Author name: Vincent Volcano

By Vincent Volcano, Hellwood’s retired arsonist-in-chief, still wearing the red scarf and the scars from practical flame bars. Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever! Yorgos Lanthimos’ Bugonia opens with the promise that “It all starts with something magnificent,” which is exactly what I told a producer once before they replaced my hand-built lava geysers with […]

By Vincent Volcano, Retired Arsonist of Emotion I sat down to After The Hunt with my fiery red scarf and the foolish hope that Luca Guadagnino, patron saint of sweaty desire and tennis elbow, would bring heat to a campus potboiler. Instead, I got a Yale bake sale of moral panic, a Woody Allen-font cosplay,

By Vincent Volcano, retired arson auteur and full-time sprinkler system nemesis. Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever! Roofman arrives boasting “Based on actual events. And terrible decisions,” which is refreshingly honest marketing for a studio product that looks lovingly at a man who weaponizes the McFlurry machine’s only consistent feature: being broken. Derek Cianfrance, patron

By Vincent Volcano, Hellwood’s Retired Arsonist-in-Chief. Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever! Prime Video has delivered a new care package to the ninth circle: Play Dirty, a Shane Black Christmas crime caper stuffed with F-bombs, double-crosses, and the sort of faux-gritty gloss you get when the blood is digital and the snow is imported from

By Vincent Volcano, retired ringmaster of Hellwood melodrama, scarf ablaze, temper hotter Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever! Eleanor the Great arrives like a carefully arranged fruit platter at a funeral: respectful, tasteful, and somehow missing the actual nutrients. Scarlett Johansson sits in the director’s chair for the first time, and to her credit, she

By Vincent Volcano, Retired Hellwood Arsonist of Emotion, Scarf Aflame Ah, Slow Horses, the spy caper where Britain’s least employable intelligence clerks shuffle through London like hungover chess pieces—and somehow still checkmate MI5. Season 5 slinks in on September 24 like a ferret in a Savile Row suit, adapting Mick Herron’s London Rules while Apple

By Vincent Volcano, retired Hellwood arsonist of pathos, current burner of bridges Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever! What, pray tell, comes after 11? In this necromanced encore, apparently “nostalgia in D minor.” Rob Reiner reassembles the sainted fossils—Guest, McKean, Shearer—and ladles on enough backstage banter to fill the empty mausoleums where modern screenwriting once

By Vincent Volcano, Retired Hellwood Arsonist-in-Chief (Scarf aflame, patience not) The mortals have returned to their beloved crypt-school, and Netflix has pried open the coffin for Wednesday Season 2, Part 2—four episodes that arrive like a séance that runs ten minutes too long and keeps summoning the same ghost. Our monochrome misanthrope, the ever-game Jenna

By Vincent Volcano, retired Hellwood arsonist of emotion, keeper of the fiery red scarf, and the only director to win a Brimstone Palm with a film shot entirely in an active caldera. Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever! Initial temperature check: Run promises “fleshed-out character work” inside an alien invasion potboiler, which in 2025 is

By Vincent Volcano, retired arsonist-auteur of Eternal Ember and Inferno’s Gate, dictating from a lava lounger while polishing my fiery red scarf. Initial Descent Ethan Coen’s Honey Don’t! arrives like a half-baked noir éclair left too long under a Bakersfield sun lamp: crisp on the edges, hollow in the middle, and somehow still sticky with