Three Films Make A Post: The end continues.

Spinal Tap II: The End Continues (2025): This belated sequel to the great Spinal Tap is not an ideal note for director Rob Reiner to go out on – but then, who is so lucky to finish on a masterpiece?

As it stands, it’s not totally unfair to call the film a bit unnecessary, at least in as much as it doesn’t do anything surprising with its very aged fictional rockstars that didn’t already happen in the first one, but there more concise, and more energetically. This doesn’t mean there aren’t any good jokes in here – in fact, there are still more funny ones than bad ones – or that the film isn’t at least worth one rainy Sunday afternoon watch. There’s just nothing it does that suggests anyone involved actually needed to make it.

Imborrable (2022): Even at seventy minutes, this Spanish fake documentary about the attempt at creating a horror short film that goes astray is a drag. The actual narrative core could have been presented in twenty minutes at most, but director Jorge Rivera drowns it out in a series of talking heads that never seems to stop, and proceeds to go on and on forever in tangents that often have very little to do with anything and make the hour of farting around that make up the beginning of many a found footage-style POV horror film look downright concise.

Forbidden Fruits (2026): If ever there was a film that’s clearly not made for me, it’s Meredith Alloway’s meandering, social media irony-drenched bit of feminist hang out movie with a horror appendix. I found the characters obnoxious, the way the film treats its themes somewhere between impenetrable and pointless, and really didn’t want to spend any time with these people or in their world.

However, even I have to give the filmmaker credit for her unwavering aesthetic through line. There’s an insistent visual style to Forbidden Fruits you can’t help but respect, even if it bores you to tears as a film.

In short: The Princess Bride (1987)

Rob Reiner’s fantasy comedy might very well be the most difficult to hate film of all times; perhaps because it is practically impossible not to love.

And there is truly a lot to love here, as most anyone reading this will know: be it the way William Goldman’s script shifts the emphasis of his own novel he is adapting here quite decidedly in many points towards something genuinely sweeter than the book is, further away from some of the book’s (not that) hidden bitterness. Be it how Goldman treats the clichés of the fairy tale romance he works with here with irony without things actually becoming cynical, as if he had had the realization that the dream of the world being kinder and better (or simply more surprising) in nature is not a thing only to mock even if one has come to see it as the cause of some of one’s own pain.

Also lovely are all of the performances, be it by a very young Robin Wright in not actually her first movie role as some say (let’s not even speak of the years in the soap opera mills she was still working in when this was made) playing Princess Buttercup in the only way to make the role work, absolutely straight; be it André the Giant being as charming as ever a wrestler was on screen; be it Mandy Patinkin doing a note-perfect ironic Errol Flynn. Why, I don’t even mind Billy Crystal’s scene here.

The film’s great trick apart from its tone is of course how genuinely funny it is, with a humour that’s not only based on all those many quotable lines but also an ability to not go for the most obvious joke all of the time but more often than not for the one that’s the decisive bit stranger and more off-beat.


And, you know: “Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father. Prepare to die!”