Emerging in a beautifully crude style from the brain of "One-Punch Man" creator ONE, Mob Psycho 100 is the coin tucked behind the ear in animation form.
There's no better poster child for internet culture in the early 2000s — from birth to inevitable decline — than the web series Llamas With Hats.
Fans who grew up with the series and were later struck by the weird, off-the-rails storytelling of the later 3D games might assume things started to get strange there, but I assure you — it's been there since the very beginning.
"Cowboy Bepop" creator Shinichiro Watanabe's follow-up might not have the name recognition, but "Samurai Champloo" has much more nuanced character development.
Looking at the work of glitch hunters reveals a fascinating subculture that can tell us something, surprisingly enough, about the process of scientific research.
Once upon a time, the wedding ceremony was a ratings season staple of World Wrestling Entertainment, infiltrating the hyper-masculine wrestling ring where relationships were punctuated by violence, not by holy matrimony.
Despite the vast and various types of creepypasta, all of it is, in some way, an exploration of the hopes and fears of a generation. It's a way to make sense of the things we deal with in our respective days and ages—in other words, it's folklore.
It's this focus on sexual violence that gives Scott's and Cameron's films such an intimate quality, a sense that the inhuman anatomy we’re looking at relates in some terrible way to our own weak, vulnerable bodies.
The thing I love most about "Heathers" is that it doesn't really try to justify the characters' behaviors, explain them or even have them pay penance for it.
Who doesn't have strange, vaguely off-putting memories of childhood nightmare fuel?
Found footage filmmaking is hardly as niche or novel today as it was in the early 1980s. From hits like "Paranormal Activity" and "Cloverfield" and genre deviations like "Chronicle" and "Project X," found footage exists — for better or worse — in abundance.
Robert Bresson's films have had an incalculable impact on me, but I have never found a critical literature that even begins to adequately describe them, and my awkward attempts to sell my friends on his work usually end in a shrug.
"Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman" explored the relationship of Kal-El and Lois Lane in a way that had never been seen before.
It was also no secret that the creators of "Pinky and the Brain" loved to dig deep when it came to their inspirations. One reference in particular, though, may have baffled even the most well-versed kids.
From the gabbling tauntauns of Hoth to the freewheeling bestial carnage of the fighting pits of Geonosis, "Star Wars" has looked at creature creation from nearly every angle imaginable.
Maybe years from now, we thought, we'll see versions of ourselves on television, but we resigned ourselves to the reality that things just weren’t there yet. And then, they were.
You don't have to go to London, or even leave the United States to find yourself in the famed sitting room of the great Consulting Detective.
Katsuhiro Otomo's legendary 1988 animated sci-fi feature Akira, a brutal film about a futuristic Tokyo gripped by unrest and corruption, a gang of rough-edged young biker punks, and the mysteries surrounding a group of children with terrifying psychic powers, delves deep into this stock element of so much action-driven fiction, probing at the seldom-touched origins of masculine violence with surprising poignancy.
Racism within fandom isn't surprising, given how hard it is to find representation for marginalized groups in media.