This week on Late Fee Files, Adam and Brian start with the early-2000s comedy about three professional students who’ve mastered the art of doing absolutely nothing and somehow getting away with it. We break down the film’s shameless slacker philosophy, its cartoonishly intense antagonist, and why it could never be made today. It’s a movie that could only exist in a moment when disappearing into college for years was not just possible, but encouraged.

Then we rewind further to PCU (1994), the cult classic that somehow predicted the future while being completely unhinged. From Jeremy Piven’s chaotic anti-establishment energy to nonstop protests, splintered campus factions, and a soundtrack that feels like a dorm room on full blast, PCU skewers conformity from every direction. We unpack how the movie treats outrage, identity, and why its reputation has grown as modern campus discourse starts to look eerily familiar. Two films, two eras, one overdue rental. Late fees absolutely apply.

On this episode of Late Fee Files, we jack into the mid-’90s internet panic with a double feature that helped define Hollywood’s idea of hacking: The Net and Hackers. Two films released just a few weeks apart, both obsessed with dial-up modems and cyber paranoia.

We start with The Net, a sleek, paranoid thriller that turns everyday computer use into a nightmare. Sandra Bullock plays an ordinary woman whose identity is quietly erased, tapping into very real anxieties about privacy, surveillance, and how fragile modern life can be when everything is stored digitally.

Then we shift gears into Hackers, a loud, neon-soaked fantasy of youth culture, rebellion, and cyber cool. With rollerblades, rave aesthetics, and a cast of future stars, the film treats hacking like a subculture and a lifestyle rather than a quiet menace.

It's time for identity theft, cyberpunk attitude, and more close-ups of keyboards than you remember. Grab a Jolt Cola, rewind your tape, and log off before someone steals your name.

On this episode of Late Fee Files, we crack open one of the strangest double features imaginable, two late 90s studio films that couldn’t look more different on the surface but quietly reflect the same era of shifting identities, relationships, and urban fantasy.

Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut takes us on a chilly, dreamlike odyssey through jealousy, desire, and power, using New York as a haunting maze where intimacy feels distant and unknowable. We dig into the film’s hypnotic pacing, its infamous secrecy, and why its emotional coldness continues to divide audiences decades later.

Then we pivot to You’ve Got Mail, a glossy romantic comedy that transforms the same city into a cozy storybook of bookstores, emails, and pre-digital connection. We explore Nora Ephron’s warm, meticulously structured comfort cinema, the chemistry between Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, and how the film captures a very specific moment when technology still felt hopeful rather than alienating.

Together, these films offer two visions of romance at the turn of the millennium, one defined by paranoia and erotic anxiety, the other by charm and carefully curated optimism. It’s a study in tonal whiplash, late-90s cultural mood, and identity.

In this action-packed holiday double bill, Adam and Brian dig into two snowy thrill rides that pair yuletide cheer with bullets, brawls, and more amnesia than anyone asked for. First up is The Long Kiss Goodnight, where Geena Davis’s suburban mom discovers she’s actually a lethal government assassin, and we break down why this Shane Black scripted blast still rules. Then we pivot to Reindeer Games, a chaotic Ben Affleck heist caper filled with twists, double-crosses, and Christmas costumes that definitely didn’t come from Santa’s workshop.

Join us as we unpack the wild plots, the over-the-top set pieces, and what makes these wintertime oddities perfect rentals for fans of holiday mayhem.

This week, Adam and Brian bring you a family-friendly double feature, Late Fee Files heads back to the ’90s for two comedies about reluctant father figures, messy road trips, and the awkward journey of bonding. First up is Dutch (1991), the John Hughes–penned tale of a well-meaning working-class guy who tries to connect with his girlfriend’s snobbish son on a disastrous cross-country trip.

Then we switch coasts for Man of the House (1995), where Chevy Chase battles mobsters, tribal rites, and a suspicious preteen in a lighthearted stepdad-in-training story. We compare the laughs, sentiment, performances, and why these movies resonate differently today. Dust off the VHS and join us as we revisit a pair of ’90s comedies that prove fatherhood can be both ugly and hilarious!

Adam and Brian plop down on the couch and crack open a double-feature of John Ritter deep cuts, two movies that couldn’t be more different on paper yet somehow feel spiritually linked in their strange, scrappy, late-night-cable energy. First up is Stay Tuned, the warped TV-hell satire where Ritter and Pam Dawber literally battle for their souls through a gauntlet of twisted channel parodies. We dig into the film’s cartoonish visual inventiveness, its ahead-of-its-time media cynicism, and why Ritter’s everyman charm still anchors the madness.

Then we jump over to Real Men, the offbeat buddy sci-fi spy comedy that pairs Ritter with Jim Belushi for a genre-smashing adventure full of deadpan absurdity, alien negotiations, and oddly sincere self-help vibes. We explore its cult appeal, its chaotic tonal mash-ups, and how the film manages to be both incredibly 80s and completely unlike anything else from that era.

Hand over the remote, grab your chips, and get ready for a wild adventure through space, time, and television.

This week on Late Fee Files, we dive into two sides of John Carpenter’s cinematic evil: the cold, creeping apocalypse of Prince of Darkness and the sunburned savagery of John Carpenter’s Vampires. From the claustrophobic church basement where science meets the supernatural to the brutal desert battlegrounds of vampire hunters and sinners, we trace Carpenter’s shifting vision of faith, corruption, and survival. We’ll unpack Prince of Darkness’ cosmic nihilism, Vampires’ grimy Western attitude, and how both films reflect a director wrestling with belief in a godless world. It’s holy water meets quantum physics, and Carpenter’s darkness reigns in both

It's Halloween season, so Adam and Brian venture into the shadowy tunnels of 1990s creature features .

First up: The Relic (1997) — Peter Hyams’ Field Museum nightmare based on the Preston & Child novel — where a chimeric creature stalks the halls and the hosts unpack its practical effects, museum-set atmosphere, and how the film balances spectacle with a grim, pulpy heart.

Then they dig into Guillermo del Toro’s Mimic (1997) — a grimy, gothic insect tale born from studio friction and a singular directorial vision. Brian and Adam compare del Toro’s early visual language to the creature cinema of the era, explore the film’s production backstory, and talk about how both movies reflect different shades of 90s genre filmmaking.

Whether you’re here for practical monsters, behind-the-scenes lore, or the weird ways genre films age, this episode pairs two underrated ’90s creature features and asks: what survives when the labs close and the lights go down?