2 Dads 1 Movie

This week, the Dads dive into Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982), Cameron Crowe's undercover-journalism-turned-screenplay debut brought to life by first-time director Amy Heckerling. Both Steve and Nic trace their history with the film back to high school sleepovers and VHS rewatches, and the rewatch hits different through 2026 eyes. The killer soundtrack gets immediate love, with Jackson Browne's "Somebody's Baby" and the Cars' "Moving in Stereo" earning their permanent spots in the cultural memory bank. The Dads walk through the Sherman Oaks Galleria opening with genuine nostalgia for a time when malls were thriving ecosystems, not just an abandoned Sears and a DMV, and spend a solid chunk reminiscing about their own local mall in Pleasanton and the lost art of getting dropped off at 10 and picked up at 4.The conversation zeroes in on the film's surprisingly nuanced handling of its teenage characters. Steve highlights Amy Heckerling's direction of Stacy's first sexual experience as deliberately non-exploitative, noting the dissociative camera work that centers Stacy's discomfort rather than serving up male-gaze titillation. Both Dads appreciate that the film treats abortion matter-of-factly, especially given how close it was to Roe v. Wade. They dissect Mike Damone's "proto-pickup artist" advice to Mark Ratner, agreeing some of it is genuinely useful while the rest is manipulative garbage. Nic coins Damone's vibe as "unshakable dork confidence," and both Dads land on a nuanced read of his betrayal of Rat: Stacy has her own autonomy and chose Damone, but Damone still crossed the line by inviting himself inside. Nic pulls out the film's best hidden joke, Damone's handwritten expense ledger listing "abortion, $75" alongside a tentative Rod Stewart ticket purchase.Sean Penn's Spicoli remains the film's secret weapon, from "no shirt, no shoes, no dice" to ordering pizza directly to Mr. Hand's classroom. The Dads marvel at how Penn's performance walks the line between stoner savant and genuine comedic genius, wondering if 1982 audiences could have predicted the Oscar-caliber career ahead. Steve and Nic both land in similar territory on the film overall: Steve calls it a solid 80s time capsule that moves fast and still feels relevant in the underlying teenage chaos, while Nic admits the characters are more interesting than the plot, noting the comedy doesn't land quite as hard as memory suggests. Both agree it's a breezy, enjoyable rewatch, even if neither is rushing back for another round anytime soon.

This week, the Dads fire up the cutting torch on Thief (1981), Michael Mann's gritty directorial debut that launched a career and divided a podcast booth. Steve came in completely blind, having never even heard of this Chicago-set crime noir, while Nic had been curious about it for years without ever actually watching. Fresh eyes all around, which makes the resulting conversation all the more combustible.From the jump, the Dads lock onto what makes this movie tick: it's a vibe. Nic falls hard for the Tangerine Dream synth score and moody nighttime visuals, calling it essential to the film's atmosphere. Steve? He's ready to throw the score out a window. He compares it unfavorably to Vangelis's work on Blade Runner, finding Tangerine Dream's sound harsh and intrusive where Vangelis brought texture and depth. The music sits on top of the movie rather than underneath it, he argues, actively pulling him out of scenes. Meanwhile, James Caan's Chicago accent becomes a flashpoint. Steve hears pure cartoon, something out of a Bill Swerski sketch, while Nic mounts a defense: maybe a guy raised in the foster system and incarcerated most of his life just emerges with a generic tough guy voice. The Dads also spend considerable time marveling at Caan's character pulling out a literal vision board during a diner scene to woo Tuesday Weld, a collage so pristine they can't figure out how it was physically produced in 1981.The running jokes pile up: diamonds stored in loose paper wraps instead of proper envelopes, money measured in inches, and the film's complete failure to signal when Frank has traveled from Chicago to Los Angeles. Nic appreciates the professional heist details and Frank's meticulous code, while Steve remains unmoved by a protagonist who, by the big job, is basically having his welding helmet put on for him like a princess. When Frank torches his own life in the final act, the Dads wrestle with whether the movie earns that moment or just speeds through it. Either way, Thief proves there's always something to dig into, even when the Dads aren't seeing eye to eye.

This week, the Dads kick off their new 2 Dads 2 Decades series with 1980's Airplane!, and Steve arrives with the ultimate childhood credential: he first watched this movie at two years old on laserdisc. His parents reconsidered their parenting choices when three-year-old Steve looked up at them and said, "What a pisser." Nic's introduction came via TV broadcast around age eight, and both Dads credit this Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker classic with shaping their sense of humor. Steve went deep on the research, watching the 1957 disaster film Zero Hour! that Airplane! spoofs nearly shot-for-shot, and spends much of the episode pointing out how many "serious" lines are lifted verbatim from that film, including "I picked a bad week to quit smoking."The Dads marvel at the stunt casting that put four dramatic actors into their first-ever comedic roles: Leslie Nielsen, Robert Stack, Lloyd Bridges (whose sons Jeff and Beau talked him into it), and Peter Graves. They dig into the gags that still land perfectly, from the white zone/red zone airport announcement bickering (performed by the actual married couple who did LAX announcements) to the Mayo Clinic doctor with mayonnaise jars behind him and a beating heart bouncing around his desk. The smoking ticket bit, the drinking problem visual gag, the line of passengers waiting to slap the hysterical woman with increasingly dangerous weapons, "We have clearance, Clarence. Roger, Roger. What's our vector, Victor?"—all rock solid forty-five years later. They also appreciate the details, like how the actress being slapped suggested making that line of attackers longer, which turned a good joke into an iconic one.But the Dads also wrestle with what hasn't aged well, from Captain Oveur's deeply uncomfortable cockpit conversation with young Joey to the Peace Corps basketball sequence that lands with a thud in 2026. Steve frames it this way: 1934's It Happened One Night is as far from Airplane! as Airplane! is from today, which helps explain why some jokes feel like artifacts from another era. Still, this is a movie where the sum of its parts outweighs the whole, a gag-a-second comedy that launched Leslie Nielsen's second act and taught a generation that deadpan delivery of absurd lines is an art form.

This week, the Dads wrap up JanuArnie with Nic's personal favorite Schwarzenegger film, 1985's Commando, and Steve is seeing it for the very first time. Nic describes it as "black tar Arnie," the most purely distilled version of what makes Schwarzenegger movies tick, and he's been quoting it with college buddies for decades. The film wastes zero time establishing its chaos: four minutes in, three bodies are already on the ground, and the Dads haven't even gotten to the famous daddy-daughter ice cream montage where young Alyssa Milano smashes a cone into Arnold's face while deer eat from his hands like he's Snow White with biceps.The villain situation sparks some heated discussion. Bennett, played by Vernon Wells, shows up looking like "Freddie Mercury in a crocheted chainmail vest" with fingerless gloves and a leather jacket, and Steve cannot get over how unintimidating he is. He's soft in the middle, clearly obsessed with Matrix in a way that reads more like a scorned ex-lover than a mortal enemy, and the Dads agree there's no counterbalance to Arnold's superhuman hero. Then there's Sully, a five-foot-two sleazeball in an oversized David Byrne suit who delivers increasingly disgusting one-liners until Arnold dangles him off a cliff and delivers the immortal "Remember when I said I'd kill you last? I lied." The Dads also geek out over recognizing the Beverly Hills Cop mansion, Bill Paxton's early cameo as a Coast Guard radar guy, and the baffling amount of steel drum in a movie set entirely in Los Angeles.The final assault on the compound is where Commando truly earns its reputation: Arnold kills the same seven stunt guys multiple times each, throws saw blades through skulls, and fires a machine gun while standing completely exposed as hundreds of bullets somehow miss him entirely. The Dads catch action figures on visible stands during explosion shots and marvel at a body count so absurd it defies mathematics. It's loud, ridiculous, and exactly what Nic promised: pure, uncut Arnie at his most gloriously over-the-top.

This week, the Dads take another step through JanuArnie with James Cameron's 1994 spy action-comedy True Lies, and Steve is practically vibrating with joy from minute one. He calls it possibly the most fun he's had watching any of the 45 movies they've covered together. The film doesn't let up for its full two hours and twenty minutes, and neither do the Dads, who find themselves completely won over by Cameron's crowd-pleasing magic. From Arnold emerging from a frozen Swiss lake with a perfect tuxedo under his wetsuit to subtitle parentheticals reading "perfect Arabic," the guys geek out over every slick spy detail while Tom Arnold's Gib provides running commentary from the surveillance van, lamenting his ex-wife who took the ice cube trays out of the freezer. What kind of sick bitch does that?Jamie Lee Curtis absolutely steals the show, and the Dads are here for it. Her legendary hotel room striptease gets the extended appreciation it deserves, with Steve and Nic marveling at her physical comedy chops and the sheer commitment of her performance. The dance is awkward and sexy and hilarious all at once, right down to her ankle buckling in those heels. Bill Paxton's sleazy used car salesman Simon earns equal time, spinning tales about being the mystery spy from the hotel shootout while eating a hot dog and declaring that "the 'Vette gets 'em wet." The Dads debate the impossibility of fast-forwarding and rewinding cassette tapes to precise dialogue cues and agree it's somehow less believable than anything involving nuclear warheads.Then there are the Harrier jets. Steve loved Harriers as a kid, and this movie delivers them in full glory for the entire third act, from bridge pursuits to Arnold blasting out an entire floor of a Miami skyscraper. A pelican tips a truck off a bridge. Jamie Lee Curtis beats Tia Carrere senseless with a champagne bottle that refuses to break. Dana steals the detonator key despite having zero spy training. It's gateway Arnie at his absolute peak, surrounded by James Cameron's bulletproof blockbuster instincts and a cast firing on all cylinders.

This week, the Dads get their asses to Mars with 1990's Total Recall, the second Verhoeven joint on the podcast and a movie that has seared itself into the collective consciousness whether you've seen it or not. Nic's pick here, and he wastes no time pointing out this is peak Arnie at peak powers, a cable descrambler classic, and one of the all-time great films for doing impressions of a man in distress. Steve agrees, noting that so much of our cultural love for Schwarzenegger comes from imitating the specific noises he makes, and this movie is absolutely overflowing with them.The Dads walk through the dystopian premise of a company that will implant fake vacation memories directly into your brain, and immediately spiral into how psychotically insane the "ego trip" upgrade sounds. Why would anyone want to believe they were a secret agent and then just wake up and go back to jackhammering? The cognitive dissonance alone would destroy you. Nic's wife gets a solid moment when the nail-painting receptionist appears on screen with her instant-color-change manicure tech, prompting a frustrated "son of a bitch!" from the couch. They appreciate the Verhoeven commentary on casting Schwarzenegger as a quote-unquote regular guy, acknowledge that Sharon Stone is acting her face off while playing a character who is also acting her face off, and give proper respect to the escalator shootout, the human shield that got used for way too long, and Johnny Cab's inexplicable decision to kamikaze itself into a wall over an unpaid fare.The conversation inevitably lands on three boobs, Kuato's weird little voice, the "see you at the party" callback, and the big question: is any of this real? Steve's now convinced the whole thing is an ego trip and Quaid is a lobotomized vegetable, while Nic figures he just wakes up disappointed and goes back to his crappy life married to peak Sharon Stone. Either way, blue sky on Mars was a new one.

This week, the Dads kick off JanuArnie with 1987's Predator, and it's clear from the jump that Steve would die for this movie. As in, top ten favorite of all time, no notes, completely unhinged levels of love. Nick's right there with him, calling it the ultimate guys' guys movie and the perfect beer-chugging, high-fiving experience. They walk through the testosterone-soaked helicopter ride, Jesse Ventura's sexual Tyrannosaurus energy, and the absurdity of Arnold arriving dressed like he works at Target.The Dads marvel at the 72 on-screen deaths during the guerrilla camp assault, Blaine's legendary "I ain't got time to bleed" followed by Poncho's perfect reaction face, and the sheer gratuity of watching Arnold bend vines over his shoulders while making a bow and arrow. They note that Carl Weathers apparently had to take his shirt off just to help pull a rope, which tracks. Nic's wife gets a few good lines in, observing that there's "not a lot of dialogue, just a lot of big puss jokes" and that the unmasked Predator has "a Dark Crystal-ass looking face." The Dads dig into the film's clever creature design, the way the Predator adapts its tactics based on circumstance, and the deeply satisfying payoff of Billy's laugh getting replayed in the alien's dying moments as it finally gets the joke.They wrap by marveling at the fact that this movie stars two future governors, that the Predator suit actor also played Harry in Harry and the Hendersons, and that 80s action movies just hit different than anything made since. If it bleeds, we can kill it, and if it's Predator, it absolutely rules.

This week, the Dads close out the 2025 Dadvent Calendar with Rocky IV (1985), a film they openly question is even a movie at all. Steve's verdict: it's two boxing matches and four music videos loosely tied together with a little bit of dialogue. Nic calls it eight montages in a trench coat. They're both right. The Dads marvel at the sheer audacity of a 91-minute runtime that somehow contains nearly 30 minutes of training sequences, driving montages, and flashbacks set to complete songs that fade out naturally, as if Stallone couldn't bear to cut a single track short. The Christmas bonafides are slim: the final fight takes place on Christmas Day, there's a tree visible behind Rocky's son, and the robot wears a Santa hat. That's it. That's the Christmas.Ah yes, the robot. The dads cannot get over the fact that Rocky gifts his brother-in-law Paulie a talking robot servant for his birthday instead of the sports car he wanted. This is a Season 7 of ALF type decision, Nic notes, a creative choice that belongs in no franchise. Meanwhile, Rocky gives his wife Adrian a wraparound watch and a deeply unsettling anniversary cake featuring bride-and-groom figurines in boxing gloves. The implications are not great. Carl Weathers, doing all the heavy lifting as Apollo Creed, gets a full James Brown concert before getting beaten to death in an exhibition match while Rocky holds the towel and does nothing. The Dads point out, correctly, that Rocky is the villain of his own movie: a man who let his best friend die, then abandoned his family on Christmas to fight in Soviet Russia because he needed to avenge a guy he clearly loved more than his wife.It's loud, sweaty, deeply stupid, and somehow still kind of fun if you treat it like the world's most expensive music video compilation.

This week, the Dads crack open another window of the Dadvent Calendar with Die Hard (1988), the action Christmas classic that redefined what an everyman hero looks like when he's barefoot, bleeding, and absolutely not having it.Steve and Nic dig into everything that makes this movie work, from the brilliant "fists with your toes" setup that justifies our hero's shoeless chaos to Alan Rickman's ludicrously good turn as the gentleman criminal Hans Gruber. They obsess over Theo's sports commentary running gag, debate whether Notre Dame would really be playing USC on Christmas Eve, and unanimously agree that Ellis is the most perfectly hateable 80s cocaine douchebag ever committed to film. "Hans, bubbe, I'm your white knight" gets the appreciation it deserves, as does the fact that this movie basically invented the MP5 as the standard issue bad guy weapon for the next decade. There's some pointed commentary about Al Powell's tragic backstory being framed a little too sympathetically, and plenty of love for Argyle living his best life in the parking garage while everything above him descends into absolute mayhem.The dads also celebrate the details that make rewatches so rewarding: the samurai armor in the vault, the "no more table" and "no bullets" one-liners that deserve their own remix, the way Holly knows John's still alive because only he could drive someone as unhinged as Karl, and the sheer audacity of a movie that finds time for titty distractions and a "Helsinki Syndrome" joke while blowing up an armored SWAT vehicle with a floor-mounted rocket launcher. When a movie this influential is also this endlessly quotable and fun, you just watch it every December like the Christmas tradition it absolutely is.

This week, the dads open another door on the Dadvent calendar with Home Alone (1990), the Christmas classic that feels impossible to skip during the holiday season. Steve and Nic dive headfirst into the beautiful chaos of the McAllister household, marveling at the absolute sociopath behavior of packing for a two-week international trip the night before a morning flight. They wonder aloud why an eight-year-old is trusted to pack his own bag when Nic's own wife still has to check his suitcase for missing socks. The dads dissect every baffling detail: the family's inexplicably red-and-green permanent decor, the suspicious number of mannequins in the basement (Buffalo Bill would be proud), and the staggering fact that $122.50 bought ten pizzas in 1990. They also note, with some alarm, that every single pizza appeared to be topped exclusively with kalamata olives and zero pepperoni.The conversation turns to the many adults who should have called the cops but didn't. The grocery store clerk, the pizza delivery boy, the town Santa, Old Man Marley. An entire village conspired, through sheer negligence, to let an eight-year-old nearly get killed by burglars. Speaking of those burglars, the dads conduct a thorough injury audit, tallying up blowtorched scalps, paint cans to the face, BB gun shots to sensitive areas, and the tar situation that led to Marv's barefoot ornament stomp. They agree that Daniel Stern's tarantula scream is the greatest man-scream of the decade, possibly ever, and praise the film's surprising physical comedy chops from both Stern and an against-type Joe Pesci. Nic gives particular love to John Candy's brief but perfect turn as the pushy polka bandleader, calling it the detail that elevates the whole thing.It's a warm, chaotic, deeply 90s time capsule that somehow makes you feel cozy even while children commit felonies and criminals sustain injuries that would kill lesser men.

This week, the dads continue their Dadvent Calendar with The Ref (1994), a pitch-black Christmas comedy where a cat burglar named Gus hijacks the wrong couple and spends his Christmas Eve playing unwilling marriage counselor to a pair of wealthy Connecticut WASPs who simply will not stop fighting. Steve brought this pick to the table as a movie he's loved since college, one he watches nearly every holiday season. Nic came in cold, his Dennis Leary fandom from the "No Cure for Cancer" days somehow never steering him toward this one until now.The dads dig into the film's hostile charm: the Scandinavian nightmare dinner with lit candle wreaths and Middle Earth cuisine, the volunteer cops who accidentally record It's a Wonderful Life over their only evidence, and the blackmailing military school kid who might be the most competent person in the whole movie. They marvel at Judy Davis absolutely dominating every scene she's in, holding the screen like a stage actress while delivering ice-cold lines about garnish and corpses. Steve calls out Kevin Spacey's presence with the requisite asterisk, but acknowledges the man is undeniably good here, especially in the present-opening scene where he finally tells his mother to shut the fuck up and offers to buy her a cross she can nail herself to. Nic notes his frustration with the wacky escalation format and wishes for more Leary ranting, but appreciates the Christmas bones of the thing.The dads align on Judy Davis as the MVP, debate the ethics of therapists attending family dinners, and bond over the universal experience of stopping for food before arriving at a relative's house because you know the situation will be weird.A holiday hostage comedy where the gunman is somehow the most reasonable person at the table.

This week, the dads tackle Trading Places (1983), the John Landis comedy that asks the age-old question: what if you took a rich guy's entire life and gave it to Eddie Murphy? What follows is the dads marveling at how this movie somehow gets away with everything, from its gleefully un-PC opening minutes to Jamie Lee Curtis in one of her most revealing roles. They're genuinely impressed by Eddie Murphy's performance, calling out his ability to sell both the comedy and the emotional beats, and they can't stop talking about Dan Aykroyd's commitment to the bit, especially during his spectacular downward spiral. The gorilla suit comes up. The Santa beard comes up. The sheer audacity of the third act comes up a lot.The conversation veers into fond territory when they dig into the Duke brothers as villains, the satisfying mechanics of the commodity exchange scheme (which they absolutely do not fully understand), and why this movie feels like it belongs to a different era of studio filmmaking. There's genuine affection here for the craft, the pacing, the way the screenplay threads everything together, and how Landis directs it all with confidence. They also spend quality time on Denholm Elliott and the supporting cast, appreciating how stacked this thing is with talent. The nostalgia runs deep, but so does the respect for what the movie pulls off, even when it's being completely ridiculous.They wrestle with the movie's rougher edges, the stuff that wouldn't fly today, and somehow land on the idea that Trading Places is both a perfect time capsule and a genuinely smart comedy about class and capitalism wrapped in an absolutely unhinged Christmas caper. It's dumb. It's brilliant. It's Trading Places, and it still works.

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.