Two early-’90s songs, telling the same story in different keys.

Hazard brings the suspicion; Where the Wild Roses Grow brings the aftermath. Together, they suggest a place where innocence doesn’t disappear — it drifts, and the town decides who it belongs to next.

Hazardous was my first screenplay. Written as an opening scene, it withholds answers on purpose. The story isn’t about who did it — it’s about how quickly we decide.

What do you get when a science-fiction adventure keeps moving faster than its own hyperdrive?
A film powered by confidence alone, shedding ideas as it goes, convinced that momentum will be enough.

Some films charge ahead. Some take their time. And some move so quickly between ideas they forget to let any of them land. Lost in Space (1998) is that third kind — a confident, expensive adventure that moves like a film in a hurry, explains, reassures, and pushes forward, rarely pausing long enough to let tension take hold. What should feel like momentum slowly turns into distance — scenes pass, rules blur, and consequence slips quietly out of frame.

There’s intelligence and effort on display, but very little patience. It can carry you across the galaxy, but it forgets the small packets of nuts and coffee — and you feel the absence long before the destination.

Some films crash, some soar, and some glide beautifully until they forget to deploy the landing gear. Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within is that third kind — visually breathtaking, emotionally adrift, and endlessly fascinated with its own mythology. It wants to be spiritual sci-fi poetry.

The movie delivers ghosts that steal souls, dreams that think they’re metaphors, and a world that somehow looks spotless after thirty years of disaster. It’s gorgeous, sincere, and occasionally baffling — the kind of movie that almost becomes profound before getting distracted by its own ambition.