has survived too long and refuses to surrender the last fragments of his humanity.

Tonally, the film is a kaleidoscope. It is bleak one moment, absurd the next, and then suddenly transcendent. The soundtrack mirrors this chaos. Radiohead’s melancholy sits beside the operatic fury of Iron Maiden. The combination should not work, yet somehow it does.

By the time the credits roll, The Bone Temple has reshaped the franchise. It is not larger in scope. It is deeper in spirit. It digs into the infected, into language, into belief, and into the strange ways people rebuild meaning after the world ends. It is messy, uneven, and occasionally baffling. It is also the freshest the series has felt in years. If the next film brings these threads together, the 28 saga may be heading toward something remarkable.

28 Years Later: The Bone Temple will be released in NZ cinemas from January 15, 2026

Find your nearest screening here

Review written by Alex Moulton

FALLOUT SEASON 2 (2025)

In a future, post-apocalyptic Los Angeles brought about by nuclear decimation, citizens must live in underground bunkers to protect themselves from radiation, mutants and bandits.

Fallout Season 2 opens with confidence, plunging straight into New Vegas and delivering the mix of nostalgia, strong performances, and atmospheric world‑building that fans have been waiting two years to see. The first episodes waste no time reintroducing Lucy (Ella Purnell) and The Ghoul (Walton Goggins), whose unlikely partnership remains the emotional core of the series. For longtime players of Fallout: New Vegas, the immediate appearance of the Dinky the T‑Rex landmark is a perfect nod; more than just fan service, it signals that the showrunners understand the emotional pull of the game’s world.

The narrative picks up exactly where Season 1 ended, maintaining continuity while building anticipation for the journey ahead. The structure still shifts between multiple arcs, echoing the rhythm of the games. At times this back‑and‑forth can feel heavy, but it enriches the larger tapestry, reminding us that every character has their own quest. Walton Goggins continues to steal scenes as The Ghoul, balancing menace with sardonic humour, while Ella Purnell’s Lucy brings optimism to the wasteland’s bleakness. Aaron Moten’s Maximus is the standout of these early episodes, his arc evolving from insecure Brotherhood squire into something far more layered.

Visually, the show captures the ambience of New Vegas with striking fidelity. Grainy textures, faded colours, and unexpected pockets of life evoke the game’s atmosphere, while the production design ensures New Vegas feels like a living, contradictory city; glamorous yet decayed, wealthy yet desperate. Practical sets combined with CGI give the world weight, making the wasteland itself feel like a character.

Plot threads involving Lucy’s father, Hank MacLean (Kyle MacLachlan), add intrigue. Once seen as a hero, Hank is revealed as a morally compromised Vault‑Tec employee secretly working for Mr House. His duplicity underscores the series’ central theme: appearances deceive, and survival often demands compromise. Mr House’s brief but chilling introduction captures the same malevolence that defined him in the games, hinting at larger conflicts to come. Already, glimpses of factions like the Great Khans and Caesar’s Legion suggest the show will attempt to balance the sprawling political landscape of New Vegas.

One of the adaptation’s challenges is how to handle the branching narratives that made the game iconic. With multiple possible endings, the series must honour player choice while crafting a coherent television story. Showrunner Geneva Robertson‑Dworet has confirmed that Season 2 will weave these possibilities into continuity without locking into a single “canon” path, a bold move that raises anticipation for how conflicting agendas, such as Mr House, Caesar’s Legion, the Brotherhood of Steel, the NCR, will collide.

Episodes 1 and 2 succeed in laying this groundwork. They balance fan service with narrative progression, offering familiar landmarks and factions while pushing characters into new territory. The pacing occasionally dips, particularly during transitions between arcs, but the exploratory feel mirrors the games themselves. Just as players wander from quest to quest, the series embraces digressions, trusting the audience to enjoy the cumulative effect.

The atmosphere is where the show excels. The wasteland is not just a backdrop but a mood, conveyed through sound design, cinematography, and pacing. Watching these episodes feels akin to playing Fallout: New Vegas late at night; wandering through desolate landscapes punctuated by sudden bursts of violence or beauty. That the series can replicate this sensation is a testament to its creative team.

If there are weaknesses, they lie in the occasional fatigue caused by constant shifts between storylines, which sometimes interrupt the momentum of Lucy and The Ghoul’s journey. Yet this ensemble approach reflects the ethos of the games: no single character or faction dominates, and every perspective matters.

Overall, the first episodes deliver a strong start. They honour the legacy of Fallout: New Vegas while carving out new narrative space, with compelling performances, immersive design, and thematic depth. Most importantly, they capture the paradox at the heart of Fallout; a world ravaged by apocalypse yet still teeming with humour, hope, and resilience. For fans who have waited two years, the return is more than worth it. The journey into New Vegas promises to be both nostalgic and surprising, a testament to the enduring power of the Fallout universe.

Season One is currently available to stream on Prime Video
Fallout Season 2 is streaming from Wednesday December 17 on Prime Video.
A new episode will be released weekly 

Review written by Jack Kemp

Edited by Alex Moulton

THE RUNNING MAN (2025)

A man joins a game show in which contestants, allowed to go anywhere in the world, are pursued by "hunters" hired to kill them.

Edgar Wright’s The Running Man is a bold reimagining of Stephen King’s novel and the 1987 Schwarzenegger film. With Wright at the helm, Glen Powell in the lead, and a supporting cast stacked with talent, the film sets out to deliver a dystopian spectacle that feels both thrilling and eerily familiar. While not flawless, it succeeds in being an entertaining, thought‑provoking ride that keeps audiences invested from start to finish.

The story centers on Ben Richards (Powell), a man living in a future where corporations have replaced government, poverty is rampant, and entertainment has become the lifeblood of society. Fired from jobs for "insubordination" a.k.a. whistleblowing, Richards finds himself blacklisted, unable to provide for his family. His wife Sheila (Jayme Lawson) works nights in degrading conditions, while their daughter suffers from an illness they cannot afford to treat. It’s a setup that resonates strongly with contemporary anxieties about healthcare, inequality, and corporate dominance.

Wright’s vision of this world is striking. Streets are crumbling, yet screens and gadgets saturate every corner, distracting citizens from their decay. Surveillance is omnipresent, but no one resists because the system keeps them entertained. It’s a chillingly believable dystopia, one that doesn’t feel far removed from our own reality of streaming platforms, social media obsession, and widening wealth gaps.

Desperate, Richards volunteers for “The Running Man,” a televised bloodsport hosted by the flamboyant Bobby T (Colman Domingo). Contestants must survive thirty days while being hunted by corporate‑backed killers, with ordinary citizens incentivized to betray them for rewards. The prize: wealth beyond imagination. The cost: almost certain death.

From the moment Richards enters the game, the film rarely lets up. Action sequences propel him through sewers, decayed apartment blocks, and neon‑lit streets. Powell throws himself into the role, sprinting, fighting, and snarling his way through relentless pursuit. These sequences are the film’s highlight; kinetic, inventive, and genuinely thrilling. Wright’s flair for choreography and visual spectacle shines, even if one wishes there were more of these set pieces to balance the heavy exposition.

Glen Powell is undeniably the film’s centerpiece. His natural charisma is offset by a deliberately abrasive edge. Richards is not quite a charming hero; he’s angry, impatient, and prone to violence. Powell’s cocky delivery and smirking bravado can be grating, but they suit the character’s volatility. He embodies a man who doesn’t seek revenge so much as a fair chance for survival and dignity. Whether audiences warm to him or not, Powell’s commitment is undeniable, and he carries the film through its uneven stretches.

The supporting players, unfortunately, don’t fare as well. Colman Domingo electrifies as Bobby T, a showman who embodies the grotesque marriage of charisma and cruelty. Josh Brolin, as producer Dan Killian, nails the cold calculation of a man profiting from human suffering. Yet beyond these standouts, many actors are sidelined. William H. Macy, Katy M. O’Brian, Michael Cera, and Emilia Jones appear briefly in roles that add little to the narrative. Their presence feels more like padding than necessity, contributing to the film’s bloated runtime of 133 minutes. One can’t help but wish Wright had trimmed these diversions or given more depth to the allies Richards encounters along the way.

Wright and co‑writers Stephen King and Michael Bacall attempt to tackle a laundry list of sociopolitical issues: healthcare inequities, class divides, corporate corruption, propaganda, labor exploitation, and the dangers of spectacle culture. The film gestures at all of these, but rarely pauses to explore them meaningfully. Instead, they serve as background noise to the action, lip service rather than incisive commentary. The result is a movie that feels intellectually ambitious but emotionally thin.

This imbalance is most evident in the film’s third act. After two acts of inventive world‑building and propulsive action, the narrative stalls. The climax drags, weighed down by tonal clashes between satire, melodrama, and action. Wright introduces dream sequences and unreliable perspectives (i.e. violent fantasies, stress dreams, manipulated footage) that add intrigue but destabilize the story and stakes. By the time the ending arrives, it feels cobbled together, lacking the catharsis the buildup promised.

Production designer Marcus Rowland deserves immense credit for the film’s look. The environments are futuristic yet grounded, avoiding the slick sterility that often plagues dystopian cinema. The world feels lived‑in, decayed, and believable. Combined with Wright’s kinetic direction, the film is visually captivating. Yet this polish is also part of the problem. For a story about desperation and decay, the film sometimes feels too clean, too sterile, too safe. The grit and unpredictability that should define this dystopia are smoothed over by Wright’s meticulous style.

The Running Man is a paradox: a film that is both exhilarating and frustrating, both relevant and shallow. Its first half is fantastic; immersive, bleak, and thrilling. Its second half loses steam, weighed down by exposition, underdeveloped side characters, and a climax that fails to deliver. Powell’s performance is divisive but undeniably committed, while Domingo and Brolin provide memorable turns. The action sequences are a joy, but too few to sustain the lengthy runtime.

Ultimately, the film is enjoyable, but it feels like a missed opportunity. With source material this rich and a director as inventive as Wright, one expects more than a polished, formulaic dystopian thriller. Instead, we get a movie that entertains but doesn’t linger, a spectacle that mirrors our own world’s obsession with entertainment but doesn’t fully interrogate it.

In a way, that’s the most unsettling part. Wright’s dystopia is frighteningly close to reality, yet the film itself succumbs to the same flaw it critiques: prioritizing spectacle over substance. The Running Man may keep us entertained, but it leaves us wanting more; more depth, more grit, more meaning. And in a world where corporations already dominate our screens, that feels like a missed chance to truly run with the story.

The Running Man was released in NZ cinemas on November 13, 2025

Find your nearest screening here

Review written by Alex Moulton

CHAINSAW MAN – THE MOVIE: REZE ARC (2025)

Denji encounters a new romantic interest, Reze, who works at a coffee café.

Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc is a cinematic rollercoaster that tries to fuse tender teenage romance with brutal, high-octane violence. It’s a bold attempt to expand the anime’s universe, but the result is a film that feels emotionally disjointed and structurally uneven. For longtime fans, it’s a visceral treat. For newcomers, it’s a confusing plunge into chaos.

The film opens not with blood and chainsaws, but with a surprisingly subdued tone. Denji, our hormone-driven protagonist, is caught between two women: the enigmatic Makima, his superior at Public Safety, and Reze, a charming barista he meets during a rainstorm. Their interactions are sweet, awkward, and laced with teenage longing. There’s a movie date, some flirtation, and a sense of normalcy that feels almost alien in the Chainsaw Man universe.

This first act is slow; almost too slow. It simmers with emotional tension but lacks urgency. The pacing drags as Denji’s internal conflict plays out in quiet scenes that feel more like a romantic slice-of-life than a supernatural thriller. Reze’s bubbly personality and Denji’s naïve infatuation create a believable, if slightly cliché, teen romance. But beneath the surface, there’s a creeping sense that things aren’t what they seem.

And then, the bomb drops...literally.

The film’s second half explodes into action, abandoning its romantic pretense for a barrage of violence, gore, and devilish mayhem. The villain is revealed, the Bomb Devil, a terrifying force of destruction who detonates herself with the flick of a finger. Her appearance is shocking, and the tonal shift is jarring. What was once a gentle story about young love becomes a battlefield of mutilation and chaos.

From this point on, the film is relentless. The fight scenes are kinetic and brutal, with Denji facing off against the Bomb Devil and other monstrous foes like the Typhoon Devil. The animation is dazzling; neon splashes of color, rapid cuts, and surreal choreography that defies physics. It’s a sensory overload, amplified by a pulsing soundtrack that feels more like a rave than a movie score.

Director Tatsuya Yoshihara and writer Hiroshi Seko clearly know how to stage a spectacle. The action sequences are some of the most visually impressive in the Chainsaw Man franchise. But the emotional weight of the first half doesn’t quite carry through. The romance, while touching, feels disconnected from the carnage that follows. The film’s structure, soft then savage, are so far on the opposite ends of the spectrum that it makes it hard to stay emotionally invested.

Supporting characters like Aki and Angel Devil make brief appearances, but their roles are underdeveloped. They serve more as background noise than meaningful contributors to the plot. This is a shame, as their presence could have added depth to the story’s themes of sacrifice and survival.

Thematically, Reze Arc explores Denji’s desire for normalcy and love, juxtaposed against the violent reality of his life as a devil hunter. The film displays Denji's fleeting chance at happiness, but also deadly threats. The duality gives the film a split personality: romantic drama on one side, hyperviolent thriller on the other. It’s an ambitious blend, but not a seamless one.

For fans of the anime, the film is a satisfying continuation. It doesn’t waste time rehashing old plot points, and it dives straight into new territory. But this also makes it less accessible to newcomers. Without context, the characters and their relationships are harder to grasp, though the broad strokes and context do keep it watchable. The film assumes you’ve done your homework; and if you haven’t, you’ll have a lesser experience.

The emotional climax hits hard, but it’s buried under layers of explosive action. Denji’s heartbreak, confusion, and growth are present, but they’re overshadowed by the spectacle. The final battle is a visual marvel, but it leaves little room for reflection. It’s thrilling, yes; but also exhausting.

Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc is simply a film of two halves. The first is a slow-burning romance that builds emotional stakes. The second is a chaotic descent into violence that shatters those stakes with explosive force. It’s a bold experiment in tonal contrast, but not always a successful one. The pacing issues and inconsistent tone can make it a challenging watch.

Still, there’s no denying the film’s ambition. It pushes the boundaries of what anime adaptations can be, delivering cinematic scale and emotional complexity. It’s a flawed but promising entry in the Chainsaw Man saga, and one that will spark plenty of debate among viewers.

If you’re here for the blood, guts, and devil-slaying madness, you’ll get your fill. If you’re hoping for a coherent emotional journey, you might be left wanting. Either way, Reze Arc is a wild ride; and one that proves Chainsaw Man is anything but predictable.

Chainsaw Man - The Movie: Reze Arc was released in NZ cinemas from 19 September 2025

Review written by Alex Moulton

THE VALENTINA [WE THE YOUNG ARTS FESTIVAL] (2025)

Join 8-year-old Ellen and her trusted crewmembers Neil Armstrong, Yuri Gagarin, Valentina Tereshkova and Laika the space dog on an extraordinary journey, past the edge of the unknown, and onto the surface of the mysterious and dangerous planet, Vitanonan X. 

The Valentina has made the leap from stage to sound, with The Rebel Alliance now releasing it as an audiobook. The production, which blends everyday family life with a whimsical journey into outer space, retains its playful charm in this new format. As a listening experience, it captures the imagination in much the same way as a bedtime story, though its humour and the occasional darker detail place it more comfortably in the hands of slightly older children and adults.

The story centres on Ellen, a young girl with her head in the stars. She is fascinated by space, dreaming of figures like Valentina Tereshkova and Yuri Gagarin, and sketching spaceships that soon blur into something more real. Her world, though grounded in a modest home and school life, is filled with extraordinary touches: her mum, who types at super speed after losing a hand to a shark; her dad, who lost an eye in a zoo mishap; and her own boundless imagination, which carries her from the classroom to the far reaches of the cosmos.

The audiobook unfolds in short, distinct chapters, each often only a few minutes long. This structure works well for listening in small doses. Almost like a collection of mini-adventures that build into a larger story, it makes for an excellent fit for bedtime listening, where the darkness creates an opportunity to let the imagination roam free.

The audio style reflects its theatrical origins. Performances are expressive and energetic, leaning into humour and exaggeration in ways that echo live theatre. Character voices are distinct, with parents, teachers, and space heroes all given their own flair. Music and sound effects are used sparingly but effectively, helping to transport listeners from a family kitchen to a Soviet potato field or the deck of a spacecraft. Rather than layering on complex sound design, the audiobook lets performance drive the atmosphere, which gives it a direct and personal feel.

Visually, the production is supported by sketches and drawings that appear in a kind of low-frame-rate stop-motion. These illustrations set the mood but change very slowly, sometimes lingering for half a minute while the audio pushes ahead into new scenes. The result can feel slightly disconnected, as the images freeze while the story carries on at its own pace. It is not enough to undermine the listening experience, but it does raise the question of whether the visuals add much beyond what the aural performances already achieve. 

For some, the stillness might be a chance to lean into imagination, while for others it may come across as an unnecessary extra layer. The visuals, though not essential, may add an occasional point of focus for those who prefer something to look at. For others, the drawings may feel too static, and the story arguably shines brighter when left to the mind’s eye.

One of the joys of this story is its playfulness with history and science. We hear Yuri Gagarin wander into a potato field for tea, Neil Armstrong complain about lukewarm water for his brew, and Laika the space dog curl up in a basket aboard Ellen’s dream ship. These figures from space history are brought together with affection, becoming part of Ellen’s creative world rather than distant icons. It keeps the story light, accessible, and entertaining, while still sparking curiosity about the real-life achievements behind the names.

The humour is pitched at different levels. Children will enjoy the silliness of a father embarrassing his daughter by pretending to be cool at the wheel, or the jokes about lions and sharks. Adults, meanwhile, will smile at the satire woven into news broadcasts about trillionaires launching fast-food chains into space, or the wry comments about office life and management reports. It attempts to keep both audiences engaged, which is not an easy balance to strike across such a wide age range.

Where the story stands out most is in its willingness to fold moments of absurdity alongside darker notes. Ellen’s parents’ missing body parts are mentioned casually, but they hint at real danger beneath the humour. Space itself is both wondrous and perilous; the story dips into the frightening, and it acknowledges both the fun and danger that comes with an adventure.

What remains clear is that the production’s heart lies in celebrating imagination and curiosity. Ellen’s dreamlike encounters with space pioneers capture the way children stitch together scraps of history, fantasy, and family into stories that make sense of their world. In that sense, the audiobook is less about outer space and more about the resilience and creativity needed to dream big, even in the face of everyday limitations.

The Valentina is a warm, funny, and sometimes poignant listen. It invites families to journey together into a world where the kitchen table might sit next to a rocket launch pad, and where history’s great explorers drop by for tea. It may not be perfect, but it is full of charm, and it reminds us that the best adventures often begin with nothing more than a story told in the dark.

The Rebel Alliance have adapted their award-winning family play The Valentina into an illustrated audiobook, designed to be enjoyed online as part of We the Young, a brand new Auckland Live arts festival. 

6 months access to the La Valentina illustrated audiobook is available for purchase until September 28 here

Review written by Alex Moulton

DEMON SLAYER: KIMETSU NO YAIBA INFINITY CASTLE (2025)

The Demon Slayer Corps are drawn into the Infinity Castle, where Tanjiro, Nezuko, and the Hashira face terrifying Upper Rank demons in a desperate fight as the final battle against Muzan Kibutsuji begins.

Anime has risen steadily in popularity around the world, moving from being a niche cultural product to a mainstream form of entertainment. Streaming services and dedicated platforms have accelerated this growth, opening the door for international audiences. Yet the divide between critical opinion and audience enthusiasm remains noticeable. Fans celebrate the energy, the spectacle, and the emotional weight of series like Demon Slayer, while critics often focus on structure, pacing, and storytelling form. Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba – Infinity Castle falls directly into this discussion. It is a film that dazzles on a visual and sonic level, thrills with relentless action, and grabs hard at the emotions of its viewers. At the same time, it is a film where pacing is uneven, largely due to the frequent flashbacks, and one where knowledge of the prior four seasons feels essential to appreciating the true depth of its characters.

©Copyright_ ©Koyoharu Gotoge _ SHUEISHA, Aniplex, ufotable

Directed by Haruo Sotozaki and Hikaru Kondô, and based on the work of original creator Koyoharu Gotouge, Infinity Castle is not shy about its ambitions. From the very first frame, it plunges its audience into chaos. The Demon Slayer Corps find themselves scattered within a labyrinthine fortress, an infinite structure that constantly twists and shifts, reminiscent of an Escher-inspired landscape. Floors collapse without warning, doors open into voids, and walls tilt in impossible directions. The film wastes no time on preamble. Instead, it discards geography and logic to throw both characters and viewers into a fever dream of suspended gravity and endless pursuit. It is an opening that signals immediately that this is the beginning of the climactic arc.

For long-time fans, this entry marks the long-awaited confrontation between the Demon Slayer Corps and the demons led by Muzan Kibutsuji. For new viewers, the stakes are still clear. The heroes are framed unmistakably as champions of life, compassion, and humanity. The demons, with Muzan at their head, are embodiments of destruction and despair. Even with no prior knowledge of character histories, the lines are drawn cleanly enough for the core story to remain understandable. However, stepping into this film without watching the earlier seasons is much like starting the final battle of Avatar: The Last Airbender without any of the lead-up. You can follow the clash of ideals and the spectacle of combat, but you lose the nuanced layers of growth, loss, and friendships that have been built over time. To watch Infinity Castle cold is to do a disservice to the characters, who deserve to be understood in full context.

©Copyright_ ©Koyoharu Gotoge _ SHUEISHA, Aniplex, ufotable

The structure of the film revolves around three major confrontations. Each battle is introduced with explosive choreography, carried forward by dazzling animation, and then broken apart by flashbacks that provide history and emotional context. These flashbacks are vital for revealing the humanity that still lingers within demons, often painting them as tragic figures who fell from grace after unbearable personal losses. The third confrontation, taking up nearly half of the runtime, devotes itself to an extended backstory that explains the motivations of a particularly important demon. While these sequences add weight to the narrative, they also interrupt the momentum of the battles. The rhythm becomes predictable: action, flashback, emotional note, resolution. This pattern, repeated across multiple fights, can reduce the urgency of what is otherwise a non-stop ride.

Still, the animation is among the best in modern anime cinema. The blend of 2D characters and partially CGI-rendered environments is seamless, especially within the shifting halls of the Infinity Castle. The castle itself becomes a character, an ever-changing enemy that disorients and threatens the Demon Slayers at every turn. Within this landscape, elemental sword techniques burst across the screen in streams of fire, water, and lightning. Each breathing style, unique to the swordsman who wields it, creates attacks that feel both artistic and dangerous, forming an ongoing dance of movement, colour, and violence. The fight choreography is relentless, constantly escalating, and full of creative flourishes that keep the energy high.

©Copyright_ ©Koyoharu Gotoge _ SHUEISHA, Aniplex, ufotable

The focus of the story shifts between three main duels. Shinobu faces Doma, the Upper Rank demon who was responsible for her sister’s death. Zenitsu, rises to face Kaigaku, a former student under his master who has turned to the demon side. Meanwhile, Tanjiro and Giyu engage Akaza, the Upper Rank Three demon responsible for the death of the Rengoku. Each battle carries its own emotional charge, and while the film gives nearly every major character a moment to shine, these three fights dominate the screen. Not all characters are given equal treatment, and some characters are left in the background; clearly their stories are being saved for later instalments in this planned trilogy.

The film’s greatest strength lies in its ability to marry spectacle with emotional pull. It wants the audience to be awed one moment and devastated the next. Blood flows in deep crimson against sharp lines of steel, while tears fall in quieter moments of revelation. The demons are shown not simply as monsters but as former humans who once struggled with despair or tragedy. This mirrors the Demon Slayers themselves, who channel their pain into a determination to protect others. The contrast creates a powerful theme of what humans can become when faced with suffering, either descending into destruction or rising into compassion.

©Copyright_ ©Koyoharu Gotoge _ SHUEISHA, Aniplex, ufotable

At the same time, the reliance on flashbacks slows down the film’s pace at crucial points. Just as the momentum builds to a peak, the narrative cuts away to a backstory. The information is important, but the timing is often frustrating. Instead of a smooth escalation, the story becomes a series of surges and stalls, leaving the audience caught between adrenaline and reflection, without the time to fully absorb either.

For all its flaws, Infinity Castle is still an extraordinary technical achievement. The animation is fluid and consistently inventive, the sound design heightens every clash of steel and every roar of anguish, and the sheer ambition of staging this climactic arc across three films ensures that the stakes remain towering. The sacrifices of the Demon Slayer Corps are framed with respect, with many characters meeting tragic ends that raise the sense of danger. Unlike earlier arcs where plot armour often shielded beloved characters, here every battle carries the possibility of finality. This makes the villains genuinely threatening and keeps the viewer tense even through the more repetitive sequences.

©Copyright_ ©Koyoharu Gotoge _ SHUEISHA, Aniplex, ufotable

It is important to note that Infinity Castle is not the conclusion but the beginning of a trilogy. While packed with intense confrontations and emotional revelations, it ends without resolution. Muzan remains undefeated, and Tanjiro’s ultimate confrontation is left for future instalments. This lack of closure may frustrate some viewers, especially given the long runtime, but it also raises anticipation for what comes next.

All in all, Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba – Infinity Castle is both exhausting and exhilarating. It delivers over two hours of beautifully rendered combat, intertwined with tragic histories that aim for the heart. It is easy enough to follow for newcomers, though the deeper emotional resonance requires the investment of watching the series first. Its greatest weakness lies in pacing, as the constant interruptions of flashbacks rob the battles of their full intensity. Yet when taken as part of the larger story, it remains a powerful start to what promises to be a grand finale. For fans, it is a must-watch. For newcomers, it is still accessible, though best experienced after immersing in the journey that brought these characters here.

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba - Infinity Castle will be released in NZ cinemas on September 11, 2025
Running Time: 155 mins         
Rating: TBA (R13 expected)

You can find your nearest screening here

Review written by Alex Moulton