What makes Erin Brockovich work is how grounded its transformation feels. It’s a true “rags to riches” arc, but the riches come from relentless empathy and long hours, not a lottery ticket. The film never treats Erin’s sexuality as a flaw to be corrected. Her miniskirts and leopard-print tops become part of her armor—an outward declaration that she’ll navigate the system on her own terms. Even when she’s surrounded by suits, she refuses to shrink herself to fit their rooms.

Another reason the story resonates is how the investigation unfolds through trust rather than procedure. Erin wins people over because she listens. She remembers their children’s names, their illnesses, their stories. When the corporate lawyers send in polished paralegals with clipboards, the townspeople freeze; when Erin shows up in her convertible with a messy notepad and a genuine tone, they open their doors. Her version of professionalism is humanity, and that becomes the weapon that topples a billion-dollar lie.

he film also nails the satisfaction of discovery. The infamous “smoking-gun” document—the memo proving the company knew it was contaminating the groundwater—doesn’t come from forensic brilliance. It comes from persistence and kindness. Erin’s reputation in the community earns her the trust of a plant worker who secretly saved the memo after being told to shred it. That moment captures the heart of the film: big change often starts with one person deciding not to look away.

Finally, the story’s moral arithmetic feels right. The money that pours in at the end doesn’t erase the harm, but it creates possibility—for medical care, for rebuilding, for independence. Erin’s own financial win isn’t indulgence; it’s validation that integrity and grit can have tangible outcomes. The riches amplify her ability to keep doing the work.

Erin Brockovich remains a near-perfect blend of crowd-pleaser and conscience-raiser. It respects working-class communities, celebrates female agency without sanding off the edges, and delivers an ending that earns every cheer. Kit calls it “a biopic that respects real voices and lets a complicated woman lead without apology.” Cade describes it as “a brisk, funny legal thriller with real-world stakes and zero cape.” Both rated it 8 out of 10, agreeing that it’s the rare inspirational film that keeps its calluses.

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Some survival stories drop you in the wilderness. Others trap you in a trunk. The Call takes a confined space and turns it into a masterclass in pressure and problem-solving. Halle Berry stars as Jordan, a 911 operator whose first big call went horribly wrong—and who’s forced to face her trauma when a second girl is abducted. The clock is ticking, the call is live, and survival depends on two strangers staying calm enough to outthink a killer.

It’s a thriller that never lets you breathe for too long. Jordan’s new caller, a teenage girl named Casey (Abigail Breslin), has been kidnapped and stuffed in the trunk of a car with only a borrowed phone. There’s no GPS, no name, no clear location—just fragments of sound, flashes of light, and the voice of someone trying not to panic.

Cade explains why he picked it: “It’s survival in a situation, not in the elements. It’s about staying sharp when the whole thing could fall apart in seconds.” Kit agrees—and loved how the movie keeps shifting between the call center, the road, and the kidnapper’s point of view without losing focus.

The movie thrives on creativity. Jordan’s calm turns into Casey’s instructions: kick out the taillight, spill paint cans to mark the route, wave to passing drivers. Every tactic feels both cinematic and plausible. Kit points out how realistic it all feels—“You start thinking through what you’d do, step by step.” Cade connects with Halle Berry’s composure: “She has to stay cool while the worst possible thing is happening on the other end. That’s leadership under fire.”

It also builds its villain slowly. A normal-looking man with a job, a wife, and two kids becomes more disturbing with every clue—his home lined with childhood photos, a secret memorial to his dead sister, and a second property in the woods. By the time the story reaches that basement, we’ve learned how obsession and grief can warp into something unrecognizable.

Like a lot of high-concept thrillers, it moves fast enough that logic occasionally lags behind. The final act pushes into horror territory—complete with secret rooms, scalp collections, and a showdown that’s more cathartic than realistic. Kit calls it “a little twisted, but satisfyingly so.” Cade’s take? “It’s not trying to be subtle. It’s a rollercoaster—you get on for the ride.”

For Cade, The Call nails what a rewatchable thriller should be: tight, inventive, grounded in just enough realism to feel like a nightmare you could stumble into. For Kit, it’s an example of how survival doesn’t always mean the woods or the elements—it can mean keeping your voice steady when everything else is falling apart. Both hosts agree: it’s an underrated gem that deserves more credit than it ever got.

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The new theme is Survival, and Kit starts us off with a film that defines it in the loneliest way possible. Sean Penn’s Into the Wild follows Christopher McCandless (Emile Hirsch), a top-of-his-class graduate who rejects his parents’ version of success, gives away his savings, burns his IDs, and sets out across America under the alias Alexander Supertramp. His goal: Alaska. His test: how much of life’s meaning can be found when you strip away everything else.

At first it feels like a road movie—the kind of restless, post-college freedom trip that turns into myth. Chris meets travelers, field workers, drifters, and an elderly widower (Hal Holbrook, quietly heartbreaking) who sees his younger self in the boy. Each encounter offers him connection, stability, maybe even love. But he keeps leaving. “It wasn’t in his plan,” Kit says. “And sometimes you have to see what happens when you walk past the plan.”

From wheat fields to river rapids, from impromptu jobs to illegal kayak runs through the Grand Canyon, McCandless becomes a portrait of youthful conviction. Cade notes how the film captures that grey space between bravery and naivety: “He’s doing everything people tell you not to do—and somehow it keeps working, until it doesn’t.”Kit connects personally to the film’s search for autonomy. “Authority is a grey subject,” she says. “Sometimes honesty and curiosity open more doors than rules ever could.” Having backpacked after college herself, she recognizes that magnetic impulse to find out who you are when no one’s watching. The film’s true power lies in that recognition: adventure as mirror, not escape.

Cade points out how carefully Sean Penn paces loneliness. “For a movie about isolation, it’s full of warmth,” he says. “Every side character is a lesson he could have stayed for.” The cinematography—endless skylines, cracked deserts, the green hush of Alaska—feels like both invitation and warning. Eddie Vedder’s soundtrack hums through it all like a heartbeat.At 147 minutes, it’s long, and you feel it. “It’s beautifully slow,” Cade says, “but not an easy weeknight watch.” Kit agrees: “You need space for it. The pacing makes sense artistically, but you have to surrender to it.” Still, that stretch is part of the experience—the time it takes for silence to start talking back.

When Chris finally reaches Alaska, he finds an abandoned bus and the solitude he’s chased. He hunts, writes, and reflects until a small mistake—poisoned berries—turns enlightenment into tragedy. In his journal he scribbles the line that defines the film: “Happiness only real when shared.” By the time he realizes it, the river back is impassable. The same wild that made him feel free becomes the thing that keeps him there.

For Kit, that ending reframes the entire story. “He didn’t fail at survival,” she says. “He just learned too late that surviving isn’t the same as living.” Cade adds, “It’s the quiet paradox—he discovers connection through isolation. That’s why it lingers.”nto the Wild is an endurance test for both its protagonist and its audience—part travel diary, part moral study. Kit calls it “a film that reminds you to question every ‘should.’” Cade describes it as “arthouse survival—hard to rewatch, impossible to forget.” Both rate it 7/10: essential once, maybe never again, but it stays with you.

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Cade and Kit continue their Good vs. Evil theme, and this week’s pick could not be more of a tonal whiplash from Kill Bill. After Kit made Cade watch both volumes of Tarantino’s blood-soaked revenge saga, Cade responded by choosing something brighter, cheesier, and a lot more fun: Shazam! — a superhero comedy that doesn’t take itself too seriously.

From the start, confusion set the tone. Kit misheard Cade’s pick and thought they were watching Kazaam—the 90s genie movie starring Shaquille O’Neal. She spent a good five minutes talking about KFC Shaq buckets and childhood basketball memories before Cade finally realized she was reminiscing about an entirely different film. “Sometimes,” he said, “I just let her go.”

The movie follows Billy Batson, a foster kid who’s been bounced between homes and constantly searches for the mother who left him. When a dying wizard grants him supernatural powers, he transforms into an adult superhero (played by Zachary Levi) whenever he shouts the word “Shazam!” What follows is a hilarious and heartfelt look at a teenager trapped in a man’s body — testing his powers, skipping school, and learning the true meaning of family.

Kit, however, was skeptical. “I thought this was going to be about Shaquille O’Neal granting wishes,” she joked. But even she couldn’t resist laughing when Cade pointed out how absurd it is to watch a grown man act like an 11-year-old. “There’s something about that kind of humor that makes you wonder how you’d handle it,” she said.

Cade appreciated that balance between humor and morality. “It’s the perfect good vs. evil setup,” he said. “You’ve got the Seven Deadly Sins literally walking around as monsters, but you’ve also got this villain who’s evil because he was never chosen — never loved.” The film’s antagonist, Dr. Sivana, spent his life haunted by rejection, desperate for the same power Billy stumbled into. Kit found that interesting: “It makes you ask what actually makes someone evil. Is it one bad choice? Or just not being loved enough to believe you could be good?”

Where they disagreed was tone. Cade loved the corny, optimistic humor, calling it “a throwback to the 90s, when movies could be sweet and funny without needing to be cynical.” Kit, meanwhile, wanted more edge. “The evil wasn’t evil enough for me,” she said. “It’s good vs. evil, but nobody really gets hurt. If you’re going to give me seven deadly sins, I want to feel the danger.”

She also wanted more physical comedy. “He never got injured learning his powers! There’s so much potential for chaos there,” she said. “If I’m watching a grown man act like a kid, I want him to accidentally fly into a lamppost or something.” Cade laughed. “You just wanted to make this Kill Bill again,” he teased.

When it came time for ratings, the gap between the hosts was almost comical. Cade gave it an 8.5/10, praising its humor, family theme, and pure rewatchability. “It’s not groundbreaking, but it makes me happy,” he said. “And that still counts.”

Kit gave it a 3.5/10, calling it “flat but sweet.” “It’s not that I hated it,” she clarified. “I just wanted higher stakes, darker shadows — something to earn the word ‘evil.’” Cade pointed out that her score matched his Kill Bill rating. “You watched two movies,” she reminded him. “I watched one that felt like two.”

By the end of the episode, the two found themselves laughing over the gendered split in their choices. “You picked a foster kid who turns into a kind-hearted superhero,” Kit said. “I picked an assassin who kills everyone for her kid. So I think we’ve learned who’s who in this theme.”

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Season 3 of Cade & Kit: Stories That Stick continues with a new theme — Good vs. Evil. Kit kicked things off with an ambitious pick: Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill saga. Or as Cade calls it, “two movies disguised as one.” Kit, on the other hand, insists they’re inseparable halves of a single cinematic journey — one that follows a mother’s quest for revenge, redemption, and the reclamation of her child.

This double feature sparks their biggest debate yet: is Kill Bill one story split in two, or two stories chasing the same moral question? Either way, it’s blood-soaked, beautifully choreographed, and surprisingly emotional.

Kit argues that true “good” is found in the instinct to protect — and for her, Kill Bill is a story about a mother’s drive to do exactly that. The Bride (Uma Thurman) is left for dead after being ambushed at her wedding rehearsal by her former team of assassins, the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. Shot in the head, she wakes from a coma years later and sets off on a mission to hunt them all down — a mission that evolves from vengeance into reclamation once she learns her daughter is alive.

Cade, meanwhile, is skeptical. “You made me watch both movies,” he laughs. “I’m still waiting for the good to show up.” But as Kit points out, Volume 1 is the fight — Volume 2 is the heart.

Kit’s admiration for Kill Bill goes far beyond its cult following. She loves its fusion of genre and tone — a blend of samurai film, noir, anime, and grindhouse pulp. She praises Tarantino’s “use of practical effects, long fight sequences, and music cues that feel like inside jokes for cinephiles.” From the anime flashback of O-Ren Ishii’s childhood revenge to the snow-drenched duel between The Bride and the Crazy 88, Kit calls it “a masterclass in rhythm — both musical and violent.”

Cade admits that Volume 2 delivers more on that theme. He highlights Bill’s “Clark Kent monologue” — a quiet scene where David Carradine philosophizes about the nature of identity. Superman’s disguise, he explains, isn’t the cape — it’s Clark Kent himself, a caricature of weakness and normalcy. Bill uses it to justify his worldview: “You’re not pretending to be a killer, you’re pretending to be human.” Cade calls it one of the best-written moments in the film, even if “it’s buried under a mountain of blood and sword fights.”

For Cade, it’s not that the movie is bad — it’s that it’s a lot. Two volumes, four hours, dozens of stylized deaths, and more “wiggling toes” than he bargained for. “It’s everything Kit loves jammed into one movie,” he jokes, “which is exactly why it’s not for me.”He also points out how Volume 1, while visually stunning, feels disconnected from the emotional weight that lands later. “Volume 2 has the theme. Volume 1 is just chaos.” Kit laughs in agreement but insists that chaos is necessary context. “You need the carnage to understand what she’s fighting for.”

Kit rated Kill Bill (Volumes 1 & 2) an 8.5/10 — calling it “a near-perfect blend of violence, vulnerability, and vision.” It’s one of her personal top five films of all time. Cade, however, wasn’t convinced. “I’m not a Tarantino fan,” he confessed. “It’s too self-indulgent for me. And I lost points for having to watch two movies.” His final score: 3.5/10.

Still, even he acknowledged the film’s cultural weight — from the yellow tracksuit to the unforgettable showdown with the Crazy 88. “It’s iconic,” he said, “just not for me.”

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This week’s episode of Cade & Kit dives into Cade’s pick for the “Love Triangle” theme: the 2008 cultural phenomenon Twilight. While most associate the franchise with the Edward–Bella–Jacob triangle, Cade brings a different perspective: in this first installment, the triangle isn’t between two boys. It’s between Bella and two versions of her future. One rooted in familiarity and safety. The other, full of danger, chaos, and self-determination.As always, one host selects a film the other hasn’t seen (or hasn’t seen in years), and both weigh in on how it shaped them. Kit watched Twilight with fresh adult eyes, while Cade reflected on its teenage resonance and unexpected depth. What follows is a surprisingly layered conversation about agency, family, social perception, and the vampire-as-metaphor.Say what you want about the Twilight phenomenon — the first film carries surprising nuance. Kristen Stewart’s portrayal of Bella Swan leans into soft insecurity, subtle rebellion, and quiet decision-making. She’s not loud or romantic in the traditional YA sense, but she chooses with certainty, even in the face of danger. Kit noted how Bella’s choices reflected an internal compass that defied the opinions of those around her, especially her protective father and concerned peers.Cade highlighted the film’s visual metaphors — overcast skies, hushed classrooms, Edward’s restrained tension — as signals of the inner turmoil at play. Edward’s vampirism becomes a stand-in for emotional danger and romantic risk. And yet, Bella doesn’t flinch. The love triangle, then, is more existential than hormonal. Stay in her small, safe world… or leap into the unknown?Kit was quick to praise Anna Kendrick’s role as a BFF-style side character, adding levity and realism to the high school scenes. And both hosts agreed that the world-building — from Forks’ moody atmosphere to the tension between the Cullens and the local reservation — hinted at a broader mythology that held promise.For Kit, the pacing was a major flaw. The love story escalates rapidly, with only a few scenes between Bella’s initial discomfort and her willingness to risk it all. “I needed more time for the love to feel earned,” Kit said. “Curiosity? Yes. Chemistry? Sure. But love? I wasn’t sold yet.” She also pointed out missed opportunities for deeper emotion — moments of danger that felt flat or montages that could have added weight.Cade acknowledged the flaws but countered that Twilight was never meant to be a sweeping epic. “It’s easy background watching,” he admitted. “You don’t have to think too hard, but it still says something.”Kit also called out the film’s most disturbing moment — Edward admitting he watches Bella sleep. “I get it’s a vampire thing, but really?” Still, she admired how unapologetically the film leaned into the allure of danger, even if the danger didn’t always feel dangerous enough.Cade gave Twilight a 7/10, citing its surprising emotional complexity and iconic status. “There’s more going on beneath the surface,” he said, “especially when you see it as a metaphor for choosing a life outside of what your family expects.”Kit, on the other hand, gave it a 4/10. “Great performances. Loved the supporting characters. But I needed more pacing, more emotional payoff, and maybe just... more fear?” That said, she admitted watching it now — with distance from the cultural noise — was refreshing. “I might even keep watching the series, just to see how it evolves.”This episode was brought to you by...purrclothing.ca drinknorthern.com🎧 Spotify: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/2kaH2BpUcEouX5LWCUQ7ed?si=ff1e2b355c5944e1🍏 Apple Podcasts: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/cade-and-kit/id1771553610📸 Instagram: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://instagram.com/cadeandkithttps://Blog.cadeandkit.cominfo@CadeandKit.com

Welcome back to Season 3 of Cade & Kit, where each week we trade off picking movies based on a shared theme—and make the other person watch something they may not have chosen themselves. This week’s theme? Love Triangle. And Kit went full glam with her pick: Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge!, a 2001 jukebox musical that’s equal parts glitter, heartbreak, and high drama.

Kit’s love for this film runs deep. Not only did it make her personal Top 5 list (again), but she came ready to unpack the artistic references, the historical nods to fin-de-siècle Paris, and how the movie’s central triangle isn’t just romantic—it’s also existential. Cade, on the other hand, hadn’t seen it in years and was curious whether it would still “slap” in 2025. Spoiler: It did.

Moulin Rouge! follows Christian (Ewan McGregor), a wide-eyed writer who arrives in Paris to chase his dreams and winds up writing a play for a group of bohemians led by the eccentric Toulouse-Lautrec (yes, the real one—sort of). He’s introduced to Satine (Nicole Kidman), the sparkling courtesan and star of the Moulin Rouge, but through a classic mistaken identity, she thinks he’s the wealthy Duke who’s supposed to fund the club’s next big show.

One chaotic seduction scene later (think: Nicole Kidman writhing on rugs mid-monologue), Satine realizes she’s falling for the wrong man—and that the club’s survival depends on convincing the right man to bankroll their dreams. What unfolds is a musical love story wrapped inside a fictional play that mirrors their real lives, all set in a world bursting with song mashups, absinthe, and emotional whiplash.

From the jump, Kit highlights the spectacular spectacular tone—how the over-the-top musicality and color palette somehow manage to carry a deeply emotional core. She especially loves the meta-layer of the characters performing a fictional love triangle that mirrors the one they’re living in real life. And then there’s Toulouse, played with wild charm and an absinthe-soaked reverence for the arts. Kit pointed out how he’s more than comic relief—he’s the heart of the story’s artistic soul.

Cade appreciated how much the music does the heavy lifting. In a film with this much plot and backstory, the songs (like “Come What May” and “Roxanne”) become efficient emotional engines. “If they just talked through all of that,” he said, “this movie would be five hours long.” Instead, the musical numbers take you deep into character feelings without ever slowing the pace.

Cade admitted he almost forgets Moulin Rouge! is technically a musical. To him, it leans more drama than classic song-and-dance, and if you’re not ready for that much theatrical glitter, it can feel like a sensory overload. Kit agreed, noting that not everyone will be on board for the hyper-stylized, music-video-on-acid editing style. But for those who are? It’s magic.

The love triangle itself is also more thematic than emotionally balanced. Satine isn’t really in love with the Duke—it’s a power exchange, a survival tactic. So while the stakes feel real, the romance is a bit lopsided. That said, the movie knows this and leans into the question: What do we really choose when we choose love?

For Kit, Moulin Rouge! remains a near-perfect film. The aesthetics, the emotion, the historical layers—it hits every note. Cade came in with fresh eyes and was surprised by how well it held up. “I’ve watched it a few times,” he said, “and it still lands. Complete story. Emotional payoff.”

Kit gave it a 9.5/10, calling it one of her all-time favorites. Cade gave it a 8.5/10, impressed by how the film’s dramatic weight balances its musical chaos.

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We’ve reached the second half of Season 3, and this week’s episode brought us to one of the most iconic films of the ’90s: Forrest Gump. This was Cade’s pick for our “Coming of Age” theme—an unexpected but undeniably powerful choice. While it’s easy to remember the memes, the lines, and the run, we wanted to revisit Forrest Gump with fresh eyes and talk about whether it still holds up as a story about growing into yourself in a complicated world.

The film follows Forrest (Tom Hanks), a man with a low IQ and a kind heart, as he stumbles through a life shaped by love, war, ping pong, and accidental brushes with history. From growing up in small-town Alabama with a fiercely loving mother to unintentionally changing the course of American culture, Forrest’s life unfolds in chapters that feel both surreal and deeply human.

What surprised both of us, watching it now, is how much Forrest Gump doesn’t try to explain or justify itself. The movie just… happens. It unfolds the way memories do: out of order, overlapping, filled with details that matter more emotionally than logically. Cade noted that the film’s strength is its refusal to be clever. It isn’t ironic or self-aware. It’s earnest—and in a time when most films are trying to say something smart, Forrest Gump chooses to say something simple.

We talked at length about the characters who orbit Forrest’s world, especially his mother and Jenny. Mrs. Gump (Sally Field) is a force. She doesn’t try to change Forrest—she moves the world around him to make space for who he is. That kind of unconditional love is rare in film, and it anchors Forrest’s entire journey.

And then there’s Jenny.

Jenny is a character who often divides viewers. Kit pointed out how deeply tragic her story is—a life shaped by early trauma, marked by moments of rebellion and escape. Forrest’s unwavering love for her is a throughline that keeps the movie emotionally grounded. Even when she disappears, she never really leaves the story. Cade described her as the person Forrest runs toward, even when he doesn’t know it.

The movie’s visual style also stood out. Scenes linger longer than you expect. Silence is used meaningfully. There’s one moment after Jenny leaves where Forrest is sitting alone at home, and the stillness says more than dialogue ever could. That quiet grief is what makes the film so resonant.

But we’d be lying if we said we didn’t also talk about the wild, absurd parts. Elvis learns to dance from Forrest. He survives the Vietnam War, becomes a ping pong champion, starts a shrimp empire, invests in Apple, and runs across America multiple times. It’s all ridiculous. And yet, none of it feels out of place. That’s the magic of the movie—it makes chaos feel like destiny.

Cade gave Forrest Gump an 8.5, calling it a classic for a reason. Kit gave it a 7.5, loving the emotional beats but feeling that the runtime and sheer volume of plot sometimes overshadow the film’s quieter coming-of-age elements.

What we both agreed on is that Forrest is a character who teaches by being. He doesn’t try to change people. He simply stays kind. In a world full of noise, his presence is what stays with you. His story isn’t about triumph in the traditional sense—it’s about resilience, and about loving people even when they don’t love you back the way you expect.

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Filmed over 12 years with the same cast, Boyhood is a cinematic experiment that becomes something more: a lived-in portrait of growing up, told not through big milestones, but through the blurry, in-between moments that actually shape us. Richard Linklater’s film follows Mason (Ellar Coltrane) from age six to college, letting us witness the quiet evolution of one boy’s world—and the people orbiting it.

🎥 The Format

This is a story made of small scenes and long time. There’s no dramatic arc, no clear villain or climax. It feels like memory—fragmented, nonlinear, and often unremarkable until suddenly, it’s not. From mom’s new partners to a bad haircut to a whispered “I like your hair” note in class, the movie doesn’t force meaning. It invites it.

✅ What Makes It Work

Kit picked this one for a reason: it’s one of the purest executions of the coming-of-age genre we’ve seen. The authenticity is unmatched. No recasting. No shortcuts. Just real time, real growth. There’s a brilliance to how the film resists sensationalism. It doesn’t chase “firsts” like sex, graduation, or death. It gives equal weight to boredom, chores, and basement parties. Kit especially connected with the film’s realism around parenting—both the triumphs and the unintended harm. A dinner table shaming scene struck her so deeply, it actually informed how she now handles tough parenting moments in her own life.

Cade brought a different lens: for him, this movie felt deeply familiar. Growing up in Texas, pledging allegiance to both the American and Texas flags, awkward dad weekends and road trip bonding—it wasn’t just nostalgia. It was recognition. The emotional pacing of the film mirrors how kids actually process things. Moments are absorbed, not always explained.

⚠️ What Doesn’t Land

For Cade, there was a small “what if” itch—this story had the platform, the critical acclaim, and the artistic license to say anything, but it often held back. It left so much interpretation to the viewer that sometimes it felt like it avoided taking a stance. Still, that’s also part of its strength. Boyhood isn’t trying to teach—it’s trying to observe.

🎯 The Verdict

Both hosts gave it an 8/10. Kit felt it was one of the best picks for the coming-of-age theme—thoughtful, patient, and emotionally rich. Cade appreciated how much it reminded him of his own childhood, especially how the film gave weight to seemingly forgettable moments. This movie doesn’t grab you. It stays with you.

🍿 Pair This Movie With...

– A rewatch of The Tree of Life (if you want more poetic boyhood)

– Your own childhood photo album

– A quiet night where you can press pause and just sit with it

🎤 Cade & Kit Sign-Off

Kit: “I saw this in my 20s in a tiny theater in Edmonton, and I still think about that dinner table scene. I picked this movie because it shows how growing up isn’t always loud—it’s in the quiet decisions we remember later.”

Cade: “I related to this one. It reminded me of the weird stuff I actually remember from childhood—the fights, the boredom, the broken promises, the drive-thru bowling alley trips. It didn’t feel like a movie. It felt like growing up.”

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What happens when you pick a movie based on the wrong Angelina Jolie role? In this case, you still end up with Salt—a high-octane spy thriller wrapped in Cold War shadows and moral ambiguity. Originally written for Tom Cruise, Salt follows CIA agent Evelyn Salt as she's accused of being a Russian sleeper agent and forced to go on the run, unraveling a tangled web of brainwashing, espionage, and very personal revenge.

🎥 The Format

This season, we’re choosing films for each other based on a shared theme—in this case: revenge. Cade picked Salt, thinking he was choosing Wanted, but we rolled with it anyway. The result? A conversation about identity, loyalty, and the emotional residue left behind by spy films that prioritize action but hint at something deeper. Kit came in with fresh eyes; Cade revisited the chaos with nostalgia (and a small apology).

✅ What Makes It Work

Angelina Jolie delivers a strong, physical performance that anchors the entire film. From rooftop chases to venomous spider plots to handcuffed assassinations, Salt doesn't let up. What gives it staying power is the ambiguity around Salt’s motives and identity. Is she bad? Misunderstood? Redeemed? We never fully know—and that’s the intrigue. The film’s backstory (children raised to infiltrate U.S. society as sleeper agents) is chillingly clever and gives Salt’s revenge arc weight. Plus, the movie’s standout stunt work—especially that highway car-to-car chase—earned recognition and brought real grit to the genre.

🎯 The Verdict

Both Cade and Kit gave Salt a 6/10. While the action thrills and Jolie shines, it didn’t quite deliver a standout revenge narrative compared to the previous episode’s pick, Colombiana. The pacing is fast, the plot is twisty, and the body count is high—but when the dust settles, you’re left wanting just a bit more depth. That said, it’s a solid entry in the female-assassin subgenre, and watching it back-to-back with other “spy-turned-rogue” films gives it new context.

🍿 Pair This Movie With...

A strong cup of coffee and a rainy afternoon. Bonus points if you line it up with Wanted and Colombiana for a triple-feature of badass female leads.

🎤 Cade & Kit Sign-Off

“This one may not have been the movie we meant to review, but it still gave us a lot to chew on. From misremembered titles to surprise endings, Salt brought enough chaos to keep us guessing—right up to the last jump from a helicopter.”
— See you next episode, where it’s Kit’s turn to pick!

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In this episode, Kit introduces Colombiana, a high-intensity revenge thriller starring Zoë Saldana. Framed as a continuation of our Season 3 theme — "Stories That Stick" — this pick dives into the emotional power of vengeance, early trauma, and how female action protagonists are portrayed. Cade had never seen it before, making this a true first-take episode. And let’s just say... we both left the theater (or, the couch) with a lot to say.

🎥 The Format
Colombiana follows Cataleya, a young girl whose parents are murdered by a cartel boss in Colombia. What begins as a brutal act of violence sets her on a lifelong path of revenge. After narrowly escaping to the U.S., she’s raised by an uncle in a crime-connected family who trains her to become an assassin. By adulthood, Cataleya is executing a strategic series of kills across the country — leaving a trail of orchid-shaped clues as a message to the man who destroyed her life.

The film blends kinetic action scenes with emotionally charged stakes, and Zoë Saldana’s performance elevates what could’ve been a formulaic role into something far more precise and personal.

✅ What Makes It Work

Kit pointed out from the beginning that Colombiana stands apart for how it refuses to over-sexualize its lead. So often in cinema, female assassins are reduced to their looks or forced into manipulative seduction tactics. Cataleya’s power comes from her intelligence, her creativity, and her relentlessness.

The film’s opening 20 minutes are particularly strong — giving us a child’s-eye view of trauma, escape, and survival. The young actress portraying Cataleya as a child absolutely kills it (pun intended) with her physical stunts and layered emotional performance. Cade was especially impressed with how the film rooted Cataleya’s pain so early, which made the rest of the story feel emotionally grounded despite its high-octane pace.

Once grown, Cataleya’s methodical kills — from duct vent escapes to shark-infested mansions — are presented with choreographed precision. Each scene is more than just action; it’s storytelling through movement, layout, and design.

Kit also highlighted how the cinematography excels at intimacy in motion. Chase scenes are tight, up close, and viscerally felt — a signature style that made the action feel less like spectacle and more like survival.

🎯 The Verdict

This was a sleeper hit for both of us. Cade gave it an 8/10, and Kit matched that with another solid 8/10. It’s sleek, stylish, and smart — without falling into the usual femme fatale tropes.

It’s also a rare revenge movie that doesn’t feel exploitative. Instead of bloodlust for bloodlust’s sake, Cataleya’s violence is a direct extension of her grief and control. Every shot fired is a scream from a childhood stolen — and that’s what makes it stick.

🍿 Pair This Movie With...

A Xena Warrior Princess comic, a questionable bus ticket, and a conversation about the best revenge movies not led by Jason Statham.

🎤 Cade & Kit sign-off

We’re officially in the revenge arc of Season 3 — and this was a strong opener. Kit’s pick gave us a new lens on action heroines, and Cade’s reaction gave us one of our favorite deep-dive convos of the season so far. Next up? Cade’s revenge movie pick. Let’s just say… it’s nothing like Colombiana.

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Season 3 of Cade & Kit is all about “Stories That Stick” — and this week, Cade brought a bold, joyful, and unexpectedly moving pick to the table: To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar. Kit had never seen it. Cade swore it would hold up. What followed was a glowing, sequin-filled surprise.

In this 1995 cult classic, three drag queens — Miss Vida Boheme (Patrick Swayze), Noxeema Jackson (Wesley Snipes), and Chi-Chi Rodriguez (John Leguizamo) — embark on a cross-country road trip that breaks down (literally and emotionally) in a small rural town. What begins as a fish-out-of-water comedy slowly reveals itself as a story about dignity, transformation, and chosen family.

🎥 The Format

This episode follows the Season 3 structure: one host picks a film that shaped them, and the other watches it for the first time. The magic lives in the friction — and in this case, the joy of rediscovery. Cade shares why this film meant so much as a teenager and reflects on what it feels like to watch it decades later, with fresh eyes.

✅ What Makes It Work

Let’s start with the cast. All three leads are playing against type — and thriving. Swayze brings depth and gentleness to Vida that’s unexpected but utterly sincere. Wesley Snipes leans into charisma and comedy as Noxeema. And John Leguizamo steals the show with Chi-Chi’s radiant vulnerability.

The performances never tip into caricature. Cade notes how groundbreaking it felt at the time to see drag queens as protagonists with full emotional arcs. The film is steeped in tenderness. It's not interested in mockery. It’s interested in grace — and giving its queens space to heal and to help.

Kit was surprised by the structure. The town of Snydersville becomes the real stage, and the queens’ presence transforms it. Instead of action or plot-driven stakes, it’s about micro-connections — the shy woman regaining her confidence, the local mechanic opening his heart, the cop who gets exactly what he deserves.

The script has its 90s quirks but leans earnestly into kindness. Even the film’s name — a line scribbled on a framed photo of Julie Newmar — becomes a thesis. Glamour can be guidance. Joy can be generosity.

⚠️ What Doesn’t Land

There are a few rough patches. Some jokes feel dated. The pacing in the third act wobbles. The town’s transformation happens a little fast to be fully believable. And the film skirts around deeper queer identity politics that might be more explored in a contemporary retelling.

🎯 The Verdict

Cade cried multiple times. Kit said, “This is what comfort cinema looks like when it also wants to say something.” The film manages to be celebratory without being naïve. And it reminded both hosts how powerful it can be to walk into a room — or a town — as your full, unapologetic self.

📺 Where to Watch

To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar is currently streaming on Apple TV and Amazon Prime (rental). Physical copies are out there too — with some glorious DVD bonus features.

🍿 Pair This Movie With...

A lavender cocktail, a mirrorball, and someone who makes you feel like you can say the thing you’ve been holding in all week. Or maybe a rewatch of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert if you want to keep the drag road trip vibes going.

Next week, Kit returns the favor with a pick of her own: a movie Cade’s never seen — and one that might bring up just as many feelings. See you then.

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Season 3 launches with a new format: every episode, one host picks a personal film and the other watches it for the first time. Then they come together to unpack what it meant back then — and what it says now.

To kick things off, Kit picks The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, a 2005 coming-of-age film about four best friends who spend their first summer apart — connected only by a magical pair of jeans. But this isn’t just about pants. It’s a story about grief, growing up, and the unspoken ways friendship holds people together.

Kit shares why the film meant so much to her as a teenager, while Cade — who usually leans toward stylized horror and arthouse indies — watches it for the first time. What follows is a real-time reappraisal of a film that’s often overlooked, despite being emotionally layered and deeply sincere.

🎥 The Film
Directed by Ken Kwapis and based on Ann Brashares' novel, Sisterhood follows four storylines:

• Lena (Alexis Bledel) falls in love while visiting family in Greece.

• Tibby (Amber Tamblyn) befriends a younger girl with terminal illness.

• Carmen (America Ferrera) confronts her absentee father.

• Bridget (Blake Lively) uses soccer and a summer fling to avoid her grief.

  
  

Each arc hits different emotional notes — some subtle, some devastating. Kit talks about how rare it was to see this kind of emotional range in teen girls on screen. Cade, meanwhile, was surprised by how heavy it gets — in a good way.

💬 What They Talk About

• Why this film deserves more critical respect — beyond nostalgia.

• The strength of Ferrera and Tamblyn’s performances.

• Cade’s mixed feelings on the “magic jeans” metaphor.

• How grief, abandonment, and identity are handled without over-explaining.

No theme, no prep — just Cade and Kit asking each other completely different, totally unserious (and somehow revealing?) questions. From comfort rewatches to movie pet peeves, desert island picks to wild film takes, these two go off-script and into the heart of what makes their film brains tick. It’s a laid-back, get-to-know-you episode with the exact kind of banter that never makes it into the polished reviews. One episode is Cade grilling Kit. The next is Kit turning the tables. Both? Peak chaos.

🎧 Spotify: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/2kaH2BpUcEouX5LWCUQ7ed?si=ff1e2b355c5944e1

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With Season 3 on the way (dropping August 14!), Cade puts Kit through a chaotic, cozy round of rapid-fire film questions—from her dream recast (spoiler: it’s Blake Lively, and she means it) to the horror film that scarred her forever. We get deep on fashion, friendship, and freaky endings, and somehow Bugs Bunny ends up in the roommate conversation. Just a casual little hangout before things get serious again. Part two coming soon—when Kit gets to flip the script. 👀

🎧 Spotify: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/2kaH2BpUcEouX5LWCUQ7ed?si=ff1e2b355c5944e1

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Season 3 is almost here 🎬 and this time, Cade & Kit are getting personal. Stories That Stick is all about the movies that shaped us—those first-watch gut punches, the late-night rewatches, and the ones your best friend swore would change your life. We're diving into the films that turned us into cinephiles, including a few surprises we haven’t seen yet from each other’s lists. Expect every genre, first reactions, and way more community voices. New episodes start August 14th. Let’s get nostalgic.

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We made it to the end of Season 2. Thirteen horror films, dozens of emotional reactions, and at least two scream-induced shivers later, Cade & Kit are looking back at the creepiest, wildest, most memorable genre entries of 2024 — and handing out their personal top 3.

This episode isn't just a ranking — it's a conversation about how horror keeps surprising us. From micro-budget debuts to A-list creature features, Season 2 gave us a full spectrum of weird, wild, and WTF. Some films challenged our expectations, others broke our hearts, and one gave us permanent shrimp-sound trauma (thanks, Substance).

Cade & Kit rewatch, relive, and roast their way through all 13 horror picks from 2024 — from Immaculate to Longlegs — with candid reactions, surprising takeaways, and a deep dive into what genre storytelling really demands.

Season recap episode featuring real-time reflections, ranking rehashes, and the reveal of Cade & Kit’s personal top 3 horror picks of the year.

The raw honesty. From “that was napworthy” to “I still don’t want to talk about The Coffee Table,” Cade & Kit go beyond plot points and into what stuck emotionally — character depth, sound design, pacing, and how different horror subgenres hit differently. We loved the tension between Cade’s hunger for craft and Kit’s growing genre appreciation. Also: hilarious as always.

Justice for Red Rooms. And Late Night with the Devil. Kit said it best: “Seen better.” A few titles didn’t hold up under rewatch, and Cade admits to being way more critical than expected — especially when story lacked emotional payoff or character depth. A nap was taken. It’s fine.

One of the best surprises this season was how budget didn’t predict impact. In a Violent Nature slayed with ~$250K CAD. Longlegs proved $10M can go a long way. Meanwhile, some flashier titles didn’t hit as hard. Cade & Kit discuss why performance, pacing, and direction matter more than the dollar signs — and how different price points shape expectations.

Season 2 made us rethink the horror label entirely. Kit realized she actually likes genre (who knew?), and Cade doubled down on character-led storytelling as a non-negotiable. They laughed, cringed, and dissected everything from folklore slasher structure to demonic wardrobes to the MTV-editing of I Saw the TV Glow. Most importantly, they found out what scares them — and each other.

Many of these titles are currently on VOD or playing at genre festivals. Keep an eye out for Oddity, In a Violent Nature, and Substance in particular — Cade & Kit's top 3 personal picks.

🍿 Pair This Episode With...— Snack: Cold shrimp cocktail (if you know, you know)— Drink: Something blood red in a wine glass, just to keep it spooky— Activity: Re-rank your own horror list while arguing with your film club bestie

Thanks for joining us all season long. Season 3 will be very different — and we can’t wait to tell you more. Until then, follow @cadeandkit for more weird gems, weirder takes, and maybe a few non-horror surprises. 💀

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📸 Instagram: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://instagram.com/cadeandkit

https://Blog.cadeandkit.com

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It’s 1974. A cryptic serial killer known only as Long Legs is leaving behind a string of murders tied to occult symbols and coded messages. Enter FBI agent Lee Harker (Maika Monroe), an intuitive and emotionally reserved profiler whose connection to the case runs deeper than expected. As the bodies pile up, Harker must navigate her own past, psychic intuition, and a very real evil to stop a killer that might not be entirely human.

🎥 The Format

Directed by Osgood Perkins, Long Legs leans fully into analog dread. It’s a retro-styled procedural horror film soaked in grainy film textures, oppressive stillness, and surreal editing. Think Zodiac meets Hereditary, with Nicolas Cage showing up in a deeply disturbing third-act reveal as the titular killer — more demon than man.

There’s not a ton of dialogue. And the quiet? It’s weaponized. Scenes hang just a beat too long, or cut away just before resolution, making you sit in the discomfort. And it works.

✅ What Makes It Work

The atmosphere is masterfully crafted. Cade called it “true analog horror” — and not in the jump-scare, VHS-core way. It’s slow evil. The film uses silence, shadow, and suggestion to dig under your skin.

Kit was especially struck by how the movie forces you to feel what Harker feels without spoon-feeding exposition. You’re as unsettled and unsure as she is, which makes the psychic subplot feel earned, not gimmicky.

And then there's Nicolas Cage. His screen time is limited, but unforgettable. It's Cage as a full-blown nightmare, draped in hair and whispered menace. The decision to hold back his presence until late in the game? Genius.

⚠️ What Doesn’t Land

The film’s ambiguity will either fascinate or frustrate. You won’t get clean answers. In fact, you may leave the theater asking, “Wait, what was that ending?”

Also, the slow pacing — which we loved — might test the patience of anyone expecting a more conventional thriller. It’s not here to entertain you with action. It wants to haunt you.

🎯 The Verdict

Kit gave it an 7.5. Cade gave it a 7. This is elevated horror that isn’t trying to be “elevated.” It’s just good — weird, nerve-rattling, and surprisingly intimate.

Expect this one to be divisive, but for horror fans who like their nightmares slow-burned and whisper-quiet, Long Legs will crawl under your skin and stay there.

📺 Where to Watch

Currently in theaters via NEON. Check local listings — especially for smaller indie cinemas.

🍿 Pair This Movie With...

• Snack: A black-and-white cookie (comforting but eerie in its duality)

• Drink: Cold coffee with a splash of something strange

📹 The Premise

Eggers reimagines the 1922 silent classic as a gothic fever dream soaked in death, desire, and deterioration. This version follows Thomas Hutter (Nicholas Hoult) and his increasingly cursed fiancée Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp) as Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård) spreads his plague of decay from a distant castle to their urban doorstep. It’s less about plot, more about mood—and the mood is rot.

🎥 The Format

Dreamlike horror, soft dialogue, and long, unblinking stares into the darkness. Eggers leans into texture: the echo of footsteps, flickering candlelight, and the creeping sensation that everyone on screen has already died, they just don’t know it yet.

✅ What Makes It Work

Cade called it “straight-up haunting”—especially the shadow work and final act. Kit praised the commitment to stillness: actors barely speak, and when they do, it’s like interrupting a séance. The decision to use practical effects and old-world cinematography gives it a “rotted fairytale” look that feels unique, not gimmicky.

⚠️ What Doesn’t Land

It’s not trying to be accessible. The pacing is brutal. Cade joked that it was “like watching a corpse model for oil painters.” Kit mentioned that some viewers might call it boring—but for them, the tension worked because it never tried to explain itself. If you’re not already in, you won’t be pulled in.

💸 Should It Have a Bigger Budget?

Kit: “No—it looks exactly how it should. Money would’ve ruined the texture.”
Cade: “This is the rare case where grime is the point. Let it rot.”

🎯 The Verdict

A slow-burn horror poem that leaves claw marks instead of jump scares. If you want your vampires romantic, this ain’t it. If you want them filthy, uncanny, and terrifying—this is for you.

— Cade’s Score: 4.5/10
— Kit’s Score: 4/10

🍿 Pair This Movie With...

Snack: stale bread and red wine (don’t ask why, just go with it)
Drink: absinthe you don’t finish
Activity: write a letter with a fountain pen, burn it, then stare into the smoke

🎧 Spotify: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/2kaH2BpUcEouX5LWCUQ7ed?si=ff1e2b355c5944e1

🍏 Apple Podcasts: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/cade-and-kit/id1771553610

📸 Instagram: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://instagram.com/cadeandkit

https://Blog.cadeandkit.com

info@CadeandKit.com

Two radically different horror films. One’s all chaos, blood, and neon body horror. The other is slow, quiet, and hypnotic — like a nature doc if the subject was a reanimated killer. In this episode, we’re talking The Substance and In a Violent Nature, both from Variety’s Top 13 of the year, and we’re still kind of haunted.

📹 The Premise
The Substance follows a woman who tries a mysterious program promising perfection — but ends up splitting into two versions of herself. It’s gooey, stylish, and unhinged.

In a Violent Nature flips the slasher format, giving us the killer’s POV in long, still takes across empty woods and forgotten cabins.

🎥 The Format
It’s a double feature breakdown — one maximalist, one minimalist — and somehow they both reinvent horror in totally different directions. Cade & Kit dig into the risks, the pacing, and what it means when horror stops trying to explain itself.

✅ What Makes It Work
The Substance hits hard with practical effects, bold visuals, and a lead performance from Demi Moore that deserves every bit of attention. It’s like Videodrome meets Showgirls and then takes a baseball bat to the mirror.

In a Violent Nature is mesmerizing in its restraint. No music cues. No shaky cam. Just dread building slowly with every steady frame.

⚠️ What Doesn’t Land
Kit wanted The Substance to pull back a little in the third act — it gets wild and doesn’t always earn it.
Cade felt In a Violent Nature could lose some viewers with its pacing — it’s not here to entertain, it’s here to watch you watch.

💸 Should It Have a Bigger Budget?
The Substance looks expensive and delivers on every dollar.
In a Violent Nature thrives on its lo-fi approach — it doesn’t need polish, it needs patience.

🎯 The Verdict
Cade: “One of the most visually committed horror films I’ve seen in a while. It knows exactly what it wants to do and does not care if you’re ready.”
Kit: “I thought In a Violent Nature would be a gimmick. It’s not. It’s weirdly moving. Quietly brutal. It just sits with you.”

📺 Where to Watch
The Substance is slated for release later this year.
In a Violent Nature is streaming and in limited theatrical run now.

🍿 Pair This Movie With...
Snack: Raspberry jam on white bread
Drink: A cocktail that looks delicate but hits like a truck
Activity: Staring in the mirror a little too long, then walking outside without your phone

The Substance
Cade: 9/10
Kit: 8/10

In a Violent Nature
Cade: 8/10
Kit: 8.5/10

This is horror turned inside out. One rips through your screen, the other stands silently in the woods. Either way — you’ll feel it the next morning.
Come argue with us on Instagram @cadeandkit. Or just lurk. That’s fine too.

🎧 Spotify: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/2kaH2BpUcEouX5LWCUQ7ed?si=ff1e2b355c5944e1

🍏 Apple Podcasts: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/cade-and-kit/id1771553610

📸 Instagram: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://instagram.com/cadeandkit

https://Blog.cadeandkit.com

info@CadeandKit.com