Freaky Tales

Walking into a movie titled after a Too $hort anthem, you expect a certain level of "The Town" energy, but I wasn't prepared for just how much grime and glitter Ryan Fleck and Anna Boden managed to scrape off the pavement of 1987 Oakland. I watched this on my laptop while my neighbor was very loudly trying to assemble an IKEA dresser, and the rhythmic hammering actually synced up perfectly with a mid-film rap battle sequence. It was the kind of happy accident this movie thrives on.

Freaky Tales is a neon-soaked, four-part anthology that feels like someone dropped a copy of Pulp Fiction into a bucket of California soul and then set it on fire. It’s got that specific mid-budget energy we’re losing in the streaming era—the kind of movie that shouldn't just be an icon on a menu but deserves a loud, sticky-floored theatrical experience.

Four Stories, One Soul

The film kicks off with a segment featuring Dominique Thorne (who we loved in Black Panther: Wakanda Forever) and Jack Champion as a pair of teen punks defending their turf against a pack of truly loathsome Nazi skinheads. The Nazi skinheads in this movie have the punchable faces of a thousand suns, and watching Dominique Thorne go to work on them is pure catharsis. It sets the tone: this isn't a documentary; it’s a legend.

From there, we pivot to a rap duo (led by the magnetic Normani) looking for their big break, a weary mob henchman played by Pedro Pascal, and finally, a segment involving NBA star Sleepy Floyd (played with cool charisma by Jay Ellis). These stories are loosely tied together by a "mysterious force"—a greenish, supernatural hum that suggests the universe is finally tipping the scales in favor of the underdogs.

The Pascal Factor and Sleazy Villains

If there is a centerpiece here, it’s the third segment. Pedro Pascal could have a chemistry read with a piece of drywall and still make me cry, and here he plays Clint, a guy who is just done with the life of a debt collector. He’s looking for a way out, and his segment manages to be both the most violent and the most tender. It helps that he’s playing against Ben Mendelsohn, who seems legally required to play every sleazy 80s villain with a wardrobe consisting entirely of shiny tracksuits. Their dynamic is the film's high-water mark, balancing the crime-thriller tension with a weary, mid-life-crisis humor.

The action choreography throughout is surprisingly tactile. In the punk segment, the fights aren't polished MCU ballets; they are desperate, messy scrambles. Bodies crash into drum sets, and the camera stays tight and frantic. It’s got a physical weight that reminded me why I miss practical stunt work. When the blood flows—and it does—it looks like the thick, bright red corn syrup of the 80s, a nice nod to the era’s aesthetic without feeling like a parody.

Why Did This Disappear?

The most baffling part of Freaky Tales isn't the supernatural green glow—it’s the $400,000 box office. We are living in a moment where "mid-budget" movies with actual movie stars are being sent to die in limited releases or buried under the algorithm. Despite the star power of Pedro Pascal and the directorial pedigree of the duo behind Captain Marvel, this film felt like a "secret" release. It’s a classic example of the "Sundance-to-Streaming" pipeline where a film gets massive buzz at a festival and then evaporates because the marketing budget was apparently spent on a single billboard in Oakland.

But that obscurity gives it a certain "cool factor." Discovering it now feels like finding a rare 12-inch vinyl in the bargain bin. The score by Raphael Saadiq is a masterclass in period-accurate funk and hip-hop, driving the momentum even when the anthology structure starts to feel a bit episodic. Does every story land with the same impact? Not quite. The rap battle segment feels a little light compared to the high stakes of the skinhead brawl or Clint’s redemption, but the film moves so fast you’re never bored.

Freaky Tales is a vibrant, messy, and deeply affectionate tribute to a city and an era. It takes the "interconnected stories" trope and injects it with enough Bay Area swagger to make it feel fresh again. While it might have been lost in the shuffle of 2025’s bigger releases, it’s exactly the kind of "freaky" little gem that deserves a second life on your watchlist. Seek it out for the Pedro Pascal performance alone, but stay for the sight of 1987 Oakland fighting back.