The Toxic Rise and Radioactive Fall of the Toxic Crusaders Toy Line.

By the time Toxic Crusaders entered the 1990s toy and animation market, the landscape was already saturated with mutant superheroes, anthropomorphic warriors, and various action-packed cartoons designed for the sole purpose of selling toys. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles phenomenon had created a boom in which every toy company scrambled to launch the next big multi-media, kid-friendly action franchise. Some succeeded (Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers), but many crashed and burned (Biker Mice from Mars, Street Sharks, SWAT Kats), and Toxic Crusaders would, unfortunately, land in the latter category.

Captain America: Brave New World – A Half-Baked, Half-Hearted, Half-Assed Sequel to a Movie We Forgot About.

Oh, Captain, my Captain, what has Marvel done to you? What has Marvel done to all of us? And, more importantly, what has Marvel done to themselves?

As a Marvel fan, it is my solemn, masochistic duty to watch every single theatrical release (I can’t… I just can’t) and every Disney+ mini-series (I can’t… I just… listen, I’m not a masochist). Ever since the Infinity Saga wrapped up in a bow of perfection, we, the fans, have been unknowingly conditioned to expect well-written, top-tier, comic-accurate (for the most part) productions. Marvel couldn’t miss. They were cranking out billion-dollar blockbusters like Kevin Feige had a money printer hidden under his baseball cap. The formula had been perfected, much like Bruce Banner’s Hulk transformation—each film bigger, stronger, smashing harder.

Pet Sematary (1989): A Cinematic Exploration of Grief, Ego, and the Inescapable Nature of Death

Horror is often mischaracterized as a genre built solely on fear—on blood, on shadows lurking in the dark, on creatures and killers that stalk their victims in the night. But true horror, the kind that lingers, the kind that permeates the mind and soul, does not rely on the grotesque or the supernatural. It is the horror of inevitability, of powerlessness, of watching something unfold with the growing realization that there is no stopping it. Pet Sematary, released in 1989 and directed by Mary Lambert, is a film that understands this. Based on Stephen King’s harrowing 1983 novel, the film is not just a ghost story, nor is it merely a cautionary tale about meddling with forces beyond human comprehension. It is a dissertation on grief, denial, and the slow, soul-consuming nature of loss, a story about a man who cannot accept what life has taken from him, who cannot admit his own limitations, and who, in his desperation, brings about his own destruction.

Scream 7: How the Franchise Might Change Horror—Forever… Again

The year was nineteen hundred and ninety-six. Month: December. Day: 20th. I was fourteen years old, and I was about to witness a film that would change horror forever. But first—I had to ditch school.

The Marvels: A Cosmic Catastrophe That Even Time Travel Can’t Fix

Alright, let’s properly unravel the cinematic chaos that is The Marvels—or as I’ve come to think of it, How to Lose a Fanbase in 90 Minutes. Strap in, because this is going to be a ride—one filled with time jumps, existential dread, and the gnawing feeling that someone out there got paid millions to make this.

Mac and Me: Why Hollywood Will Repeat Its Most Cynical Mistake

As one of the most infamous flops in film history, Mac and Me (1988) stands as a monument to the perils of corporate filmmaking. Bankrolled by McDonald’s, the film cynically attempted to capitalize on both the cultural love for E.T. and the fast-food chain’s dominance in marketing to children. The result was not only an unintentional comedy of errors but also a cautionary tale about prioritizing brand synergy over genuine storytelling.

The Overlooked Brilliance of The Fly II: A Worthy Heir to a Body Horror Classic

David Cronenberg’s The Fly (1986) is a towering achievement in cinema, a haunting meditation on love, science, and the fragility of the human body. Its visceral blend of tragedy and body horror has earned it a place among the genre’s greatest masterpieces. Yet, its sequel, The Fly II (1989), has languished in the shadow of its predecessor, often dismissed as a pale imitation. This dismissal is not only unfair but also fails to recognize the sequel’s unique contributions to the mythology of The Fly. When examined on its own terms, The Fly II emerges as a deeply resonant film that expands on the themes of the original, delivering its own brand of emotional devastation and horrifying spectacle.

The Toxic Avenger: A Radioactive Rumble of Chaos, Camp, and Justice

The Toxic Avenger is the movie equivalent of a mud-wrestling match held behind a rundown gym—filthy, chaotic, and an absolute blast to watch. It’s the masterpiece of misfit cinema, a potent radioactive cocktail that mixes vigilante justice with campy absurdity in ways that’ll make you question your own sanity. If that sounds like a good time to you, then strap in, because this flick is a wild ride from the very first toxic splash.