Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson

By neutering the Rock’s charm and flooding his character in senseless plot soup, “Black Adam” creates a viewing experience akin to a hangover without the joy of getting drunk.

Behind the camera and in front of it, Cage is a walking affirmation that Hollywood is the unhinged, glamorous jungle everyone suspects it to be.

What is it about disaster films that make them so darn entertaining? Is it something that taps into our primal instincts for extreme survival? Is it the many oiled muscle shots of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson? 

This summer, I decided it was time to check off a new box on my list of manic pixie dream girl jobs and apply to work at a movie theater.

“Baywatch” is obviously preoccupied with bodies, and overtly upholds rigidly gendered standards: huge muscles for men and tiny waists for women. It misses any opportunity to subvert the now-stale sexism of the original television series.

Despite our apparent failure, partaking in an event where the personal stakes are low and the burritos are free is bound to be a good time.

Director F. Gary Gray may not reinvent the wheel, but he shows that Dom (Vin Diesel) and company can still burn some rubber.