David Linck

Revisiting 3 Ninjas feels a bit like stumbling across an old VHS tape in the back of a closet—sun-faded, a little dusty, but somehow radiating this irresistible pull from a time when martial arts, sibling antics, and fluorescent headbands were the height of cinematic adventure. As a kid, this movie was pure wish-fulfillment: three brothers learning ninjutsu from their wise and impossibly patient grandpa, then using those skills to take down bumbling criminals with creativity, courage, and a surprising amount of household objects. Watching it now, the sentimental charm is still very much intact. There’s something undeniably endearing about a film that wholeheartedly believes in the power of family, discipline, and teamwork—values the movie wears on its sleeve with the same enthusiasm the boys wear their color-coded ninja masks. The dynamic between Rocky, Colt, and Tum-Tum still feels warm and authentic, capturing that familiar blend of rivalry and loyalty that defines childhood siblings everywhere. But with modern eyes, 3 Ninjas also shows its age in ways that make you smile and squint at the same time. The villains are cartoonishly incompetent—even by early ’90s standards—and some of the fight choreography lands somewhere between “cleverly choreographed” and “did OSHA approve this?” The movie has this unmistakable Saturday-morning-energy that today’s kids’ films rarely lean into, for better or worse. Yet none of that detracts from the spirit that makes the film so memorable. If anything, the imperfections add to its charm. There’s a sweetness in how straightforward it all is: good guys are good, bad guys are goofy, and courage comes in small but powerful doses. The boys aren’t just fighting off kidnappers—they’re figuring out who they are, how to trust each other, and how to stand up for the things that matter, even when the world feels a bit bigger than they are. And that’s where 3 Ninjas still lands its punch. It captures a version of childhood adventure that feels almost impossible now: uncomplicated, sincere, and powered by imagination more than spectacle. It reminds you of a time when a summer spent learning “ninja techniques” in the backyard felt entirely plausible—and genuinely heroic. So yes, from a modern perspective the movie is campy, chaotic, and occasionally questionable. But it also carries a heartfelt earnestness that’s easy to admire. 3 Ninjas isn’t trying to be gritty or self-aware; it’s simply trying to show you that bravery can come in small sizes, often armed with nothing more than quick thinking, determination, and a few borrowed kitchen supplies. Sometimes a movie doesn’t need to grow up with you. It just needs to remind you of who you were—and why that mattered.

Revisiting The Mighty Ducks feels a bit like opening a cherished childhood scrapbook—one filled with uneven handwriting, scuffed-up sneakers, and the kind of earnest enthusiasm you don’t realize you miss until it’s staring you in the face again. There’s something deeply comforting about this movie, something warm and familiar, like it’s been waiting on the shelf for you to come back to it. Watching it today, the heart of the film still shines: a group of kids who just need someone to believe in them, and a coach who needs them just as much as they need him. Gordon Bombay’s arc hits differently as an adult; you start to appreciate the subtle sadness behind his showy confidence. There’s a tenderness to his journey that really lands—he isn’t just coaching hockey; he’s rediscovering who he wanted to be before life made him compromise. But with a modern lens, you also notice the things the movie smooths over. The “court-ordered community service turns jaded lawyer into children’s hockey coach” setup is, let’s be honest, a little wild. Some of the kids’ storylines barely get the attention they deserve, and a few jokes feel frozen in time. Yet none of that undermines the emotional pull—it just adds texture to the nostalgia, like seeing an old photograph and remembering both the moment and the person you were when it was taken. Where the movie still shines brightest is in its sincerity. There’s no ironic detachment, no need to justify its own optimism. The Ducks grow not because of some gritty sports doctrine but because they care about each other, and the film treats that as a perfectly valid—and powerful—reason to triumph. It’s sentimental, yes, but in the best way: honest, soft-hearted, and fully committed to the belief that underdogs deserve their shot. And that’s where The Mighty Ducks still holds real magic. It reminds you of what it felt like to believe in big possibilities, even if your skills were, generously, “in progress.” It taps into that sense of wonder and camaraderie that childhood sports movies used to deliver with ease. So yes, from a modern perspective it’s a little messy, a little idealistic, and occasionally dated—and that’s exactly why it works. The Mighty Ducks endures not because it’s perfect but because it’s heartfelt, warm, and unafraid to embrace its own hopeful spirit. Sometimes a movie doesn’t need to be flawless; it just needs to make you believe again. Quack on!

Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein is everything I hoped it would be — a dark, emotional, visually stunning reinvention of a classic story that still feels completely true to its gothic roots. Del Toro takes Mary Shelley’s iconic tale and gives it a fresh, haunting energy, crafting a version of the Monster that’s both terrifying and heartbreakingly human. What immediately grabbed me is how much love and atmosphere is packed into every frame. The film has that signature Del Toro look — richly textured sets, sweeping shadows, and creature design that blends elegance with eerie detail. It feels almost like stepping into a beautifully twisted storybook. And just like in his best work, the practical effects and makeup are absolutely top-tier, grounding the Monster in something tangible and real. You can see the craftsmanship in every scar and stitch. But what surprised me most is how emotionally layered the film is. The relationship between Victor and the Monster isn’t just a horror centerpiece — it’s the beating heart of the entire movie. The performances sell the tragedy of two beings bound together by creation, obsession, and loss. By the final act, the story hits with the weight of a full-blown gothic epic. What Del Toro does best here is highlight why Frankenstein has stayed relevant for over two centuries. It’s not just a monster story — it’s a story about loneliness, rage, ambition, and the cost of trying to play god. And he pulls all of that together in a way that feels both classic and totally new. If you’re a fan of gothic horror, beautifully crafted monsters, or Del Toro’s signature mix of heart and darkness, this movie is absolutely worth the watch. Frankenstein doesn’t just honor the original — it elevates it into something unforgettable.

My wife and I are longtime fans of Downton Abbey — we’ve watched the series from start to finish several times. So when we heard that a feature-length film was being made to continue the story, we were absolutely thrilled. What I love most about the film is how it expands the world of Downton Abbey to a grander scale, giving every beloved character their moment with real energy and charm. The story centers on Downton hosting the Royal Family, and it’s fascinating to see how this prestigious event impacts both the Crawleys and their devoted staff. Every scene is beautifully crafted, capturing the elegance and emotion that made the series so special. If you’re a fan of the original show, you’ll no doubt appreciate how seamlessly these characters and their stories make the transition to the big screen.

Sometimes a horror movie comes along that nails the balance between scares and laughs, and An American Werewolf in London (1981) is one of the best examples out there. It’s got werewolves, gore, comedy, and a surprising amount of heart—all wrapped up in that perfect early ’80s horror package. The story follows two American backpackers who take a little stroll across the English moors (pro tip: don’t). One of them doesn’t make it, and the other? Well, he gets bitten by a werewolf, which is basically the worst kind of souvenir you can bring home from vacation. From there, it’s a mix of shocking transformation scenes, dark humor, and some genuinely creepy moments. Rick Baker’s legendary practical effects absolutely steal the show—especially the jaw-dropping transformation sequence, which still holds up as one of the best in horror history. But what I love most is how the movie never forgets to have fun. One minute you’re laughing at awkward culture-clash jokes, the next you’re covering your eyes during a brutal attack. An American Werewolf in London is the perfect horror-comedy hybrid: bloody, funny, and totally unforgettable. If you’ve never seen it, consider this your sign. And if you have? You know it’s worth revisiting under the next full moon. 🐺🌕

Horror and comedy are my two favorite genres—and when you mash them together, you get something magical. That’s exactly why I had such a blast watching Elvira: Mistress of the Dark (1988), starring the one and only Mistress of the Macabre herself, Cassandra Peterson. This movie is pure campy fun. It’s got B-movie charm, over-the-top ’80s vibes, and Elvira crashing into small-town America like a gothic hurricane of cleavage, sarcasm, and horror hijinks. Everywhere she goes, she stirs up trouble, drops one-liners, and adds just the right amount of spooky sass. The balance between horror and comedy is pitch-perfect—just the kind of camp that made the ’80s unforgettable. Add in some surprisingly great practical effects and you’ve got yourself a cult classic worth celebrating. If you love your horror with a wink, a laugh, and a whole lot of attitude, Elvira: Mistress of the Dark is essential viewing. Throw it on your watchlist, grab some popcorn, and let Elvira work her magic.

I’ve always loved watching horror movies—not just during spooky season, but all year round. One of my favorite directors is John Carpenter, best known for classics like Christine, The Thing, and the original Halloween. But one of his more underrated projects is the 1993 horror anthology Body Bags. Originally pitched as a series for Showtime in the vein of Tales from the Crypt, the network passed, and the three completed episodes were re-edited into a feature-length anthology film. Carpenter himself appears as the ghoulish host, introducing each of the macabre stories. He directed the first two segments, while the third was helmed by fellow horror master Tobe Hooper. What makes Body Bags stand out is its use of practical effects, which are wonderfully gruesome and full of that early ’90s charm. Of the three tales, my favorite is The Gas Station, in which a young attendant finds herself terrorized by a homicidal maniac. Fans of Halloween will definitely appreciate the Easter eggs sprinkled throughout this story, as well as the surprise cameos from horror icons across the anthology. If you’re into horror anthologies, Body Bags is absolutely worth checking out. It’s creepy, campy, full of fun twists, and a hidden gem in Carpenter’s filmography.

Slashers are one of my favorite horror subgenres, and Hell of a Summer is a really fun throwback to those classic summer camp slashers. It’s co-written and directed by Finn Wolfhard (yep, Mike from Stranger Things), and he does a great job capturing that nostalgic vibe with a mix of suspense, comedy, and slasher chaos. One of the best parts is the characters—you actually get to spend enough time with them that you end up rooting for them to survive, which makes the kills hit harder. I do wish the movie used more practical effects and showed a bit more of the gore, since that’s such a staple of old-school slashers, but overall it’s a solid and entertaining watch. If you’re in the mood for a funny, nostalgic summer camp slasher, Hell of a Summer is definitely worth watching.