2 Dads 1 Movie

This week, the dads take on 1997's Face/Off, and Steve is practically vibrating with excitement because he's been waiting to do this one since before they even started the podcast. The John Woo-directed, Nicolas Cage-starring bonkers masterpiece gets the full breakdown treatment, starting with a delightfully nerdy timeline tracing how Sam Raimi, Quentin Tarantino, and the Oscars accidentally conspired to give us a movie where two A-listers literally swap faces. They dig into the absurdity of the premise, the logistics of the surgery, the unhinged performances, and the question of whether anyone on earth could have sold this role better than Cage. It's a love letter wrapped in gleeful confusion.The conversation careens through John Travolta's "dead son revenge plot," the infamous peach-eating scene, speedboat terrorism, and a prison that somehow operates like a gladiatorial death arena with absolutely zero oversight. They marvel at Cage's face doing all the heavy lifting, debate whether the movie is too long, and try to unpack why the film ends with what might charitably be called "problematic child acquisition." The dads also wrestle with the tonal whiplash of a movie that's simultaneously a gonzo action spectacle and a deeply weird meditation on identity, family, and face-touching. They can't decide if it's brilliant or dumb, so they settle on both.It's Cage at his unhinged best, Woo at his most operatic, and two dads at peak "we need to talk about this" energy.

This week, the dads drop into Raising Arizona (1987), a madcap pivot in their Cagevember journey, trading military convicts and green flares for baby snatching and pomade-covered jailbreaks. Steve confesses he’s never actually seen the film all the way through—cue Nic’s delight—while both marvel at the Coen brothers’ signature weirdness already in full bloom. They dig into Cage’s charmingly chaotic performance as Hi, debate whether this version of his southern accent is the best he’s ever done, and immediately start crafting a headcanon where Hi and Cameron Poe exist in the same cinematic universe. And yes, Ed is a cop, dammit.What follows is an affectionate roast of the movie’s cartoon logic and impeccable visual gags: babies stacked like zombies, Goodman and Forsythe crawling out of the ground like feral worms, and the unforgettable phrase “a rocky place where my seed could find no purchase.” The dads laugh over the prison group therapy session, note the early signs of Coenisms like stilted yet poetic dialogue, and bond over how these “young, hungry” filmmakers brought so much style to every scene—even the dirty laundry is artfully tossed. Ed’s deadpan fury, Hi’s Playboy panic, and the disaster children of Frances McDormand’s clan all get loving shoutouts in a film that feels like Looney Tunes grew up and got a wife.By the time they’re comparing diaper duty to Shawshank and Ace Ventura’s rhino scene, it’s clear Raising Arizona delivers exactly what Cagevember needed: a riotous left turn. A little sweet, a lot strange, and unmistakably Coen, this movie is pure chaos with a heart of gold.

This week, the dads storm Alcatraz with The Rock (1996), continuing Cagevember with a Bay Area blast that hits all their shared sweet spots: peak Nic Cage, unkillable Connery energy, and that VHS-era swagger that begs for popcorn at midnight. They kick off by reveling in the pairing and the setting, swapping personal history about first watches and how wild it felt to see familiar San Francisco locations on screen, even while clocking a few geography sins that only locals would notice.From there they ride the movie’s big set pieces: the nonlethal heist of those VX rockets, the nerve-jangling glass beads that make every stumble feel fatal, and the satisfying nerd-spy teamwork of yanking guidance chips to turn doomsday into splashdown. The dads love the production design around the missiles, then crack up at the underground “Big Thunder Mountain Railroad” chaos that arrives like a theme-park left turn, because of course it does. They also enjoy the movie’s early lab vignette that introduces Goodspeed as a biochemist in over his head, which sets the tone for the scientist-meets-spy rhythm that powers the middle stretch. It’s a lot, it’s loud, and it’s fun.They linger on Ed Harris’s gravitas and the way his final choices complicate the villain label, then savor the infamous Rocket Man gag, which they admit is ridiculous and still completely unforgettable. The conversation keeps that late-night, two-dads cadence: a little nostalgia, a little eye roll, and a lot of affection for a movie that plays like a recruitment ad and a buddy comedy at the same time. On the scale of Cage chaos, the dads clock this as the “believable” end of the spectrum while still grinning like teenagers who just snuck into an R-rated show. The Rock remains a big, brawny, spectacle of Bay and The Bay that turns nonsense into pure Saturday-night joy.

This week, the dads climb aboard Con Air (1997), where Nicolas Cage’s mullet meets maximum security at 30,000 feet. From the first moment, Steve and Nic can’t decide if they’re watching an action classic or a fever dream stitched together from discarded Garth Brooks lyrics. They marvel at Cameron Poe’s mix of chivalry and chaos, debate whether that accent is a war crime, and lose it over the idea of anyone willingly sitting next to Steve Buscemi on a flight.As the plane fills up with larger-than-life convicts, the dads track every glorious one-liner and explosion with equal parts admiration and disbelief. Nic admits he’d probably root for Cyrus the Virus in real life, while Steve argues that John Cusack looks like he wandered in from a rom-com and never found the exit. The dads go deep on the logic (or lack thereof) of the Las Vegas crash landing and how somehow, against all odds, this ridiculous movie makes them feel something by the end.Between digressions about mid-90s soundtracks, Nic’s obsession with the stuffed bunny, and Steve’s theory that every Michael Bay wannabe was taking notes, the episode becomes a love letter to the last great age of dumb spectacle. It’s big, loud, sentimental, and just smart enough to know it’s stupid.Con Air is the kind of movie that soars precisely because it never should have gotten off the ground.

This week, the dads close out Shocktoberfest with a Halloween movie that dares to ask: “What if we removed the only thing people liked?”Halloween III: Season of the Witch is the Michael-Myers-less oddball of the franchise, and both dads went into it as first-timers—Steve because he wanted to finally see what the fuss was about, and Nic because, confession time, this is his first Halloween movie. Ever. And no, the Love Guru doesn’t count. What they got was a synth-heavy, jack-o’-lantern-lit fever dream about murderous masks, ancient pagan sacrifices, and android assassins who self-immolate like it’s their job. (Because it is.)Tom Atkins stars as Dr. Dan “Deadbeat Daddy” Challis, an aggressively unconvincing heartthrob with a mustache that actively subtracts charisma. He stumbles into a plot involving Stonehenge, evil corporations, and masks that melt children’s faces into snake pits—like you do. Meanwhile, a jingle that will haunt your dreams (“Eight more days ‘til Halloween, Silver Shamrock!”) plays on loop enough times to qualify as psychological warfare. Ellie, the hot daughter of a dead toy store owner, teams up with Dr. Dan for an investigation-slash-motel-stay that rapidly turns into softcore, plot-free chaos.There’s no Michael Myers, but there’s a ton of Carpenter synth, an uncomfortable amount of middle-aged sleaze, and the kind of practical effects that make you both gag and applaud. Is it good? Not really. Is it memorable? Oh hell yes. And hey, it made money. Just not after people realized they got bait-and-switched out of a slasher icon and into an unhinged anti-capitalist druid conspiracy thriller.Shocktoberfest goes out with a bang (literally—RIP gasoline android guy), and the dads are left confused, intrigued, and lowkey obsessed. Happy Halloween indeed, Silver Shamrock. You weird little freak.

This week, the dads sink their teeth into The Silence of the Lambs (1991), Jonathan Demme’s unnervingly polite horror-thriller that turned dinner conversation into a crime scene. Nic, who picked this one, calls it one of the rare prestige films that’s also straight-up terrifying, while Steve revisits it for the first time in decades and can’t believe how well it still hums. From the opening FBI training sequence to Lecter’s glass cell, the guys get lost in that strange mix of elegance and menace that makes this movie unforgettable. It’s not just the horror of what’s happening — it’s the dread of who’s watching.They zero in on how perfect the casting is. Steve can’t stop praising Jodie Foster’s control and vulnerability, while Nic’s in awe of how Anthony Hopkins turns charm into a weapon. The dads geek out over the camera work — those unblinking close-ups that feel like confessions — and debate whether Lecter is terrifying because he’s monstrous or because he’s right about everything. They also have fun with the details: the night-vision sequence that still makes Steve squirm, the “quid pro quo” exchange that somehow feels flirtatious, and Buffalo Bill’s dance that launched a thousand bad impressions. Somewhere between fascination and revulsion, they admit they can’t look away.The episode hits that sweet spot between film-school analysis and pure dad awe, where admiration meets discomfort and both hosts can’t decide who’s scarier — Lecter or the system that bred him. It’s tense, funny, and full of those “how did this ever win Best Picture?” moments that only 90s Hollywood could produce. The Silence of the Lambs remains chilling, brilliant, and disturbingly human, and the dads savor every bite.

This week, the dads take on The Thing (1982), John Carpenter’s icy paranoia-fest that’s equal parts monster movie and trust exercise gone wrong. Steve brought this one to the table as a personal favorite, while Nic admitted he’d somehow gone his whole life thinking he’d seen it — only to realize five minutes in that he hadn’t. What follows is a gleeful descent into suspicion and slime, as the guys break down how this Antarctic nightmare manages to feel both enormous and claustrophobic at once. It’s Carpenter at his most controlled, and the dads are here for every quiet stare, sudden scream, and flamethrower blast.They revel in how the movie forces you to play detective right alongside the crew at Outpost 31. Steve can’t stop grinning over the slow escalation of distrust, while Nic fixates on how often the film makes you second-guess who’s even human. They talk about the practical effects that somehow still hold up, the perfect setup of that blood test scene, and how Russell’s MacReady feels like the last guy you’d want in charge — and yet, maybe the only one who could survive it. They even get sidetracked unpacking the film’s pacing, that eerie quiet before the chaos, and how Carpenter lets the camera linger just long enough to make you sweat.By the end, the dads are equal parts chilled and impressed, laughing about how this “weird little alien movie” somehow turns into a masterclass in tension. It’s a tight, talky, brutally effective film that earns every ounce of its reputation. For two dads who’ve seen their share of horror, The Thing still got under their skin — and maybe stayed there.

This week, the dads descend into Jacob’s Ladder (1990), the psychological horror that proves sometimes your mind is the scariest place on Earth. Nic, who picked the film, revisits a movie that left him rattled years ago, while Steve watches for the first time—instantly confusing it with The Lawnmower Man, because of course he did. As part of their Shocktoberfest series, the guys dive headfirst into Adrian Lyne’s trippy Vietnam fever dream, where Tim Robbins plays a mailman haunted by demons, memories, and the occasional post-shower existential crisis. It’s weird, it’s grimy, it’s got Danny Aiello as a chiropractor who might be God.They dig into the movie’s shifting realities, grimy 1970s New York subways, and a post-war trauma story that’s both deeply human and completely unhinged. Steve’s delight at discovering Kyle Gass of Tenacious D buried in the credits gives way to a full-on Macaulay Culkin conspiracy rant, while Nic admits he still doesn’t know what’s real by the end. There’s appreciation for Tim Robbins’ haunted performance, disgust at the hospital-from-hell sequence, and genuine awe for how much this movie inspired later horror aesthetics like Silent Hill. When Danny Aiello shows up to literally adjust Jacob’s spine and his soul, the dads realize they might be watching the most disturbing wellness commercial ever filmed.The result is an episode that feels like one long fever dream, equal parts philosophical and filthy. Between the dad jokes, theology tangents, and mild PTSD, this one nails what Shocktoberfest is all about: horror that sticks to your ribs. It’s not fun, it’s not cozy, but it’s unforgettable—like watching your own nightmares on VHS at 2 a.m.

This week, the dads dive into A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), Wes Craven's slasher masterpiece that introduced the world to Freddy Krueger and his very particular brand of sleep therapy. Steve—who's been a horror devotee since begging his mom to take him to Gremlins at age 4—picked this one to kick off their Shocktoberfest theme month, while Nic admits he stayed away from slashers until college, traumatized by an ill-advised childhood viewing of Pet Sematary. Both hosts marvel at how Freddy became such a cultural icon that kids trick-or-treated as him before ever seeing the films, complete with that jump-rope chant everyone somehow knew.The conversation digs into what made this film revolutionary: the dream logic that feels genuinely universal, those stairs that won't let you run, the walls pushing through like fabric, the way reality keeps slipping. They geek out over the practical effects—that rotating room murder, the bed eruption requiring more blood than exists in the human body, all on a shoestring $1.8 million budget that somehow returned 31 times its cost. Steve points out the moral undertones running through these slashers, the unspoken rules about who survives. They both appreciate Heather Langenkamp's Nancy as a genuinely smart protagonist who figures out the rules and actually tries tactical solutions, even if Johnny Depp's Glenn keeps falling asleep on the job. The hosts also explore the darker subtext: a town that collectively committed vigilante justice, then buried the truth, leaving their kids vulnerable to supernatural blowback.This is classic 2 Dads territory—two guys who can appreciate both the craftsmanship and the cheese, who know these films cold but still get a kick out of revisiting them. They're here for the crop tops on dudes, the talking watches, the priest who absolutely roasts a dead teenager at his own funeral. It's a love letter to the movie that made an entire generation afraid to sleep, delivered by two dads who clearly never outgrew it.

This week, the dads tackle Pee-wee's Big Adventure (1985), Tim Burton's directorial debut that introduced audiences to both his distinctive visual style and Paul Reubens' beloved man-child character on the big screen. Nic picked this one after rediscovering it through his filmmaker friend who always championed the film's creative inventiveness, and both hosts were shocked by how well it holds up after decades away from it.Steve and Nic explore how Burton's low-budget magic creates an entire enchanted world around Pee-wee, from the Rube Goldberg breakfast machine to the secret bike garage to Large Marge's claymation face transformation. They discuss the film's cartoon logic and how it balances genuine childlike wonder with sophisticated filmmaking techniques, particularly praising Danny Elfman's whimsical score that perfectly complements Burton's dark-edged fantasy aesthetic. The hosts dive into memorable set pieces like the "Tequila!" dance at the biker bar, the studio chase sequence reminiscent of Blazing Saddles, and how the film essentially functions as a feature-length road trip through Tim Burton's imagination.The conversation touches on everything from the film's surprising emotional sincerity (everyone genuinely likes Pee-wee despite his weirdness) to Paul Reubens' later controversies and unfair treatment by the media, plus whether Pee-wee's bike was actually cool or just parent-friendly marketing. Both hosts admit they went into the rewatch with low expectations but came away genuinely charmed by a film that proves Burton was already a master of absurdist storytelling and visual invention in his very first feature.

This week, the dads tackle Tommy Boy (1995), Chris Farley's star vehicle that perfectly captured the sweet-natured physical comedy that made him a legend. Steve picked this one as a core memory from his teenage years, when Farley was at his peak and SNL-spawned comedies ruled the multiplex.Steve and Nic dive deep into what makes Farley such a force of nature on screen. They discuss his unique brand of "Lenny from Of Mice and Men" physicality mixed with genuine sweetness, and how the film was deliberately built around showcasing his talents. The hosts particularly love the chemistry between Farley and Brian Dennehy as father and son, noting how Big Tom's unconditional love for Tommy gives the character the confidence to bumble through life with infectious enthusiasm. They also break down the classic Farley-Spade dynamic, from the guarantee speech that shows Tommy finally finding his sales groove to David Spade's perfectly pitched reactions during Tommy's most chaotic moments.The conversation covers everything from the film's structural issues (a Rob Lowe villain plot that feels underdeveloped) to its surprising emotional restraint around Big Tom's death, plus plenty of tangents about 90s nostalgia, questionable music choices, and why every car in a road trip movie is doomed. By the end, both hosts wrestle with how to rate a film that delivers undeniable Farley magic wrapped in a less-than-perfect package that still holds genuine nostalgic power.

This week, the dads dive into Martin Scorsese's 1991 thriller Cape Fear, where Robert De Niro trades his usual New York growl for a chilling Southern drawl as Max Cady, an ex-con hellbent on destroying the lawyer who buried evidence during his trial. Steve experiences this psychological nightmare for the first time while Nic revisits a personal favorite that inspired one of the greatest Simpsons episodes ever made, complete with Sideshow Bob hiding under the family car.The guys break down what makes this remake so effective: De Niro's unhinged yet articulate performance that subverts every expectation of what a violent criminal should look like, the suffocating Hitchcockian atmosphere Scorsese creates from the opening credits, and powerhouse supporting work from Nick Nolte, Jessica Lange, and especially Juliette Lewis in her Oscar-nominated turn. Nic marvels at the film's ability to balance genuine terror with moments of dark comedy (that Mrs. Doubtfire disguise), while Steve geeks out over the legal cat-and-mouse game and Joe Don Baker's scene-stealing private investigator who just wants someone to feel "squirrely."Both dads recognize Cape Fear as a masterclass in sustained tension that works both as edge-of-your-seat thriller and disturbing meditation on justice, revenge, and family trauma. From leopard-print Speedos to speaking in tongues during a biblical storm finale, Scorsese delivers something that's simultaneously exploitation and art house. It's terrifying, it's brilliantly crafted, and it'll make you think twice about every bump in the night.

This week, the dads crank it up to 11 with This Is Spinal Tap, Rob Reiner's 1984 mockumentary about Britain's loudest heavy metal band and their disastrous American comeback tour. Nic gets only his second real taste of Christopher Guest's genre-defining comedy after years of hearing about amps that go to 11 and drummers who spontaneously combust, while Steve revisits a personal favorite that helped shape his love of improvised filmmaking.The guys dive deep into what makes this fake documentary feel so real: the pitch-perfect British accents, the seamless blend of scripted songs and improvised dialogue, and how Guest, Michael McKean, and Harry Shearer created fully realized characters with genuine friendship and history. They marvel at the technical difficulty of switching between singing and speaking in different accents, while geeking out over the film's influence on everything from Best in Show to Pop Star: Never Stop Never Stopping. They trade favorite moments from Nigel's miniature Stonehenge disaster to Derek's foil-wrapped airport security situation.Both dads recognize This Is Spinal Tap as essential viewing that created an entire comedy subgenre while remaining genuinely funny decades later. From "none more black" album covers to the fine line between clever and stupid, Reiner and crew built something that works both as brilliant parody and oddly touching portrait of artistic friendship. It's short, it's smart, and it rocks.

Michael J. Fox could do no wrong in the late 80s, and The Secret of My Success proves it, earning $111 million on a $12 million budget despite lukewarm reviews. Nic picked this PG-13 romantic comedy about small-town Brantley Foster's meteoric rise through a Manhattan corporation.Steve admits this is one of those movies he loves "maybe more than it deserves," putting it alongside Summer Rental and UHF, films that hit different when nostalgia's involved. Kansas farm boy Brantley arrives in gritty 80s New York only to have his first job disappear in a hostile takeover. Enter distant Uncle Howard, CEO of Pemrose Corporation, who gives him a mailroom gig after Brantley's classic "believe in yourself" speech.Peak 80s wish fulfillment follows as Brantley discovers an empty executive office and promotes himself to Carlton Whitfield, changing clothes in elevators while juggling identities. The hosts dive into Helen Slater's sarcastic Christie, the unhinged sex comedy involving Margaret Whitton's Vera, and bizarre food choices from all-night bagel bars to plates of raw vegetables that look "like AI-generated California cuisine."A fascinating time capsule of 80s corporate fantasy and Michael J. Fox at his most charming.

Steve picks the ultimate quotable comedy Friday (1995), and the dads dive into Ice Cube and Chris Tucker's hood classic that basically created its own language. From "Bye, Felicia" to "puff, puff, give," this movie spawned more everyday phrases than Shakespeare.Set over one day in South Central LA, Friday follows Craig (Ice Cube) after he gets fired and spends the day on his porch with best friend Smokey (Chris Tucker), who's got a serious problem. Smokey's been smoking Big Worm's weed instead of selling it, and now they owe $200 by 10 o'clock or they're both dead. What starts as a lazy Friday quickly becomes a neighborhood adventure featuring crackhead Ezel, neighborhood bully Deebo, and a cast of characters that feel like real people living real lives.The guys celebrate how Friday broke new ground as the first comedy actually set in the hood, treating it as a normal place where families live rather than just a backdrop for violence. Steve and Nic geek out over John Witherspoon's legendary bathroom scenes, DJ Pooh's hilarious Red, and Chris Tucker's shoulder twitch that still makes them laugh every single time.They also dig into the film's incredible quotability, noting how lines like "you got knocked the f*** out" and "that's my pleasure" have become part of standard American English. Steve admits the movie suffers slightly from Anchorman syndrome where the source material gets blamed for annoying quoters, but both agree this holds up as brilliant character-driven comedy that launched Ice Cube's screenwriting career and put Chris Tucker on the map.