Top 5 This Week — Mar 31, 2026

Matt and Jay gawk at 2008 iPod posters in Yonge-Dundas Square, looking like they’ve found a holy relic. It’s a ridiculous time-travel pivot, but Matt Johnson’s camera captures the moment with the same DIY desperation that fueled the original web series. Most directors use a budget to polish their edges; Johnson uses his to sharpen the chaos.

Johnson remains a lovable overgrown kid whose reckless energy powers the entire machine. This isn’t a vanity project. Instead, the film acts as a tribute to Toronto and the messy, often stupid bonds formed by lifelong collaborators. The jump from mockumentary to sci-fi adventure should feel clunky, but the film ignores the rules. It skips the usual sentimentality, focusing on the frantic reality of two guys who refuse to grow up. It’s loud, self-aware, and arguably the best thing to come out of the Canadian comedy scene in a decade.

For: People who miss the glory days of Viceland and lo-fi stunts. Skip it if: You need a plot that follows a straight line or hate the sound of your own laughter.

Tina Turner doesn't just walk onto the stage at the GelreDome; she claims it. At 69, she’s still hitting those high-stepping struts in heels that would snap a lesser mortal’s ankles. Most legacy acts lean on backup singers to hide the cracks, but Turner keeps the focus on her trademark rough, tough vocals. This isn't some polite retrospective. It’s a high-octane blowout.

The camera work stays out of the way, favoring wide shots that capture the scale of the production over flashy, disorienting edits. It lacks a singular directorial voice, but you’re here for the legs and the lungs, not the cinematography. Critics rightly call it a remarkable performance that proves she never lost her boundless stamina. Even if it doesn't reach the raw fever dream of her early seventies sets, this recording avoids the usual pitfalls of the over-produced concert film. It feels alive. Turner treats every song like she’s trying to punch a hole through the back wall of the arena.

For: Fans who want to see a legend go out at full throttle. Skip: Anyone looking for a quiet, intimate documentary or complex character arcs.

Yan Xing hides her investigative prowess behind the ink-stained sleeves of a lowly scribe until an arranged marriage forces her into the orbit of the ruthless General Shen Du. Ding Yuxi bolsters this classic setup with a solid and intense performance that keeps the screen hot even when the script cools off. While the production looks expensive, the actual storytelling feels stretched. You come for the political intrigue but stay for the chemistry between the leads, even if the mystery was disappointing by the halfway mark. The show relies too heavily on its visual flair to mask a narrative that occasionally spins its wheels across forty episodes. Deng Enxi holds her ground well, but the pacing issues turn what should be a sprint through the Ministry of Justice into a slow crawl. It’s a visually beautiful drama with flaws that prioritizes aesthetic over airtight plotting.

Watch this if: You love slow-burn C-drama romance and high-budget historical costumes. Skip it: If you want a tight mystery that doesn't waste your time.

Mary-Louise Parker stares through the observation glass with a chilling, bureaucratic coldness that almost saves the show. Almost. This adaptation hits the expected beats of psychic kids and shadowy conspiracies, but it struggles to find a pulse. Director Jack Bender keeps the tension high during the escape sequences, yet the downtime feels hollow. One critic called the series clunky, and they’re right. While Joe Freeman brings earnestness to Luke, the show offers essentially zero character development for anyone else. It lacks the internal logic to keep the heavier themes afloat, often feeling like a generic studio product that has none of the polish or shine of King’s best work. Tonal shifts jar the viewer. The script tries to force humor into a plot about kidnapped children, resulting in moments that are astonishingly silly rather than relief-providing. It works as a basic thriller if you don’t look for depth.

This is for King completionists and fans of psychic-kid tropes. Skip it if you want characters who feel like real people or a plot that doesn't stumble.

John Ritter trips over a sofa with the grace of a collapsing accordion. It’s the engine of Three’s Company, a sitcom that treats the implied raunch of its premise like a revolutionary act when it’s actually just a series of door-slamming misunderstandings. The setup—a man pretending to be gay so he can split rent with two women—feels like a dusty relic, yet Ritter’s frantic commitment keeps the machine humming. He packs so many pratfalls into thirty minutes that you almost forget how thin the scripts are.

The show avoids depth. It settles for a generic production style that prioritizes easy laughs over logic. It’s pure comfort food, providing humor and lightness through endless, groan-worthy double entendres. Janet and Chrissy exist mostly as foils for Jack’s rubber-faced energy, creating a dynamic built on timing rather than wit. It’s loud, broad, and unapologetically silly.

For: Fans of classic farce who want a mindless, nostalgic laugh. Skip it: if you require your comedy to have a brain or a point beyond a well-timed stumble.