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 this were a fighting game match, MK1 felt like barely scraping by but still getting the win in Round 1. Then, Mortal Kombat II is the second round which feels more like a definitive victory.

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.

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.

The teaser trailer for DC Studio’s horror thriller, Clayface, has just been released. It is the studio’s first-ever foray into the genre, with the film co-written by Mike Flanagan and directed by James Watkins.

The R-rated standalone film is still part of the new James Gunn DC Universe, taking place within the main DCU timeline before the events of the 2025 Superman.

It stars Tom Rhys Harries as the titular Gotham City villain. He is joined by Naomi Ackie, David Dencik, Max Minghella, Eddie Marsan, Nancy Carroll, and Joshua James.

The film opens internationally on October 21 and in North America on October 23.

Here’s a quick look at the film’s teaser trailer:

Clayface explores one man’s horrifying descent from rising Hollywood star to revenge-filled monster.

The story revolves around the loss of one’s identity and humanity, corrosive love, and dark underbelly of scientific ambition.

Joining Watkins in his creative team are director of photography Rob Hardy, production designer James Price, editor Jon Harris, visual effects supervisor Angus Bickerton, costume designer Keith Madden, and casting director Lucy Bevan.

In addition, here’s a quick look at the movie’s teaser poster: