Reviews

Released worldwide by Netflix on December 19, 2025, the South Korean film "The Great Flood" (Daehongsu), directed by Kim Byung-woo (The Terror Live), is one of the most ambitious and divisive productions of the year.

Although the trailer and title suggest a conventional disaster film (in the style of 2012 or The Day After Tomorrow), the work is actually an existentialist science fiction thriller that uses a "time loop" to explore artificial intelligence.

1. Synopsis and the Big Twist

The plot begins with An-na (played by the excellent Kim Da-mi), an AI researcher, desperately trying to save her son Ja-in from an apartment building being submerged by an apocalyptic tsunami. She receives help from Hee-jo (Park Hae-soo, from Round 6), a security agent with mysterious motivations.

The Twist (Mild Spoiler): The film reveals that the disaster we are witnessing is not immediate physical reality, but rather a computer simulation repeated thousands of times. An-na's research aims to "teach" real human emotions to an AI so that humanity's consciousness can be preserved in synthetic bodies after Earth's extinction.

2. Strengths: The Visual and Technical Spectacle

Aquatic Realism: The work with practical effects and CGI is impressive. The feeling of claustrophobia inside the flooded building and the force of the water are palpable and distressing. Performances: Kim Da-mi carries the emotional weight of the film, delivering an exhausted yet resilient performance that keeps the audience engaged, even when the plot becomes confusing.

Genre Innovation: Director Kim Byung-woo defies expectations by transforming an action film into a philosophical meditation on what makes us human (the "emotional engine").

3. Criticism and Controversy

The film's reception was mixed due to its complexity:

"Bait and Switch": Many viewers felt misled by the marketing, expecting a linear survival film and receiving a dense plot about transhumanism and time loops.

Fragmented Narrative: The repetitive structure (the loop) can be tiring. The film demands total attention to detail to understand which "version" of the simulation we are in.

Scientism vs. Emotion: Critics point out that, in its effort to appear intellectually profound, the script sometimes loses the simple emotional connection that the disaster subgenre usually offers.

Expectation vs. Reality
What the trailer promises What the film delivers
Global disaster film Psychological thriller in a confined location
Fight against nature Fight against human obsolescence
Frenetic action Cerebral and repetitive science fiction

Final Verdict

"Daehongsu" is a film for those who enjoy complex science fiction like Interstellar or Dark. If you're only looking for adrenaline and collapsing buildings, you might be disappointed by the second half. It's a film about memory and the human capacity to love, even when the world (or the code) is crumbling.

Interesting Note: The film ends with a post-credits scene that suggests the fate of "New Humanity" in space, raising ethical debates about whether AI clones can truly replace the human race.

Read More

Not just a flood movie

The Great Flood (2025) begins as a high-stakes disaster film, throwing you into a city overwhelmed by massive flooding and impossible odds. The tension is constant, the visuals are striking, and the emotional core—centered on survival, sacrifice, and human connection—keeps you deeply invested. As the story unfolds, it slowly reveals a smarter, more ambitious side, weaving in unexpected sci-fi elements that reframe what you’re watching without giving everything away. By the end, it’s no longer just about escaping the flood, but about memory, humanity, and what we’re willing to do to protect the future. It’s the kind of movie that surprises you, makes you think, and stays with you after the screen goes dark.

Read More

Revelations: The Thin Line Between Guilt and Excuse

Revelations is a gripping Korean psychological thriller that kept me hooked with its tense atmosphere and complex characters. I appreciated how the film explores human guilt, the tendency to rationalize our actions, and the moral choices people face under pressure.

But Revelations is more than just a crime story; it is, beyond a simple film, a sharp critique of human greed.
At the center of the film is the criminal Kwon Yang-rae, who, beyond his role as an antagonist, is primarily treated as a projection for our two main characters. For the pastor, he represents a kind of “revelation” and divine calling, while for the detective, he is the source of her deep suffering and guilt. In this sense, he serves as a personification of excuse.
Meanwhile, the young A-yeong clearly represents a return to reality. Here, we are confronted with two completely different perspectives: for Seong Min-chan, the girl symbolizes his job loss and his “disobedience” to God, whereas for Lee Yeon-hui, she embodies the possibility of ending her guilt. She is the element of the film that forces each character to face the consequences of their actions.

From the very beginning, the film establishes strong symbolism: A-yeong fleeing from a threatening man represents the human tendency to constantly seek excuses. This pursuit can be read as a metaphor: youth still seems spared from guilt and greed. However, later in the film, we understand that this moral justification is inevitable.

Ultimately, the final confrontation clearly demonstrates that the need to justify our actions is not eternal. It only takes one choice to break free: the choice to face the truth. The final scene distinctly portrays two completely different personalities: one who remains in ignorance and prefers to try to escape her guilt, and the other who confronts her own “demons” and is finally freed from all culpability.
In fact, the film does not suggest that we are all doomed, but rather that we can always find a way out, as long as we accept the truth as it is.

Finally, I would like to add that I do not believe Revelations critiques faith or an “obsession” with God. I genuinely think it should be seen differently: here, faith highlights our human need to avoid facing our guilt. Religion is just one of many excuses used to show how much we seek to justify our actions in order to absolve ourselves of responsibility.

Thank you for reading :)

Read More

I love dancing, so I knew I’d fall for this movie, I just didn’t realize how much. To me, you listen to music with your soul and dance with your heart. A great dancer doesn’t just move to the beat, they feel the music, as if every cell in their body is a note being played through the dance. And that’s exactly what the movie is about: love, but in a broader sense. Not just romantic love between two people, but also the act of feeling, of surrendering to emotions you can’t control.

I don’t see Shinya Sugiki and Shinya Suzuki as opposites. In fact, they’re more alike than they realize. Both are professional dancers who’ve dedicated their lives to the dance, which is at the core of their identities. And while they emphasize different sides of dance, Sugiki prioritizing strict technique over emotion, and Suzuki prioritizing desire and emotion over rigid technique, they’re still two sides of the same coin. That similarity is what makes their relationship so magnetic and what kept me glued to the screen. Each sees in the other both a reflection and a contrast.

They also recognize in each other a silent pain they both carry. I wish we knew more about their backstories, what shaped them into who they are. Suzuki says he can’t stand lies or betrayal. Who lied to him? Who betrayed him? Could that explain his arrogance and disdain for elegance, finesse, competitions, and audiences? At one point, Fusako says Sugiki believes he has to suffer to grow stronger. What happened to make him become the “grim reaper,” killing off all his feelings just to be stronger and successful? I don’t think it’s simply because of his failed relationship with Liana.

As for the romance, I’ve always seen Sugiki and Suzuki’s relationship like a moth drawn to a flame. They’ve always felt this magnetic, irresistible pull toward each other, an admiration that was almost impossible to control. And working together turned that admiration into something deeper: love. When Sugiki danced with Liana, it was forced by the competition committee. But when he invited Suzuki to dance, that was a true declaration of love. He chose Suzuki, and in a way, crossed that line and lost himself. It was also a declaration of love for dance itself, where both of them allowed themselves to feel everything, together with the audience.

At first, the audience’s applause was hesitant and confused, but as they kept dancing, Sugiki overwhelmed by emotion, Suzuki more restrained and technical, the applause grew louder and louder. With each performance, they showed what they could achieve if they let go of their fears and insecurities, the things holding them back from what they truly wanted. That’s my favorite scene in the whole movie.

Takeuchi Ryoma and Machida Keita’s performances were absolutely phenomenal. The two-hour film flies by thanks to them. Not to take away from the rest of the cast, who were flawless, but honestly, the movie could’ve been just Ryoma and Keita and it still would’ve been amazing. Their chemistry is out of this world. If Ryoma’s hips had me hypnotized, Keita’s eyes had me completely captivated. He conveyed everything: admiration, love, pain, doubt... all hidden beneath Sugiki’s rigid, cold exterior. Netflix nailed the production, and the soundtrack was fantastic.
I desperately need a sequel, a mini-series, a special episode, anything. I’m not picky. The story of Shinya Sugiki and Shinya Suzuki cannot end here.

I know this isn’t a film for everyone, but if you allow yourself to feel the passion, you’ll be swept away by this beautiful story. Highly recommended!!

Read More

Interesting But Short Film

I was interested in this film because one of the actresses, Sun Mei Lin, has a supporting role in the 2025 hit series Speed and Love.” This was a short, 12 min film, about two women in a relationship discussing marriage as they are preparing to attend someone else’s wedding. There is no soundtrack and only the two characters in the film which is kind of documentary in style with a “breaking the fourth wall” element. The film was interesting but I don’t know if I would watch it again. The ending was kind of abrupt and left me wanting more. This film was difficult to find but streams for free on GagaOOLala.

Read More

I like eccentric characters -- but these are too unlikable and pretentious. "Merci exercises" and "twighlighting" but no straight answers from any of them, ugh. These were not simple people going about their simple lives -- "The Zen Diary" did it so much better.

Nothing is ever explained -- why is is so cool to ride on the lady's tricycle that even the student who has just arrived knows about it? Does the school teacher ever teach? Why does the guest house owner not remove the wheel of the tricycle when he checks for punctures in the tire? (That last one hurt to watch.) And what about that other hotel? Nothing is connected, even though it seems to want to be until the last minute. This is not simplicity, this is faked depth.

It did have its surreal moments, with the hotel where guests worked on the vegetable fields or how the woman pulled her heavy suitcase along the sandy beach -- but these moments were far and inbetween.

I don't really have anything else to say, the film deeply annoyed me. *And* it bored me to tears.

If you want to see a cool film set on an Okinawan island, go watch "Nabbie's Love".

Edit to add: This film has won the Manfred Salzberger priye at the 2008 Berlinale and was a nominee for the "World Cinema - Dramatic" categegory of the Sundance festival, so there are certainly people who think the film is excellent. And as you can see from Elisheva's comment below, there are viewers who like the film. Please don't follow other opinions, make up your own.

Read More

An important story, but disappointing plot...

I think stories like these are important to tell, but this was still a difficult plot to endure. The movie was very realistic in some ways and very socially critical. The homophobia (internalized and not) and insecurities are ripe in this one. The legal battle was stressful to watch (which I think is good and showcases a lot of Japanese attitudes on gay topics)... But, in the end, I'm very disappointed that the woman who hit her own child and neglected her during the custody battles to the point that she was found wandering by the police... that sort of person won custody. It's realistic that most women, even the abusive ones, will get custody of children over a man.. but I'm angry Nagisa didn't fight at all. I understand he didn't want to drag his ex-wife while she's vulnerable, but the real vulnerable one is the child. This is evident by how her whole personality changes when she's living with her mom in the aftermath.

Nagisa is a very selfish character, which is fine (those sorts of people need to be represented too).. but the whole time I felt bad for both his partners-- especially Shun, who he left behind because of his internalized homophobia and returned to when he had no other options. The "romance" between them didn't feel good or healthy to me. Shun felt like was a second choice and was generally an afterthought in this 2 hour long movie.

TL;DR Good plot but unsatisfying (yet realistic?) ending/results of divorce. I am choosing to believe that the reason for them revisiting Shun and Nagisa at the end is to transfer the custody.

Read More

Listening Before It’s Too Late

*A Place Called Silence* is a heavy, unsettling film that stays with you long after it ends. The story explores bullying not as a single cruel act, but as a slow, suffocating pressure that seeps into everyday life. Told through quiet moments and restrained tension, the film asks how far silence can stretch before it breaks.

The actress delivers a powerful performance built on restraint. Her expressions—fear, guilt, fury, and love—feel painfully real, especially from a mother’s point of view. She embodies a parent torn between protecting her child and navigating a system that often looks away.

From a mom’s perspective, this film is a warning and a call to attention. It suggests that dealing with bullying starts with noticing the small changes, listening without judgment, and refusing to dismiss pain as “just a phase.” Silence may feel safer, but the film reminds us that speaking up—early and firmly—can be an act of protection and love.

Read More

A Story That Reminded Me to Keep Going

*The Dumpling Queen* is a heartfelt film based on a true story, following an immigrant woman’s journey from street vendor to business icon. Set between 1977 and 2000, the story captures resilience, motherhood, and quiet ambition, told through bowls of handmade dumplings and years of hard work.

The actress delivers a deeply grounded performance—never loud, never showy, but emotionally precise. You feel her exhaustion, her stubborn hope, and her love for her children in every scene. Supporting characters add warmth and realism, making the struggles feel lived-in rather than dramatized.

Visually, the film leans into warm, slightly muted tones that perfectly reflect the era. From cramped kitchens to growing storefronts, the atmosphere carries the texture of late-70s grit evolving into 90s confidence. There’s a nostalgic rhythm to the pacing—unhurried, observant, and sincere.

*The Dumpling Queen* isn’t just about success; it’s about endurance, dignity, and the quiet power of starting small and continuing anyway.

Read More

Malaya but Bound: The Illusion of Freedom in The Kingdom

I recently learned that The Kingdom, produced by MQuest Ventures in collaboration with APT Entertainment and MZet Television Productions, is set to continue as a series. That news prompted me to revisit the film on Netflix—and I realised I’d never actually written a proper review. So, here we are. Watching it again only reinforced how compelling its core idea is. The Kingdom is an alternate-history action drama set in a Philippines that was never colonised, instead emerging as a sovereign monarchy known as the Kingdom of Kalayaan. It’s a question many of us have quietly wondered about—what might the country look like had history taken a different turn—and the film leans fully into that speculative space.

In this reimagined timeline, Lakan Makisig Nandula, a widowed king, faces a looming crisis of succession. With three very different children—Dayang Matimyas, Magat Bagwis, and Dayang Lualhati—he must decide who is worthy to inherit the throne, even as political alliances, forbidden love, and betrayal threaten to tear the kingdom apart. Into this fragile balance steps Sulo, a social outcast whose involvement with the royal family sets off a chain of events that will shape Kalayaan’s future. Directed by Michael “Mike” Tuviera, who won Best Director at the 50th MMFF, and written by Michelle Ngu-Nario (from a story she co-wrote with Tuviera), the film boasts an impressive ensemble: Vic Sotto as the weary and burdened Makisig; Piolo Pascual as the vengeful yet principled Sulo; Cristine Reyes as the ambitious and politically astute Matimyas; Sue Ramirez as the initially sheltered Lualhati; Sid Lucero as the volatile Bagwis; and Ruby Ruiz in a commanding role as the Punong Babaylan, the kingdom’s spiritual and moral anchor. Notable special appearances from Eula Valdez, Iza Calzado, and Cedrick Juan further enrich the world. (For context: Lakan means king, Dayang princess, and Magat prince.)

What stands out immediately is the care and conviction behind the film’s vision. Tuviera and Ngu-Nario’s world-building is confident, imaginative, and deeply considered. Even if the execution had faltered—which it doesn’t—I’d still admire the sheer ambition of reimagining the Philippines on its own terms. Thankfully, The Kingdom is far from a misfire. It’s a gripping political thriller, layered with compelling characters and ideas that resonate beyond its fictional setting. At its best, it functions as thoughtful speculative fiction: by imagining what the country could have been, it offers sharp commentary on what it is today.

Vic Sotto’s casting as Makisig initially raises eyebrows, given his long association with comedy, but his performance is one of the film’s quiet triumphs. This may be the least “smiling” role of his career, and it works. He portrays a man exhausted by power, constrained by ancestral laws and divine expectations, and slowly worn down by the weight of rule. Close-ups linger on the sorrow and fatigue in his eyes, revealing a king who doesn’t crave authority but feels trapped by it. It’s a refreshingly restrained performance—one that allows space for his co-stars and presents a ruler who is, quite unusually, tired of staying in power.

The film’s strength also lies in its texture. Visually, it blends the familiar with the imagined: drone shots of recognisable Metro Manila landmarks recontextualised by monarchist imagery; interiors that resemble ancestral homes; production details like floor patterns, textiles, and a redesigned flag that feel organic rather than gimmicky. The use of indigenous fabrics and designs is especially striking, suggesting a fashion and identity shaped entirely outside colonial influence. Language, too, is carefully considered—the dialogue leans into deeper, less Hispanised Tagalog, subtly reinforcing the film’s alternate history. Spirituality permeates governance, with babaylans guiding the royal family and ancient laws such as the Batas ng Tugmaan (Law of Retribution) shaping justice. These choices invite reflection on which cultural elements may have been diminished or lost through colonisation, making the film’s Gatpuno Antonio J. Villegas Cultural Award feel well earned.

Performance-wise, the ensemble largely delivers. Cristine Reyes gives Dayang Matimyas a commanding presence balanced by vulnerability, particularly in her fraught relationship with her father, and she easily owns the film’s most convincing fight scenes. Sue Ramirez brings nuance to Lualhati, even when the character’s naïveté grates—as it should. Sid Lucero is reliably intense as Bagwis, while Ruby Ruiz exudes authority and moral complexity as the head babaylan. Piolo Pascual, unsurprisingly, excels in the quieter moments as Sulo, conveying restrained rage and grief with precision, even if that intensity doesn’t always fully translate into the action beats. A standout sequence—the one-on-one confrontation between Makisig and Sulo under ancestral law—is genuinely gripping, elevated by the emotional stakes carried by the supporting cast. Iza Calzado, in a brief role, is particularly memorable, suggesting an entire unseen backstory through subtle gestures alone.

If the film falters, it’s mostly in pacing and clarity. Some action scenes could be cleaner, and a few narrative threads feel underdeveloped. Ironically, my biggest complaint is that I wanted more time in this world—the film could easily have been 20 minutes longer. Still, Jessie Lasaten’s score lends the story an epic sweep, and the overall experience remains engrossing. The Kingdom reminds us of cinema’s power to reimagine reality, to pose uncomfortable questions about governance, class, tribalism, and freedom. Kalayaan may mean “freedom,” and its people may be called Malaya, but the film makes it clear that corruption, inequality, and betrayal can flourish even without foreign rule. In the end, The Kingdom leaves us unsettled in the best way—asking whether freedom is simply the absence of colonisers, or something far more difficult to achieve. As a foundation for future stories, it’s rich with possibility, and as a film, it lands with a seriousness and ambition that lingers long after the credits roll.

Read More