I was hyped and pleasantly surprised walking out of the cinema.

Mortal Kombat II is proof that something great can emerge even from a shoddy foundation.

Where Mortal Kombat I felt like a high budget Hollywood B movie. The sequel levels everything up. It felt a lot more confident from the start—like it knew exactly what it wanted to be.

It didn’t take long to feel the difference either. Somewhere within the first hour, it was already clear this was operating on a completely different level.

Night and day from MK1

It’s funny because I didn’t even see Mortal Kombat I until a day before Mortal Kombat II’s screening.

There was a moment when the main characters were journeying through the desert. I paused, watched something else, then came back just to power through. That wasn’t the case with MK II.

MK1 had a really strong start showcasing the history between Scorpion and Sub-Zero, but it quickly went downhill. The main character was easily its weakest part. MK II fixes that by finally telling the story from the lens of actual characters that exist in Mortal Kombat lore.

If anything, the biggest difference is tone. MK1 felt like it took itself a little too seriously. MK II is self-aware of how absurd everything is. It’s campy without being too cheeky.

And more importantly—it actually feels like a proper action blockbuster. Not stitched together. Not dragging. Just locked in from start to finish.

Cage & Kitana

Johnny Cage and Kitana brought their own brand of charisma, humor, and energy. They were the perfect anchors for the kind of story MK II wanted to tell.

Cage, especially, changes the tone of every scene he’s in. He feels like what Cole Young should have been—a self-aware, not too serious lens for the audience to grasp the world of Mortal Kombat.

Where Cage is the funny, grounded audience stand-in, Kitana is the heart and soul of the film.

It’s her story that kicks things off. While MK1 arguably had the stronger intro, MK II delivers a more consistent vibe and energy throughout. Kitana’s emotional journey becomes the core, and her growth alongside Cage’s is what ties everything together.

The returning cast, meanwhile, feels like proper foundations. Like veterans welcoming new, highly billed members and giving them space to shine.

And then there’s Kano. Absolutely loved Kano here. He was already an asshole in the first one—and somehow even more so in the sequel. But this time, his motivations and decisions actually make even more sense. His banter with Cage was also hilarious.

It’s a fighting game movie. Relax.

A lot of the charm comes from how the movie embraces its absurdity.

Johnny Cage, in particular, calls out everything that sounds ridiculous about the Mortal Kombat tournament. He practically calls it unbelievably stupid without actually saying it—but does it in a way that’s inviting and incredibly funny.

It feels self-aware that it’s a campy fighting game movie—and it fully commits to that. That balance is what lets it be corny, campy, absurd, and bizarre… but in an endearing way.

There’s also some heart here. Like I said, Cage brings the humor, but Kitana brings the emotional weight. She grounds the film without clashing with its tone. Her journey gives the story something to hold onto beyond just fights.

And yes, even if it’s tighter than the first film, there will still be moments where you go, “huh?” That’s fine.

This is a fighting game movie. These stories are rarely known for being deep. What matters is that MK II makes the most of what it has—and finds a solid balance of humor, heart, and chaos.

Finish him.

The fights are just better. Plain and simple.

They’re edited better. Yes, there are still quick cuts—very Hollywood—but the sequences feel more sustained. Each hit also felt weightier than the first film. You actually feel the impact.

And when the fatalities come, they hit harder. They’re at the right level of gore—not too much, not too little. Each one gets a reaction. They’re cool without being self-indulgent.

What also helps is how distinct each fight feels. They lean into each character’s style, so nothing feels repetitive. It genuinely feels like the fighting game come to life.

The pacing is spot on too. People wanted a tournament—and that’s exactly what we got. Fights come one after the other in the best way possible, and each one tells its own story without taking away from the main plot.

It really does feel like a proper tournament arc. And a damn good one at that.

Flawless Victory? Not quite.

There are still moments that will make casual viewers go, “huh?” Some lines of dialogue. Some head-scratching beats. But given the film’s tone, they land anyway.

The story is tighter, but still shallow. It’s a fighting game movie—don’t expect it to say anything profound. Its job is to tie everything together and build around the fights, and that’s exactly what it does.

There are still small messy moments here and there. But you’ll likely walk away on a high. Maybe even wanting to watch it again. Because everything it does right—it does really well.

If MK1 felt like barely scraping by with a win in Round 1, Mortal Kombat II feels like Round 2 done properly. More decisive. More confident.

And yeah—Kitana? She’ll make you glad you have eyes. Will make you want to shout “Get over here” every time she’s on screen.

They say we only have ten truly vibrant summers in our twenties.

I’m not entirely certain who authored that pressure or if I simply internalized it while scrolling through a Pinterest mood board of how I wanted my life to look when I finally hit my prime. That idea sparked a specific kind of FOMO that if we aren’t living at our absolute peak during these ten fleeting orbits around the sun, we are somehow failing the decade.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t let that ideology steer my ship. I spent my twenties accumulating milestones like they were limited-edition accessories. I chased the grand and “successful,” often reaching markers of achievement that most expect in their thirties. Back then, everything had to be monumental for my life to feel awesome.

Maybe because I didn’t come from privilege. I grew up with the odds stacked against me, and started working for my dreams as soon as I turned 18. So I turned into a professional opportunist, grabbing every chance I could get.

I was never sure when the universe might stop offering them.

Because of that drive, my life eventually looked meticulously curated on paper. It’s even more glamorous when viewed on a 120Hz Super AMOLED+ display.

However, as Taylor Swift so astutely noted, familiarity breeds contempt. As a lifestyle journalist, that contempt often manifests as a weary cynicism toward the very tools of my trade. In a world of iterative design, the novelty of a new smartphone often feels like a ghost.

When I packed the Samsung Galaxy A57 5G to experience a summer to remember in Boracay Island, I didn’t expect to be surprised. I expected a standard device and a beautiful island, but what I actually found was a paradigm shift in how I view my own life.

Sparkle of new beginnings

Arriving at Discovery Boracay, the scenery felt like a familiar embrace.

I had stayed at this resort years ago, yet as I walked toward the shore, the sensation of the Galaxy A57 in my hand felt distinctly different.

Shot on the Samsung Galaxy A57 | Photo by MJ Jucutan

The device is unapologetically slim at 6.9mm, which is a feat of engineering that feels more like a piece of jewelry than a piece of technology.

Shot on the Samsung Galaxy A57 | Photo by MJ Jucutan

The Awesome Blue finish captures the shifting hues of the sea and features the new Ambient Island translucent camera bump. This design choice mirrored the soft pastels of the morning sky I used to watch, proving that even a tool for work can possess an aesthetic that resonates with a creative soul.

Watching the sun rise while eating Tahô, those warm pearls of sweetened silken tofu, I realized that my personal form of touching grass is actually touching sand and watching the ocean sparkle.

This realization helped me put things into perspective, which is the defining lesson of the final summer of my twenties. Along the way, I had been taking the awesome for granted because I was looking for it in all the wrong places.

Shot on the Samsung Galaxy A57 | Photo by MJ Jucutan

I was busy waiting for a grand, sweeping crescendo when I should have been looking at the way the light hits the salt spray on the horizon.

Finding awesome in the everyday

Life is truly awesome if you possess the courage to look at it without the heavy filter of expectation.

In between Boracay sunsets, shared mojitos, and crisp white linen shirts, I’ve met new people and realized that I’m standing at the precipice of a new chapter.

Kyle Vergara holding the Samsung Galaxy A57, while Mikee Bernabe holds a glass of Mojito

I’m leaving certain things behind, yet I no longer feel the sting of sadness regarding these endings. I’ve come to understand that they are merely setting the stage for new beginnings. This sentiment may feel like a cliché, but I’ve learned that truths often become clichés because they are universal.

People we meet on vacation, friendship version featuring Jo Serrano, Mikee Bernabe, and Kyle Vergara

With a group of new friends, I boarded a yacht to watch the sunset from the open water. I had done this same activity for my birthday two years ago. At that time, I couldn’t fully appreciate the beauty or the joy of the moment. I was carrying an immense emotional weight in my heart that kept me anchored to the past.

This time, I simply allowed myself to let go. I felt a profound sense of gratitude as I found myself laughing and dancing with abandon. The people I have met on this journey have made me realize that there was never anything wrong with me to begin with, and that is a realization I intend to keep.

Stabilizing the blur of my 20s

Out on the open water, where the movements are frantic and the wind is unpredictable, the 50MP OIS Main Camera on the Galaxy A57 became my most reliable companion. I wanted to capture these fleeting moments with precision. I recorded the clinking of canned beers and the sound of laughter being lost to the sea breeze while the sun dipped below the horizon.

Shot on the Samsung Galaxy A57 | Photo by Jayson Dionisio (Left) and MJ Jucutan (Right)

These moments were transformed into stabilized, high-definition memories that I know I will carry for the rest of my life.

To celebrate this internal change, I even began asking others to take my photo. In my early twenties, I would have hovered over the photographer, consumed by worry regarding the angle and the light.

Shot on the Samsung Galaxy A57 | Photo by Mikee Bernabe (Left) and MJ Jucutan (Right)

I was obsessed with achieving a hollow version of perfection. Now, I have learned to trust the process.

The Best Face through Galaxy AI on the Galaxy A57 creates a promise that even if I blink or the boat lurches unexpectedly, the device will select the ideal facial expressions for everyone in the frame. It allows the final result to capture the actual essence of my joy rather than just a curated pose.

Trading milestones for moments

We spend a significant portion of our twenties waiting for the world to show us something amazing. We wait for the next professional promotion or that one grand vacation we booked months in advance.

Shot on the Samsung Galaxy A57 | Photo by MJ Jucutan

As I sat on the sand, I realized I was already in the middle of everything I had been searching for. The Galaxy A57 didn’t just document a beautiful summer trip filled with new people I have come to love.

It taught me to notice the finer details of the world around me. I guess life unfolds beautifully if you simply allow it to be. Maybe, we don’t actually require ten perfect summers to feel whole.

Shot on the Samsung Galaxy A57

We just need to realize that every single day is an opportunity to step up our A-Game. As I head toward thirty, I am intentionally leaving the milestone-chasing behind me. I’m trading the monumental for the authentic.

Now, I am keeping my eyes open and my heart ready. That, and a reliable smartphone like the Samsung Galaxy A57 in my pocket to make sure I do not miss a single second of the ‘awesome’ that was there all along.

I didn’t watch The Devil Wears Prada when it first came out in 2006.

I came to it a few years later, at a time when I was still figuring things out—career, identity, even the kind of movies I allowed myself to enjoy. It wasn’t something I would’ve picked on my own back then.

At the time, it felt like a story about love versus career. I was about to graduate with a Mass Communication degree, unsure of where I was headed, trying to make sense of both ambition and connection.

Watching it again recently, it lands differently.

It’s less about choosing between two things—and more about understanding who you are, and having the courage to follow that honestly.

That’s what makes The Devil Wears Prada 2 feel so deliberate. It doesn’t just revisit the past. It builds on it.

Growth over spectacle

There’s a version of this sequel that could’ve leaned entirely on nostalgia. Bigger moments. Sharper outfits. A louder version of what already worked.

This isn’t that.

The film is grander, but in ways that feel earned. It embraces the 20-year gap instead of ignoring it, placing its characters exactly where you’d expect them to be—not in status, but in spirit.

Miranda Priestly still commands every room, but no longer feels as unassailable as she once did.

Andy Sachs carries experience. She’s no longer the green assistant, but an accomplished journalist whose relationship with Miranda still shapes her decisions.

Emily Charlton feels fully realized—no longer orbiting power, but owning her place within it.

And Nigel remains a pillar. Dependable to both Miranda and Andy, an almost invisible hand that guides more than it claims.

None of them feel stuck in who they were. That’s the point.

What it says about the work

This is where the film hit me the hardest.

Working in tech media, I constantly see the push toward generative AI—toward making everything faster, more efficient, more scalable. A lot of it is impressive. Some of it is genuinely useful.

But some of it is also unsettling.

We’re at a point where generative visuals can fool people. Where audio—music even—can sound convincing enough that you stop questioning where it came from. That’s the part that lingers.

Because music, for me, is personal. It’s how I process things. And realizing that something artificial can mimic that emotional weight—even if imperfectly—feels dangerous in a quieter, harder-to-define way.

This film doesn’t shout about AI. It doesn’t need to. Instead, it argues for something more fundamental.

That the human touch still matters.

That taste, judgment, and intention aren’t things you can replicate at scale.

That the pain of heartbreak, the joy of victory, and the complicated weight of living—these are things that come from experience. And experience leaves a mark. We leave a part of ourselves in everything we create, whether we mean to or not.

That’s something I don’t think can ever be fully replicated.

AI is a helpful tool. But it should not be relied upon for things that require a piece of our soul.

Direction that understands power

A lot of that message lands because of how The Devil Wears Prada 2 is directed.

Blocking and staging do most of the talking. Who stands where, who moves first, who stays still—these choices define power before any dialogue kicks in.

The camera follows emotion closely. Moments of uncertainty feel slightly unsteady. Scenes of control are composed and precise.

It’s not trying to impress you. It knows exactly what it’s doing.

Sound that knows its place

The sound design follows that same discipline.

Nothing competes. Nothing distracts.

Every element feels intentional–supporting the scene instead of demanding attention. It’s cohesive in a way that’s easy to overlook, but once you notice it, you realize how much it’s doing.

Dialogue that winks, but doesn’t linger

There are a few “wink” moments–lines that echo the original, callbacks that longtime fans will catch instantly.

But the film shows restraint.

It never lets those moments take over. They’re accents, not the foundation.

Nostalgia used with purpose

That restraint carries through how the film handles nostalgia as a whole.

It doesn’t rely on it. It uses it.

Parallels to the original are there, but they exist to highlight change—not to recreate what once worked.

It’s less about remembering.More about understanding what time has done.

Why it works now

What makes The Devil Wears Prada 2 land isn’t just that it’s well-made.

It’s that it feels necessary.

In a world that keeps pushing toward speed, output, and efficiency, this film slows things down just enough to remind you what actually matters.

The intention behind every line, every scene feels sharp—like it could only come from people who care. Who care about the craft. Who care about making something that connects.

It might sound like a tired argument. But it’s still true.

The breadth and depth of humans who care is irreplaceable.