Pradeen Krishna G

Despite all its visual polish and hype, Cyberpunk 2077 ends up feeling surprisingly immature. The story tries to appear edgy and profound but rarely delivers real emotional or philosophical depth. Everything feels exaggerated — the slang, the violence, the constant “cool” attitude — like it’s written for teenagers rather than adults who expect nuance from a dystopian world. The cinematics are another disappointment. The first-person camera kills composition and makes every cutscene feel flat and awkward. Characters just stand around delivering lines, and the overuse of neon lighting makes the world look noisy instead of beautiful. There’s no rhythm or emotional pacing — just random flashes of “look how cool this is.” Underneath all the shine, the game misses the reflective heart of true cyberpunk: alienation, moral ambiguity, and quiet human tragedy. Instead of feeling cinematic, it feels staged; instead of being immersive, it feels performative. If Cyberpunk 2077 had chosen subtlety over spectacle — fewer neon lights, fewer explosions, and more quiet moments of humanity — it could’ve been something truly special. But as it stands, it’s a flashy, shallow fantasy dressed up as something mature. I’ve been replaying Cyberpunk 2077, and the more I think about it, the more I realize how shallow Johnny Silverhand really is. He is a tired copy of 1960s American revolutionary rockstar clichés — loud, self-destructive, and pretending to be profound — a copy-paste of the 1960s American counterculture archetype. Think about it. His entire persona — the anti-establishment rockstar, the self-destructive rebel, the “screw the system” attitude — is straight out of the Jim Morrison / John Lennon / Sid Vicious playbook. That’s not futuristic; it’s nostalgic. It’s the same old “rock against the system” fantasy that’s been repackaged since Woodstock. The problem is, Cyberpunk 2077 acts like this archetype is still profound, when it’s decades past its expiration date. In 2077, where megacorps literally own people’s memories, “burn it all down” isn’t rebellion — it’s naïveté. Johnny feels like a boomer rebel who never grew up, stuck in a hologram. Compare that to Blade Runner or Blade Runner 2049. Those films understand what cyberpunk is about. They don’t shout rebellion — they question existence. The conflict isn’t between punk and corp; it’s between being and not-being. It’s quiet, tragic, and deeply human. Blade Runner asks: “What does it mean to be human in a world run by machines?” Cyberpunk 2077 asks: “How do I look cool while flipping off a corporation?” CD Projekt Red didn’t really evolve the cyberpunk idea — they just gave it a next-gen skin. They’re fans of the genre, not thinkers of it. Johnny Silverhand isn’t rebellion; he’s rebellion as a brand. A ghost of the 20th century pretending to be the future. Meanwhile, Blade Runner movies quietly asks: “If you can’t tell the difference between real and artificial, does it even matter which one you are?” That’s true cyberpunk.

Must watch. Brutal realities of the badlands of India's rural Northern India. Santosh doesn’t flinch. It drags you, willingly or not, into the raw, unforgiving terrain of rural North India, where power, gender, caste, and violence intersect in ways rarely portrayed with this kind of quiet honesty. This is not the sanitised, hyper-glamourised version of India that most Bollywood movies tend to export. Instead, Santosh strips back the artifice and lays bare a world many know exists, but few dare to explore onscreen. The film follows Santosh, a widow unexpectedly inducted into the police force, who finds herself caught in a system that is broken at every level—morally, politically, institutionally. The storytelling is restrained but deeply affecting. There's a grim tension that simmers throughout, not because of dramatic background music or stylised action, but because of the stark, suffocating reality that unfolds frame by frame. Performances are quietly powerful, particularly from the lead, whose internal conflict is portrayed with nuance and depth. There are no easy resolutions here, no heroic arc—just a painfully slow realisation of realities of the oppressed and poor people. What makes Santosh hit harder is that it doesn’t try to entertain. It confronts. It observes. It indicts. This is a film that trusts its audience to sit with discomfort, and that might be its most radical choice. If you're looking for realism, not fantasy, watch Santosh. It's not just a film. It's a mirror.

The visuals are amazing—truly a work of art. The gameplay is also very excellent.The story is good but not the best, around 8, but dialogues are well written and acting is very good. Moreover, the main story is shorter and filled with many repetitive side quests, which could have been reduced. The roads from point A to point B is unnecessarily populated with a huge number of bandits and Mongol raiders, similar to AC Origins. Nevertheless, the combat is a solid 10/10, except for the absence of certain stealth mechanics, such as assassinating enemies from behind objects. This game is a photographer's dream, with a lively and calming environment filled with the sounds of wind chimes, falling autumn leaves, and sun kissed grasslands.

An amazing game. The graphics are well done, and the environments are terrifying and beautiful in their own way. The story is also very good. It's a very engaging game that depicts the impact of nuclear disasters on humanity and serves as a reminder for us.