Blood Debts (1985)

After his picnicking daughter and her fiancé are killed by five hunters just for the hell of it, paunchy Vietnam vet Mark Collins (Richard Harrison, Empire of the Dark) harbors a Death Wish. And he won’t stop until all five of those sons of bitches are dead.

Within the first 10 minutes of Blood Debts, he’s made good on that promise, so Mark keeps killing scumbags to get this Filipino pow-pow quickie to feature length. A crime syndicate boss (Mike Monty, Strike Commando) and his lackey (Jim Gaines, Robowar) realize they could use Mark to rid the town of their own enemies: “As you can see in the pictures, he’s a natural killing machine, Bill.”

To “recruit” Mark, they kidnap his wife (Ann Jackson, Hunter’s Crossing). They supply him with a to-do list; he supplies the bloodlust. They also equip him with a partner, foxy lady assassin with-a-Z Liza (Ann Milhench, 9 Deaths of the Ninja). She does her job in tube tops, apparently during the time President Ferdinand Marcos had outlawed the brassiere. Meanwhile, if Mark’s not wearing a polo shirt, he’s not wearing a shirt at all, settling for a red track jacket with a zipper that must be stuck at belly-button level.

The police chief (Gerald McCoy, Naked Vengeance) isn’t keen on Mark and Liza’s two-man war on crime, but his officers sure are: “The killer of killers is actually helping us out by killing these murderers!” and “I’d rather have it this way. I’m sick and tired of doing paperwork, filling out data.”

I never tired of Blood Debts, faults and all. From lazy dubbing and gorge-wide gaps of logic to incompetent direction by Teddy Page (King of the Kingboxers 2), all the ways in which it errs greatly contributes to its enormous audience appeal. Harrison co-wrote the screenplay (so much as one exists) with Page, but no telling who’s responsible for the exploding golf ball scene or the abrupt, internet-infamous ending. That’s when Matt launches a tiny rocket into his enemy, sending bits of Bill every which way as the film freeze-frames into pop-culture glory. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Godzilla Minus Zero (2026)

While America’s Godzilla/Kong buddy-cop franchise offers heaping helpings of dumb monster fun, substance is virtually nonexistent. And prior to 2016, you could easily argue Japanese studios weren’t handling the iconic kaiju with much more tact. The Showa- and Heisei-era Godzilla films have a nostalgic charm, but beyond 1954’s original, you can only destroy a major metropolitan so many times before it feels inconsequential.

Fortunately, Shin Godzilla’s procedural take on the human drama paired with a grotesque creature design made the stakes feel real again. And with 2023’s Godzilla Minus One, director Takashi Yamazaki brought the most human and emotionally earned story to ever feature the atomic lizard. Despite not quite reaching the highs of its Oscar-winning predecessor, Godzilla Minus Zero comes surprisingly close, even as this series stomps over what feels like more familiar ground.

Two years after Shikishima (Ryunosuke Kamiki) and Noda (Hidetaka Yoshioka) successfully destroy Godzilla and anchor his, uh, chunks to the bottom of the ocean, another monstrous threat terrorizes central Japan. Noda leads a kaiju response team, working with the recent American occupation of Japan to subsequently test an experimental bomb and an experimental weather-based weapon. Both fail and only empower their target, inspiring Professor Murakami (Min Tanaka), a survivor of the bombing of Hiroshima, to recommend a more drastic and destructive strategy.

While Godzilla Minus Zero does expand on what kinds of narratives can unfold within the franchise, it also feels overly dependent on what Minus One established. Survivor’s guilt and the escalation of war appropriately ring true, but despite what feels like more time spent with Noda and Koichi’s family, the real expansion of the ideas explored in the prior film come through Professor Murakami. Tanaka stands out amid several powerful performances, presenting a decent into vengeful justice that feels unhinged, but not outright hysterical.

Of course, most aren’t hankering for a Godzilla film because they expect a deeply emotion arc. Yeah, it’s a welcome addition, but inevitably, you’ll yearn for a rampage or two. Minus Zero delivers in this department, maybe even more so from a technical perspective than Minus One, but it also feels more subdued. Really, there are only two or three major set pieces and handful of standalone sequences. Granted, they’re all executed exceptionally well, especially a dog-fighting scene that concludes the first act, but they do feel lighter. It’s like when the human narrative stalls, the kaiju action doesn’t come quite in the nick of time. You’ll welcome it when it shows up, but that misstep in pacing makes it feel a bit less impactful than it could be.

Minus Zero also keeps a strong sense of scale, which is overwhelmingly supported by Naoki Sato returning for another exceptional score. More so than any piece of the sound design, Sato makes the monsters feel a bit more grand, and the quieter moments that are almost less intimate due to the cinematography, still feel tender.

Even if Minus Zero doesn’t quite escape that very tall shadow of Minus One, it’s still a worthy sequel that leaves the future of Godzilla — at least when it’s produced by the Japanese studio Toho — shining bright. Whatever mathematical equation the kaiju winds up in next, the result, like this flick, should be positive. —Daniel Bokemper

Paradise Lost (2026)

Single mom Ryu So-young (Kim Hyun-joo, Jung_E) finds her world rocked when her son, Sun-woo (Yu Ji-wan, Netflix’s Parasyte: The Grey) is among 13 schoolchildren who vanish on a camping trip. Some, but not all, of the kids’ corpses are found in a coal mine before a collapse ends the search. 

Nine years later, police inform her that her son’s been found. He’s alive. All grown up (and now played by The Divine Fury’s Bae Hyeon-seong), he’s sullen, withdrawn and antisocial. And he might be a serial killer. 

Remarkably, Paradise Lost is Yeon Sang-ho’s third film to hit U.S. theaters this year alone. On the heels of The Ugly and Colony, it pulls themes from each: the long-buried secrets of the former and the technological anxiety of the latter. 

Ah, yes, the tech, borne of tragedy: To help the parents grieve, AI giant company Trans Human creates “live” versions of each kid, viewable only via special glasses. (Don’t think this isn’t coming.) So-young begins each and every day donning the specs, so when Sun-woo suddenly, surprisingly returns, he’s more than a little jealous of her addiction to his younger, frozen-in-time self. 

In exploring this angle, Yeon raises questions of identity and reality. But are they worth answering in this story? Wrestling with those ethics, the speculative subplot gets in the way of the mystery’s mechanics as both compete for Yeon’s attention. While I understand his interest in the SF potential of AI, it isn’t needed at all to make the movie tick. 

Thus, Paradise Lost feels like two movies forced to get along. In the first act, it feels like Yeon could have chosen either route and run with it, and I wish he had. At least trying both gives his leading lady more notes to play, which Kim does quite well, so that’s one for the plus column. A second victory: Even with his bifurcated, dueling narrative, Yeon wraps it all up in an economical 101 minutes. —Rod Lott

In theaters Friday, Nov. 6.

Marrow (2026)

Four female influencers have gone missing. So zaftig true-crime enthusiast Distal Marrow and her furrowed brow take a deep dive into the case for her live podcast, Embracing the Paradox. It’s the perfect opportunity for Distal (Jessica Dawn Willis, Death 4 Dinner) to regain listeners and appease her boss/aunt Camilla (Danielle Harris, The Last Boy Scout), all of whom are tired of recent cryptid-leaning content.

When Distal receives all-hours clues and calls from the likely perpetrator who calls himself NOOSPLEHDEENI (read it backward), the local cops want her help, but she turns them down and goes back to podcasting. Here’s the problem with a movie largely about podcasting — and this goes double when it concerns a heroine living alone in an isolated cabin: It makes for a lot of tell, don’t show. With little Marrow has to show is held until its final frustrating minutes, long after you’ve discerned what’s actually up. 

Marrow marks a family affair between Willis and her husband, Mitch McLeod (2019’s Silhouette). He directs and co-wrote the screenplay with her and Beasts of 42nd Street novelist Preston Fassel. Together, they’ve hatched a good idea that doesn’t quite come to fruition, despite obvious care applied toward the craft. “Pacing is vital,” the caller schools Distal at one point. “Allow the story to unravel organically. Introduce the characters. Create tension.” The latter element doesn’t come through, which is odd considering the film is inspired by actual events you want to know more about. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Littermates (2026)

Because Littermates comes from one of the producers of the summer’s from-nowhere smash Obsession, it’s being sold as a horror thriller. That’s doing this film an extreme disservice, setting up a switcheroo moviegoers will not take kindly to, because Littermates is, in reality, a dark comedy. And a damned funny one, not to mention one of the year’s most sparkling gems.

On his picture-perfect English countryside estate, the kindly Chester (Oliver Woolf) has taken in two young adults who separately emerge from the forest in shock, so terrified and traumatized they’re unable to speak. (We’d think them feral if not for being well-dressed.) Chester teaches them to communicate again and, because they have no memory, christens them Liam (Joey Bader) and Mel (Kaylee McGregor). He also gives them gas masks and tells them they must stick together, especially when and if they hear warning sirens.

Just what in the Stockholm Syndrome is going on here? With about 12 minutes elapsed, it’s obvious we’re in 10 Cloverfield Lane territory, but funny and with the healing power of Chicago’s “If You Leave Me Now.” That ballad arrives via evening karaoke sessions — just one of several rewards Liam and Mel can enjoy by redeeming good-behavior coins Chester calls “nifties.” (Others include trampoline time or a “headphone song before bed.”)

Three’s company for this nuclear family … until three’s a crowd. Liam and Mel bicker like siblings half their actual ages, but she grows more curious about pushing boundaries. The less said, the better, beyond that Littermates boasts a trio of winning performances, each operating on a different register, and contains awfully gorgeous imagery for such a twisted, bleak comedy. Co-directors Scott Tinkham and Michael Woloson, working from Tinkham’s smart script, earn fistfuls of nifties all their own. —Rod Lott

In theaters Friday, Nov. 6.

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