GRIDLOCKED: "TRON: ARES" - Fire Without Flame

 

Red is a potent color. It’s the color of passion, of fire. It’s primal — wilder, volatile,  dangerous. It inspires. It enrages. It inflames. Tron: Ares is drenched in it. Saturated with it. So how does a film so steeped in the palette of intensity end up feeling so tepid?

This is the paradox of Tron: Ares: a film that looks like a live wire but plays like a dying ember. Where its predecessor, Tron: Legacy (2010), swam in cool, immersive blues and managed to feel as if it was it's own world; one which was grand, tactile, and alive, this latest entry in a multi-generational franchise never truly takes off.

The story follows Julian Dillinger (played by Evan Peters), the grandson of Ed Dillinger from the original Tron. Now at the helm of ENCOM, Julian oversees the creation of two advanced security programs — Ares (Jared Leto, who also serves as one of the films many executive producers) and Athena (Jodie Turner-Smith). Their mission: locate Eve Kim (Greta Lee), a scientist whose discovery could transform not just ENCOM, but the real world itself.

As the mission unfolds, Ares realizes Julian views all resources — human and digital — as expendable. His programmed neutrality begins to fracture. But his evolution, such as it is, remains conceptual rather than visceral.

The Visual Spectacle That Comes Too Late

To be fair, as an extended Nine Inch Nails music video, this film is spectacular. An acoustical/visual feast. Under the direction of Joachim Rønning, the production leans fully into AI-assisted CGI technology to deliver a shimmering, immersive audio-visual experience. Tron: Ares is beautiful to look at and often hypnotic to listen to. But we are far past the point where this kind of spectacle can stun by its existence alone. AI-infused digital landscapes have saturated the blockbuster market. What might have been revolutionary ten years ago is now simply...expected.

The score, courtesy of Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, gives the film its pulse. Hell, its life! Their signature sound — haunted, industrial, and precise — anchors the film with a sonic texture that’s unmistakable and distinctly it's own as Daft Punk's confluence of synth and classical was to Legacy. Yet even their efforts can’t compensate for a story that struggles to ignite.

Though to be fair, I wonder if implied expectation comes at play here. After all it's been fifteen (!) years between Trons Legacy and Ares (still shorter than the time between the original Tron and Legacy, which was twenty-eight (!!)). While it's argulable that Legacy itself was an extended Daft Punk video, it still had a story it could latch onto. While the first postulated what would happen if the man was in the machine, the second lived up to the title by anchoring it with a relatable generational conflict dynamic. Here, being the third entry in the franchise, Tron: Ares tries to “flip the script.” The first two films explored what happens when humans fall into the digital grid. This time, the question is inverted: What happens when AI constructs cross into the real world?

It’s a compelling idea — one implied and left hanging in the wake of Legacy. But here, the execution falters. The rules of the grid don’t map cleanly onto reality, and the film doesn’t invest in the narrative scaffolding to make that leap believable. To say more would tread into spoiler territory, but the concept deserves far more than what it receives.. 

Let[o] Down and The Real MVP

I’ll admit a personal bias: I don’t think much of Jared Leto as an actor. Yet, on paper, the role of Ares seems tailored to his range — or rather, his  lack thereof. Ares is a security program who begins to develop independent consciousness while grappling with human emotion and empathy. He starts as a blank slate. Unfortunately, he ends as one, too. The character’s arc never quite lands on the moment of revelation it promises.

Evan Peters' Dillinger plays as Mark Zuckerberg and Nicholas Hoult's Lex Luthor's love child. Greta Lee plays the resourceful but ostensible living maguffin/damsel in distress, and the presumed human heart of the film. Her character's backstory is tailored to inspire sympathy and empathy, but her performance is such that she could have pulled it off without it. She is engaging, and tries to establish some sort of connection with Ares, with varying degrees of result depending on the scene. 

Fan-favorite Gillian Anderson is squandered as Elizabeth Dillinger, reduced to little more than narrative wallpaper. And while it’s almost a tradition that you can’t have Tron without Jeff Bridges, his brief return here reads more like contractual obligation than creative spark.

However, Jodi Turner-Smith is the film’s MVP. Her Athena — designed as an equal blank slate — radiates quixotically coldly furious presence. Focused, ruthless, electric. She embodies the film’s red palette in a way the protagonist never manages to. Her fury is arresting, her precision riveting. Without her performance, this film would have little pulse at all. 

A Flicker Without Flame

I tried to give this film the benefit of the doubt. I truly did. But somewhere deep in the third act, I found myself drifting — not out of fatigue, but boredom. That's never a good sign when I walked in wide awake.

Tron: Ares was supposed to be a triumphant return — a bold leap forward for a franchise built on the intersection of light and code. Instead, while it's  beautiful to look at and hypnotic to hear, to borrow and paraphrase from a scribe way more talented than me, it’s a kaleidoscope of sound and fury, but ultimately signifying nothing. Tron: Ares is a triumph of polish over pulse. In a story about fire, it's the chill that lingers.

ACC PODCAST: DISCUSSION OF THE DANIEL CRAIG ERA OF BOND AND GOING DOWN THE AMAZON.

 

The latest American Culture Critic Podcast is live. In this episode I and my special guest, Bond aficionado James Alexander Ramos discuss the ups and downs of the recently completed Daniel Craig era of James Bond films, and speculate on the recent purchase of the Bond franchise by the corporate behemoth known as Amazon.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CP0HjCeOVEo

FIRESIDE CHAT: THE AMERICAN CULTURE CRITIC PODCAST

The latest ACC podcast is live! More laid back fireside-chat-type episdoe between me and my bruddah-from-anuddah-muddah and ranconteur Louis Rosas-Guyon as we discuss what we think makes sci-fi/fantasy good.

https://youtu.be/-QfiZEPoZF4?si=viDql9JYkgvqZImt

TWO PODCASTS FOR THE NON-PRICE OF ONE!

The American Culture Critic was busy this month, celebrating both the past and the present.

The Past: I was invited by the guys over at Team Insomniac to participate in their Triptych podcast to discuss the quasi-triology that is the Richard Donner/Richard Lester/Bryan Singer "Superman" films as someone who was actually their for their initial screenings (where's my power chair). Much snark was bandied and fun was had. You can catch it here: 

https://open.spotify.com/episode/4MD3WjsnT9g50UvuKg3CS3?si=hfsNsaxPRLqHUIVLPBfVUQ

The Present: It's the American Culture Critic Podcast, discussing not only James Gunn's "Superman (2025) (review of which you can scroll down for); but also "Fantastic Four: First Steps" (also reviewed below) and the upswing shift in tone in response to the current socio-political climate. You can find it at 

https://youtu.be/IXQ71UdVSQY?si=15e8FRgahFJgvZdL 

Hope you'll give both a listen and subscribe if you like the content. 

IT'S STEPPIN' UP TIME: "Fantastic Four: First Steps" Is, Well, Y'Know...Fantastic.

Pendulums are funny things.Start one up, and it’ll swing to extremes—loudly, dramatically, unavoidably. But with time and friction, it slows. It softens. It finds a middle ground. Pendulums aren’t just physical curiosities; they’re metaphors. For thought, for politics, for taste—and yes, for filmmaking.

Especially superhero filmmaking.

When Superman: The Movie hit theaters in 1978, it wasn’t the first big-budget superhero film ever made—but it was the first to be treated as an event. A myth brought to life with budget, sincerity, and craft. But with each sequel, that gravity gave way to excess and ridiculousness. Then Batman (1989) restarted the pendulum’s swing, this time toward darker, moodier territory (with its franchise experiencing its own descent into (further) absurdity until its reboot with Batman Begins, which brought it's own strum and drang of pessimism. That trajectory continued through the aughts and culminated with Man of Steel—a visually stunning, philosophically dense, and controversial attempt to reframe the superhero as something both godlike and painfully human. The Sony's Spider-Man films (both the trilogy and the duology) and Fox's X-Men films followed this trend (though somewhat better suited for these franchises), and one of the major arguments leveled against Marvel Studios' output in the past few years is that it has thematically taken itself way too seriously (Marvel Television's She-Hulk and Ms. Marvel aside). 

But now the pendulum is swinging again.

Like Superman 2025 (reviewed on this blog) Fantastic Four: First Steps feels like a response to the cultural fatigue of grim realism and bloated continuity. It’s not a rejection of seriousness, but a reclamation of joy. For Marvel, it feels prophetic—and just cheeky enough—to call this film "First Steps". After a divisive few years, it does feel like a beginning. And more importantly, a correction.

Set in an alternate universe outside the tangled mainline MCU, Fantastic Four: First Steps uses its premise to its advantage. It’s a reset, and in that way, self-aware. The film opens on a version of Earth that borders on utopia, thanks to the scientific advancements of Reed Richards (Pedro Pascal), Susan Storm (Vanessa Kirby), Johnny Storm (Joseph Quinn), and Ben Grimm (Ebon Moss-Bachrach). Their accomplishments have elevated civilization—until the arrival of the Herald.

That would be Jamie Gardner’s Silver Surfer, an ethereal, morally burdened emissary warning of an incoming cosmic force: Galactus. This devourer of worlds threatens everything the Four have built—and forces them into a dilemma that could cost them one of their own. The stakes are cosmic, but the story stays grounded in the personal. Sacrifice looms. Family is tested. But the film never loses its soul.

Visually, the film is a retro-futuristic triumph. Its design evokes a World’s Fair vision of the future—mid-century optimism spliced with sleek, modern minimalism. Think Disney's Tomorrowland, but lived-in. Think "Kirby crackle" meets "Mad Men". Production design leans into a kind of mid-century futurism—a retro-futuristic world that fuses 1960s optimism with modern sensibility. It’s all gleaming towers, brushed chrome, clean lines, and Kirby-inspired tech. It feels hopeful. It feels lived in. And most importantly, it feels different from the apocalyptic tone of the last two decades. Director Matt Shakman leans hard into this aesthetic, grounding the film in an era that never was but feels eternal. This marriage of retro and now isn’t just stylistic; it’s thematic. Fantastic Four isn’t interested in grim dystopia. It wants to show you a world worth saving—and that matters.

Composer Michael Giacchino, known for his lush orchestrations and thematic clarity, provides a score that does feel familiar—at times echoing his work on Star Trek (2009). The main theme recurs frequently, maybe too frequently, but his talent lies in emotional modulation.Like John Williams before him, Giacchino knows how to shift tone, tempo, and instrumentation to match emotion. The repetition becomes an emotional throughline. By film’s end, the repetition doesn’t grate—it comforts. It becomes the heartbeat of the story.

Cinematically, the Fantastic Four have had a rough road. The Tim Story films were awkward, tonally uneven. The Josh Trank reboot… best left in the Negative Zone.

But here, the casting and chemistry work. Indeed, they are the selling point of the film. Pedro Pascal brings gravitas and restraint to Reed Richards. Joseph Quinn’s Johnny Storm is charismatic and grounded. Moss-Bachrach’s Ben Grimm adds emotional heft beneath the gruffness, though the traditional banter between Thing and Torch is more subdued than fans might expect.The standout, though, is Vanessa Kirby. Her Susan Storm is the heart and engine of the film. While Reed may be the intellectual leader, it's Sue who commands emotional authority. The film heavily leans into themes of maternal protection and emotional resilience, making her arc not just central—but essential. In many ways, it’s her movie. 

Ralph Ineson's "Galactus"...see for yourself. 

Regarding the "Silver Surfer" controversy, consider this. While purists might lament the absence of Norrin Radd’s backstory in this version of the Silver Surfer, the creative liberties taken here are consistent with the film’s themes, particularly those relating to family. The reinterpretation feels earned and helps tie the Surfer's conflict directly into the group’s climactic decisions.

Like Superman, First Steps is saturated in bright color—visually and emotionally. Blues, whites, silvers. Not just costumes, but skylines; crafting an identity and world in and of itself truly separate from the main MCU. Just as important, the public wants their heroes. Yes, there's a moment of backlash. A crisis of trust. But the film doesn’t wallow in cynicism. Instead, it reaffirms the social contract between powered protectors and the people they serve.

It’s a movie about hope. About family. About new beginnings.

And it’s not afraid to smile.

If superhero fatigue is real, then Fantastic Four: First Steps is a jolt of cinematic B-12. It’s not ironic, but it is self-aware. It doesn’t apologize for being hopeful, colorful, and at times earnestly emotional. Instead, it embraces those things—and dares you to do the same.

Much like the pendulum that started this review, this film is a swing back toward equilibrium. A reminder that these stories don’t have to be sermons or punchlines. They can just be fantastic.

For Marvel Studios, Fantastic Four: First Steps is a step in the right direction.

MAN OF FEEL: "Superman" Is A Doggone Good Time

December 15, 1978.

I’m nine years old. I sit in a movie theater to watch Superman: The Movie. I leave the theater grinning from ear to ear.

June 28, 2006.

I’m thirty-seven years old. I sit in a movie theater to watch Superman Returns, the first reboot of the cinematic franchise. I leave the theater disappointed.

June 14, 2013.

I’m forty-four years old. I sit in a movie theater to watch Man of Steel, the second reboot. I leave the theater somberly disquieted. Dejected.

July 8, 2025.

I’m fifty-six years old, far older than the target demographic. I sit in a movie theater to watch Superman, the latest reboot. I leave the theater...

 ...grinning from ear to ear.

Reviewing Superman is a difficult prospect for me, as I’ve had a lifelong love and obsession with this character. "Superman" has been with me through the ups and downs of life, uplifting me with his adventures—spearheaded by hundreds of talented writers and artists/actors and directors over decades too numerous to count. As such, his cinematic journey has also been a major part of my life. Each film has, for better or worse, reflected the times in which it was made.

But it wasn’t until I had to review Man of Steel that I began to wonder if the character had passed me by.

However, if nothing else, James Gunn manages to make what seemed impossible possible: making an aging cynic like me feel like a kid again.

Director James Gunn was under the proverbial, well... gun, in more ways than one. He had the unenviable task of rebooting a character with a troubled cinematic history—and an entire cinematic universe. It’s safe to say the shots were not only fired but landed on target, even if not all were bullseyes.

One of the major issues with the character, which has seemingly increased with each generation since his inception, is relatability. Superman is “too good”—or, as others put it, too corny. Almost perfect. Unrelatable. Gunn builds the entire film challenging that very presumption: Is it believable to be a good person in a mean world?

The film takes place three years after Superman’s public debut. After intervening in a war between two nations, Superman (David Corenswet) finds himself at the center of a socio-political firestorm. While he has his supporters, he also has his detractors—most especially tech billionaire Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult), who will stop at nothing to eliminate Superman and everything he represents.

Gunn takes a page from Richard Donner’s playbook, using the concept of “verisimilitude” and turning it up to eleven. He embraces the Silver-and-Bronze-Age comic book concepts, giving them modern sensibility and leaning into them fully—without snark, and certainly without embarrassment.

Of course, that "modern sensibility" means much of the plot reflects the current zeitgeist. Issues regarding immigration, race, and class are minor themes here. While some may argue that these issues (and certain casting choices) make the film “woke”—for lack of a better word—these themes emerge organically from the story.

Further, as this blog has posited many times, “art” does not exist independently of the time in which it is created. It serves as either a reflection or reaction to the era it’s made in. It is not perceived in a vacuum. And regardless of the creator’s intentions, it is ultimately up to the viewer to interpret the art. The fact that Superman himself was created in response to the social realities of the late 1930s is certainly not irrelevant.

Superman evokes the feeling of a comic book spinner rack right from the start. It’s like flipping open the page of a long-running comic. The film presumes the viewer already knows Superman’s origin and skips the (re)telling to let the narrative unfold—and unfold it does.

The action and pacing are relentless. The CGI is top-notch. The film is bright—a stark contrast to the dark tone (and visuals) of the 2013 iteration.

But like any sci-fi CGI fest, it would be hollow without strong performances—and it has them. It’s rare for me to say this, but every actor brought their A-game. Too many, in fact, to name them all.

Rachel Brosnahan is striking—visually and emotionally—as intrepid reporter Lois Lane, serving as a cynical foil to the Man of Steel while remaining his romantic counterpart. Excuse the pun, but Nicholas Hoult is a beast as Lex Luthor, delivering a surprisingly rousing performance that exceeds expectations. He doesn’t just give us a villain we love to hate; he gives us  a chilling arch-nemesis who is equal (and in some ways superior) to the hero.

The crux of the film’s success or failure—just like in 1978—rests on the lead. David Corenswet, like the character he portrays, makes the Herculean effort look effortless. His interpretation is instantly recognizable as “Superman,” but also more down-to-Earth in relatability. His Superman jokes, makes mistakes, gets frustrated, feels pain, loss, and (momentary) failure. But he also holds to his values, even when they work against his best interests or public approval. For this author, Christopher Reeve will always remain the benchmark. But for this generation, David Corenswet is Superman. By the end of this film, I challenge anyone to question the character’s relatability.

There are many honorable mentions, mostly from the "Justice Gang" members. After years of voicing Hal Jordan in animation, fan-favorite actor Nathan Fillion finally brings a Green Lantern to live action—in the form of Guy Gardner. His performance is amazing, bringing the politically incorrect, obnoxious Gardner of the comics to life in a way that somehow retains the character’s worst traits while adding the charm of that one uncle nobody talks about. That’s more Fillion’s natural charisma than anything else—and the film is better for it. I wish we could have gotten more out of Isabela Merced's Hawkgirl. The character is criminally underutilized, but the actress does make the most of what she's given. But given how, if you'll excuse the vernacular, badass the character is maybe in her case less WAS more.  I’ve never cared much for Mr. Terrific, but Edi Gathegi (Hoult’s X-Men: First Class (2011) co-star) delivers a revelatory performance. After being underutilized in X-Men, Gathegi’s Mr. Terrific is easily the second breakout character of the film. The first? You guessed it: the dog.

Krypto the Superdog.

Never would I have expected to see that character brought to life, straight, in live action. But Krypto steals the film—and does so in a way that never breaks immersion. He’s not anthropomorphized. He’s a dog. Super-powered—but still a dog.

If the film has one notable weakness, it’s surprisingly the score by John Murphy and David Fleming. Surprising, because Murphy specifically asked to use and adapt the iconic John Williams theme—the one as inextricably tied to the character as the James Bond theme is to 007. That inclusion works both for and against the film. The Williams theme provides emotional gravitas, but it also highlights how generic and hollow the rest of the score often feels. There are no strong, memorable motifs; the original compositions could belong to almost any action film. It’s only when the Williams theme emerges—either bombastically or subtly—that the film gains the sonic weight it needs. Overall, the score is serviceable, but underwhelming. 

But those are critical considerations. Personally? It’s a different story.

Despite the above analysis of the films score, it does sport one specific moment of acoustical brilliance. It starts of with the first five-notes ofWilliams fanfare in horns in classical original fashion, then seques into the rest of the theme in electric guitar. In this manner, Gunn's production declares its mission statement of honoring and respecting the history while reinterpreting and recontextualizing it for modern audiences. I'd be lying if I said a tear didn't roll down the cheek, as I never expected to hear those opening notes in such a fashion in a movie theater again.

"Superman", character and concept, is about hope. Not "hope" as in verbally stated or shouted at the audience—“This symbol stands for hope”—but inspired hope. Aspirational hope. Gunn’s film portrays a world in which hope exists despite modern cynicism. It's believable in its own world, even with the occasional leaps in logic and physics. Superman is an immersive and, most importantly, FUN film! It's a FUN film! Given the performances, it was obviously fun for the cast, and that infectiously translates to fun for the audience. 

In both word and action, this version of Superman offers a credible, compelling case that one man’s belief in doing the right thing—even now—can still matter.

For two-plus hours, despite myself, I was nine years old.

Superman made this aging critical cynic feel like a hopeful kid again.

And that’s the best recommendation I can give.

“FROM THE WORLD OF JOHN WICK: BALLERINA” (2025): A MUDDLED DANCE THAT FAILS TO SLAY.

 

There’s a sequence in the first third of the film wherein the titular character Eve (Ana De Armas) performs a pirouette, only to eventually lose her balance and fall crashing to the stage...repeatedly. This is meant as part of the obligatory training montage that is expected of action films, but it unfortunately epitomizes the film as a whole: stumbling under its own weight.

“Ballerina”, directed by Les Wiseman and Chad Stahelski (!) and starring de Armas with a special appearance by Keanu Reeves, takes place in the world of John Wick, specifically between “John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum” and “John Wick: Chapter 4”. Chronologically, it fills in a gap. Creatively, it doesn’t fill much at all.

The story follows a young assassin named Eve (de Armas), whose father—a member of the High Table’s far-reaching Assassin’s Guild—is killed under orders from a mysterious figure known only as the Chancellor (Gabriel Byrne). After his death, she’s taken in by the same Romani crime family that once trained John Wick—led again by The Director (showcasing Anjelica Huston's much-needed droll-yet-commanding presence).

When she discovers the Guild behind her father’s death, Eve goes against her oath and embarks on a revenge mission—unleashing a violent chain of events that threatens the uneasy peace between the two factions.

Spin-offs are always tricky. You either risk recycling what’s come before or doing something so different it feels like it doesn’t belong. “Ballerina” attempts the latter. Structurally, it’s markedly different from the “Wick” films. Where John’s backstory was shrouded in mystery (to great effect), Eve gets a near-standard origin story. The pacing reflects this: slower, more deliberate, and—put loosely—more character-driven. But with the “Wick” franchise, “standard” is almost a death sentence. Her motivations are deeper than “you killed my dog”—that much is true—but the film never capitalizes on that complexity. The concept had potential. The execution? Not so much.

This was a famously troubled production, plagued by creative differences and director swaps. Unfortunately, the turmoil is evident on-screen. The film suffers from clunky pacing, unclear character motivations, and an overall lack of focus. The solution? More fight scenes. Lots of them. Back-to-back. Sometimes on top of each other.

And yes, I hear you —“Isn’t that the whole point of a John Wick film?” After all, the original was Keanu Reeves’ love letter to Hong Kong action cinema and practical stunt choreography. Make no mistake, the money for the fight choreography is on the screen. It's in turns brilliant and inspired. But here’s the difference: the fight scenes in “Ballerina” are bloated, draining the energy instead of propelling the story forward. They shift from Game of Death to just... game to death.

Another missing ingredient? Humor. The original “John Wick” worked not just because of its clean action, but because of its tongue-in-cheek approach. The violence was cartoonishly stylized (there was always a sly wink underneath the chaos). In diametric opposition, “Ballerina” takes itself deadly (pun intended) serious, and the miniscule attempts at humor fail to land; which would be fine if it had the emotional weight to match. It doesn’t. And that imbalance undercuts the whole enterprise.

To their credit, the cast gives it everything they’ve got. Ana de Armas throws herself into every fight scene with gusto. Minimal stunt doubles were used, and she’s clearly committed. Unfortunately, for such an expressive actress, she comes off oddly stiff in many scenes. It’s as if the physical demands of the role overpowered the emotional depth needed to sell it.

Ian McShane returns as Winston, providing the same reliable brand of silky gravitas. Lance Reddick makes his final appearance as Charon. While it’s not a showstopper performance, the quiet dignity he brings—especially in retrospect—adds a poignant undercurrent. Gabriel Byrne, who’s made a second career playing suave bastards, is criminally underused. He’s reduced to a narrative placeholder—a living, breathing MacGuffin.

 And then there’s Keanu. His John Wick appears in more than just a glorified cameo (don’t worry about the incongruity of his presence here when considering the plot of the last two films. It’ll make your head hurt. Go with it). But here's where it gets interesting: because we're seeing him through Eve’s eyes, he’s presented almost like a mythic figure—wise, quiet, untouchable. Gone is the quirky, grunting killer with a fondness for puppies. Here, he’s more of a messianic mentor. It’s jarring, sure, but also a smart move: it subtly reframes the character from a different emotional vantage point. It's one of the few genuinely thoughtful choices the film makes.

Unfortunately, by the time we get to the end, this reviewer was just as exhausted as the characters—only less invested. What should have been a thrilling expansion of the “Wick” universe plays more like an overlong filler episode.. “Ballerina” had the ingredients to stand on its own: a compelling lead, rich lore, and franchise momentum. What it lacked was restraint, tonal balance, and a reason to care.

It’s no wonder its theatrical run is being cut short. This isn’t a graceful pirouette. It’s a stumble in heels on a slick stage.

AMERICAN CULTURE CRITIC PODCAST NO. 7: "The Substance"

The latest American Culture Critic podcast is LIVE. In this episode I and Adrian, my show's producer, tackle Coralie Fargeat's "The Substance", starring Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley.

We go deep down the rabbit hole in this NSFW podcast. Please note adult themes are tackled. Heavy spoilers abound if you haven't seen it yet.

Honestly, this may be my best show yet. I invite you to give a listen.

https://youtu.be/tmXtB6k5Gis?si=aziFWdsTk-afOq4k