Vault of Two Cents: A repository of all my random thoughts

[twocentstim]

War Machine (2026)’s Otherworldly Adversary Sent Me Straight Back to Horizon Zero Dawn

What starts as a grounded war story slowly unfolds into something far more unexpected

SPOILER AHEAD BEWARE → Reader's discretion is advised

So last night, I was scouring the web for any recent or old gems to watch to kill the mighty boredom. Thankfully, I found a recommendation from a movie buff I follow in a movie review group.

The post did not talk about spoilers or plot points. Heck, it did not even mention the synopsis. It was more about how much he genuinely liked the movie. That was already interesting to me, considering it is pretty rare for this person to give an all-out positive comment on a film, especially action movies, which he seems to be inherently indifferent to.

At first, I was not fully convinced that it was the right pick. But then I noticed that the actor was Alan Hitchson, who happens to be trending right now because of that unfortunate run-in with his neighbor. As it turned out, the neighbor was apparently the real jerk, or so they say. That was enough for me to decide to finally give it a watch. So what movie is this?

This movie is called War Machine. Coincidentally, I had been jonesing for an Army or War movie like Black-hawk down or Hacksaw Ridge. At first, I thought this was exactly what I was looking for. The setup certainly pointed in that direction, and it initially felt like it was building toward a military inspirational story. Lo and behold, around a quarter of the way in, the movie took a sharp turn into sci-fi, with a malevolent Alien twist.

There is apparently a super advanced war machine that torments the protagonist and his comrades. Then suddenly, something about the alien robot in War Machine immediately hit me with a wave of nostalgia. The moment I saw it, I could not shake the feeling that I had seen this kind of machine before. It heavily reminded me of the Deathbringer from Horizon Zero Dawn, and honestly, that comparison made the whole thing even cooler for me. Here is what a Deathbringer looks like below:

and here's what the alien machine in the movie looks like:

What stood out most was the design. The massive, weaponized look, the intimidating presence, and that cold, mechanical menace all gave off the same kind of energy that made the Deathbringer such a memorable enemy. It was not just that both are giant hostile robots. It was the atmosphere they create. They feel powerful, ancient in a weird sci-fi way, and built to destroy without hesitation.

That is what made the resemblance so effective for me. It brought back the same excitement and tension I felt while facing the Deathbringer in Horizon Zero Dawn. Seeing a similar machine in War Machine felt like a callback to one of the most striking robot designs in recent gaming memory. Whether intentional or not, the resemblance worked. It sparked that same old thrill, and that is a rare thing.

In the end, the robot in War Machine did more than just look intimidating. It reminded me of a game that left a strong mark on me, and that kind of nostalgia always lands hard.

So yeah, apart from the story being relatively simple and some lines being cheesy and kind of poorly written, the cinematography was great. I have to say, Netflix is really stepping up its game. I can tell they are going toe-to-toe with Columbia Pictures (Sony)’s legacy in films like Black-Hawk down and, more appropriately, Battle: Los Angeles.

So if you are a fan of movies like Battleship, Battle: Los Angeles, or Skyline, this is definitely right up your alley. My honest take on this movie? It is a pretty decent flick. It delivers exactly what it promises and does not pretend to be otherwise. Maybe it is a little dumb and loud, but it is hella fun! Now give me a sequel!

[twocentstim]

6 Things I Hate About the Resident Evil Movies

Why the Resident Evil Movies Sucked Bigtime

Everyone who knows me knows I grew up on PlayStation 1. Back then (in the late 90s to the early 2000s) there basically was no internet, so you stuck with your console and your books (which I loved). I burned through R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps and Ghosts of Fear Street (technically not by choice at first, since these were my brother’s books), sometimes Hardy Boys, and I even read my sister’s Sweet Valley and Nancy Drew when I ran out of other stuff to do (yes, I read a lot). I even went through my dad’s collection of Reader’s Digest, which should tell you how desperate I was to stay entertained and mentally occupied. At that point I had gone through every book that could trigger the deepest kinds of kid-friendly horror, but those stories stopped being enough to satisfy my senses, so I started looking for something more immersive. One of those things was Resident Evil on PlayStation 1. You know that warning, "This game contains scenes of explicit violence and gore"?

That feeling always triggers a deep, horrifying, yet great nostalgia for me. Resident Evil taught me how to handle horror when I was a kid, so yeah, I was hyped when the first movie arrived.

The first movie felt okay. Alice had no superpowers yet and the mood still held promise. Resident Evil: Apocalypse even gave us a decent take on Nemesis (surprising, right?). But soon it felt like we were on a slow slide into a circus of sequels that got dumber, cringier, and flatter emotionally (for lack of a better phrase). Here are the six things that make me roll my eyes the hardest.

1) Alice is a total Mary Sue (and that kills tension) Mila Jovovich can sell action, no argument there. But when your protagonist conveniently survives everything, knows every plot detail, and suddenly pulls out new abilities when the script needs a win, the whole point of survival horror vanishes. Resident Evil worked because of vulnerability (that constant, weirdly thrilling sense that one mistake could end you). Make your lead invincible and you’ve stripped the fear away. If nobody feels truly at risk, why should we care? (That is the core problem.)

2) The real game characters get treated like props Jill, Chris, Leon, those names carried weight in the games. In the movies they become cameos or Alice’s backup dancers. That feels lazy and disrespectful. You can change things for adaptation, fine. But when you reduce those characters to checklist appearances just to boost Alice, you lose the emotional richness that made the originals matter to fans (me included).

3) Powers kill the horror vibe Resident Evil thrives on scarcity: limited ammo, limited saves, limited choices that actually mean something. The movies swap that for telekinesis, viral magic, and whatever power-of-the-week the plot needs. Once a character can shrug off a bite because the screenplay says so, the horror collapses into action spectacle. Horror needs constraints. Take those away and you no longer have survival horror, you have a superhero franchise with zombies.

4) Tone whiplash is constant One minute it’s creepy and claustrophobic, the next it’s slow-motion parkour and exploding set pieces. A movie can mix genres, but when it keeps flipping tone it feels like different teams are steering different scenes. Suspense depends on consistency; mood swings kill momentum and stop us from emotionally investing.

5) Lore gets treated like a convenience store I get creative detours. What I don’t accept is treating the games’ lore like a grab-and-go buffet. The films cherry-pick elements, retcon others, then move on like nothing happened. Instead of leaning into the games’ strengths: bio-horror atmosphere, conspiracy, moral grime — the movies use lore as a prop for whatever gimmick is trending. That kind of storytelling feels shallow and quick-fix.

6) Emotional beats are checkboxes, not earned moments So often the films manufacture drama to hit a quota: someone must die, someone must sacrifice, someone must sob for ten seconds. When characters behave like plot devices, the emotion rings hollow. Even in a zombie movie, people need texture and believable motivations. Give me messy, conflicted humans, not pawns to trigger a montage.

Conclusion Look, the franchise has its moments. There are gritty images, some fun action sequences, and times when Mila Jovovich absolutely owns the screen. But when a series forgets the fragility that made the games special and replaces it with invincibility plus spectacle, it loses its soul. If future filmmakers want a Resident Evil that matters, they should be brave: bring back vulnerability, let the original characters breathe, and treat lore like a foundation, not a condiment.

Anyone else feel the same way, or am I alone here? (Call me out, share the one Resident Evil movie you actually liked, or tell me which moment you think worked.)

[twocentstim]

How Isidora Morganach Is Wrong And There’s No Good Nuance To It

"The hardest choices require the strongest will." That line from Thanos, or some paraphrase of it, has stuck with me for a long time. At first it sounded like a grim but valid point about sacrifice and saving lives. Then a question hit me: where does the sacrificer fit into the equation? If what he called mercy was real, why did he exempt himself from the consequences? Thanos is not who I want to talk about today. Recently I played Hogwarts Legacy and found myself as unsettled by another character as I was by Thanos. Her name is Isidora Morganach. Hear me out.

Isidora Morganach is a witch from the 1800s Hogwarts era who discovers she can extract emotional suffering using ancient magic. She begins treating pain as a removable substance, claiming she can “heal” people by pulling out their grief, fear, and trauma. In her mind, she becomes a savior, someone eliminating suffering at the source.

Some fans defend Isidora. They point to the nice, simple framing: she removes other people’s pain. That sounds noble. But when you look closely, her philosophy collapses. Here are three core reasons why Isidora is fundamentally wrong, with no real moral wiggle room.

• She Treats Pain Like a Bug, Not a Human Process

Emotional pain is not a toxic waste product that can be safely removed without consequence. It is how people learn, adapt, and integrate experience. When you erase suffering, you take away:

lessons learned from failure

the identity that forms around grief and recovery

the resilience that comes from processing hardship

Isidora approaches pain as something to inhale and dispose of, as if people will be better off by having that part of them removed. In reality, you do not heal someone by removing the very furnace that forges growth. You stunt them. • She Appoints Herself Judge of Other People’s Emotions

At first it may start with consent. Later, she stops asking. She starts deciding who is “too broken” and who “needs” their feelings taken away. That is not compassion. That is control.

When someone claims the right to rewrite other people’s emotional lives, they stop being a healer and start being an authoritarian. Removing agency is abuse, whether it is done through rituals, medicine, or "helpful" magic. Isidora’s practice treats identity like optional text you can edit, and that is a violation of the very people she claims to save.

• She Refuses to Accept That Pain Is Sometimes Necessary

Isidora treats emotional suffering as useless and always to be eliminated. Losing a loved one? Remove the grief. Feeling fear after trauma? Strip it away. Carrying shame that calls for accountability? Delete it.

But a world without pain is a world without:

consequence and accountability

empathy and moral growth

meaningful memory and honor

Pain shapes conscience. Guilt can curb cruelty. Grief honors what was lost. Fear keeps people from repeating catastrophic mistakes. By denying that pain has purpose, Isidora dismantles crucial parts of what makes moral humans human.

So, Is She Noble?

No. The mask of mercy hides a very different motive. Isidora’s work rewards her. She feels more capable each time she extracts someone else’s suffering. That is not sacrifice. That is validation and addiction.

A genuine healer walks with someone through pain and teaches them to process it. Isidora edits it away so she can feel effective. She removes the struggle that makes growth possible and in its place builds dependence on her own power.

There is no meaningful nuance here. Her intentions may have started sympathetic, but intent is not enough when the method destroys agency, development, and moral consequence. Thinking you alone can design how everyone should feel is already a betrayal of compassion.

Isidora Morganach is not a misunderstood visionary. She is wrong. Completely.

So there goes my sentiments. I hope you whoever’s reading this gets hyped up to play Hogwarts Legacy instead of being pissed off at me because I probably spoiled a whole lot! But since you have reached this part, you are now invested and I require you to play it. Then let me know what you think!