Contributor: Paul Asay

Through the eyes of a beast, moviegoers see the horrors of humanity—ultimately overcome by beauty and honor and love.

The fierce finale of this story was broadcast around the world more than three years ago. But even so, the film offers a surprise or two.

The more people watch Machete kill, the more I wonder about the danger of forgetting that violence—real violence—isn’t at all a comedic caper.

Grace Unplugged can feel, at times, like The Miley Cyrus Story: What Could’ve Been.

It’s a harrowing spaceship-themed roller-coaster ride of a movie, and it’s not without its content concerns. But in the end, we get out of our pods feeling inspired.

They got to sing a song or two when Miley Cyrus went 3-D. Now they’ve got their own show. And why not? Could thousands of screaming girls be wrong?

Baggage Claim flies high with its message of matrimonial commitment—then gets grounded by premarital sexual content.

Through telling the harrowing tale of Barbara Leininger’s 1755 kidnapping by American Indians, Alone Yet Not Alone is committed to illustrating the biblical truth that death is not to be feared as much as separation from God.

Don Jon tells us pornography is a terrible, addictive thing—while continuing to gawk and grin at that very terrible, addictive thing.

It is first and second and last a story. A story told without apology or a lot of excess window dressing.

Everyone’s got a story. We’re all central characters in our own narratives filled with drama, action, passion and comedy. Even mobsters have stories. Just sometimes not very good ones.

Riddick, as a person, isn’t all bad. Mostly bad, maybe. But not all bad. If pressed, I guess we could say the same thing about Riddick, the movie. It’s not all bad. Just mostly.

Tyler Perry struggles with abandonment, abuse, drunkenness and adultery—mixing those things with Madea’s madcap mania and a message of … salvation.

Machete began as a fake trailer targeting hard-core fans of the 2007 double-feature splatterfest Grindhouse. Now, it’s all too real—and gruesome.

The new new-relationship rule: Wait 90 days, not 90 minutes. Oh, and buy Steve Harvey’s book too!