Transcription
Flying in the face of the old adage that wanting more is how any worthwhile entertainer should leave them, Hollywood has never been shy about churning out a sequel. And so, in the everpresent midst of part twos and threes and shared universes and spin-offs, it's time to look at the 10 best sequels of all time.
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Sequels are a strange proposition. In a lot of ways, they're the lowest hanging fruit there is. If a movie makes money, well, go make three or four more of them. They all yell, clamoring in the streets. But by that same token, they're also some of the hardest movies to pull off. They're actually set up to fail. They naturally have big shoes to fill based on the simple fact that they only exist because the first installment was popular. So popular, in fact, that a building full of executives decided to sink a boatload of studio resources into making another one. As a result, a properly good sequel is difficult to come by, but there are a variety of ways to try, he says, segueing into his first category.
The first and most obvious style of sequeling is the continuation of a story. These are movies that pick up right where their predecessors left off. As far as part twos go, this probably makes the most sense. If audiences like the characters from the first movie enough, it's a fair bet they'll want to see what happens to them next. In theory, you could stitch these together to make one big movie. This is how The Raid 2 takes place the next day with Rama's cheeks still bloody. It's Quantum of Solace opening on a car chase with Mr. White still in the trunk from the end of Casino Royale.
>> It's time to get out.
The Incredibles 2 starts with the battle against the Underminer teased in the closing moments of the first film. Kill Bill Volume 2 I don't think necessarily counts here because it was originally supposed to be just one movie as per the whole bloody affair. This is however a great spot to talk about an early example of a picking up where we left off sequel in The Bride of Frankenstein. The 1935 follow-up to 1931's Frankenstein opens in a delightfully metaway. Mary Shelley, her husband Percy, and the poet Byron are enjoying a roaring fire on a stormy night, talking about what an impressive story Frankenstein was. It allows Lord Byron to recap the events of the first film, and Mary Shel to drop a 1930s version of "If you like that, wait till you get a load of the sequel." A Dolly out and cross dissolve later, and we've got one of the first blockbuster sequels. It picks up from the smoldering ruins of the old mill and even backs up a few moments to show a little more of Henry Frankenstein's recovery. It's a fascinating window into how they thought about sequels in the 30s in a format that's held up over the years.
In fact, my number 10 pick owes a fair bit of its structure to The Bride of Frankenstein. I'm talking about the overlapping scenes of Back to the Future Part Two.
Marty, YOU'VE GOT TO COME BACK WITH ME.
>> WHERE?
Back to the Future.
What's great about Back to the Future Part Two is that it didn't just pick up where the first movie left off narratively. It also picked up where it left off thematically. If Back to the Future pulled on the thread of "what if your parents didn't meet," the next logical question to ask once that adventure is sorted out is "what does the future hold for my kids?" It was a brazen question to ask at the end of the first film, very presumptuously setting up a sequel. But then part two opened with the exact same scene with one twist. Robert Zmechus crew famously reshot the entire opening to handle the recasting of Jennifer, bringing in Elizabeth Shu to replace Claudia Wells.
Something very familiar about all this.
>> The edit and shot compositions line up almost impeccably, which should surprise no one given the technical hurdles cleared by the rest of this production, i.e. Thomas Wilson's dual biffs handing things to each other. But opening the sequel by repeating the last scene of the first movie to set up even more time travel shenanigans is thematically perfect as well. Back to the Future 2 is pretty notoriously convoluted, very intentionally pulling on the confusing threads that time travel presents. What happens to the future if you change the past or the present for that matter? For Back to the Future Part Two, the opening scene, of course, isn't the only bit of the first Back to the Future to be recreated. The rest of them, though, are from a different perspective. And even though the recasting wasn't the filmmaker's choice, Claudia Wells turned down the sequels to care for her ailing mother, it's a case of using the situation to your advantage. By recreating this opening scene shot for shot, it preps the audience to look for subtle changes in the rest of the film, getting jokes to land that much better and filmmaking wizardry to play that much more impressively.
[screaming]
>> Shark still looks fake.
The other side of the sequel coin from the continuation of a story is of course a second entirely different story. This is a harder act to pull off. Given the premise that sequels only exist to follow successful films, one wouldn't want to venture too far away from what made the first film work. But what if an original was so good the best idea is to go in a completely new direction, lest you be compared unfavorably to the first? This is Aliens, famously switching gears from Ridley Scott's claustrophobic monster movie to an all-out action flick starring Space Marines. It's Batman Returns, cycling out the entire supporting cast, adding a new love interest and doubling the villains. The Road Warrior escalates the original Mad Max from a budget friendly dystopia fully into the post-apocalypse. This is Godfather Part Two because it has its sequel cake and eats its prequel, too. Going half flashback to a young Veto Corleó's story while also continuing Michael's story as he's firmly embedded in the world his father never wanted him to be a part of. Frankly, Godfather Part 2 is the answer here. It's an alltimer of a sequel, but just as frankly, if you need another video essay to tell you how great it is, come on, man. Instead, for my number nine pick, I'm going with the sequel that perfectly illustrates the power of telling a different story altogether with a part two and George A. Romero's Dawn of the Dead.
But those things can be stopped so easily. If people would just listen, do what has to be done.
>> How about it, Fly Boy? Let's say the lady gets killed. You be able to chop off her head.
Romero waited almost 10 years to follow up Night of the Living Dead, a movie that developed an iconic status long after its sequel. While that film was a contained, mostly single location indie phenomenon, its sequel landed a helicopter on top of a mall. Dawn of the Dead is truly an expansion at scale of Romero's original ideas and most importantly doesn't feature any of the main characters from his original film. Of course, they were all dead. So, the necessity of a wholly new story was an easy reality with which to come to terms. But the bigger challenge for Romero after effectively, even if not officially inventing the zombie subgenre of horror, was showing what else could be done with the shuffling flesheaters. As groundbreaking a film as Night of the Living Dead was, it was Dawn of the Dead that proved zombie films don't have to just be about the monsters. They can be about what the monsters say about us. That they can evolve with the changing social landscape. From making statements on the civil rights movements of the late 60s, although Romero doesn't claim to have done that intentionally, on through to the rampant consumerism blossoming in the late 70s, Dawn of the Dead looked at the absurdity of modern conveniences, traditional gender roles, and masculinity, among other things, through a green-faced, undead lens. It also gave us rad visuals like a sports car driving through an empty mall. Dawn of the Dead proved a point about an entire subgenre of horror, and it's been thriving ever since.
The middle part of the coin between the two sides that we've already mentioned is just as important. In fact, I think a lot of part twos are only as good as the part threes that follow. And often some of the sheen of a good middle chapter can get lost if chapter 3 sucks. As good as Spider-Man 2 is, it loses some points for an unfortunate third outing from Toby Magguire and Sam Ramy. Ditto for The Dark Knight. Because The Dark Knight Rises, well, I just don't think it's very good.
I'm Gotham's reckoning.
But some trilogies are so solid throughout their parts look even better for reliably bridging an opening and closing chapter. Before Sunset, for example, is the meat in the sandwich of maybe the most surprising trilogy ever made. Pusher is a trilogy that'll make your nose bleed with the middle chapter that made a star out of Mads Mickelson. While the two towers redefined epic scale action with the wed-fueled battle of Helm's Deep, Peter Jackson's second helping of Tolken might be the ultimate middle chapter if it weren't for our number eight pick.
The Empire Strikes Back.
>> Help. Yes,
>> I don't think [clears throat] so. I'm looking for a great warrior.
>> Great warrior.
[laughter]
Wars not make one great him.
For there even to be a category for middle chapters in this movie list, the concept of trilogies has to exist. You can count the Gollum films, even though two-thirds of the silent German expressionist films have been lost to time. And of course, Frankenstein technically became a trilogy and then some. But The Empire Strikes Back ran with the idea of a continuing story like nothing before it. As a sequel, it was a surprising departure from Star Wars, featuring very little that looked or felt like the four quadrant popcorn thrills of George Lucas's space opera. It dared to open with our heroes on the back foot. Leia, Han, and Luke, along with the entire rebellion that last we saw, struck a major blow by exploding that entire Death Star. But in the space of an opening crawl, they're suddenly outgunned, outmanned, and scampering from one hideout to the next. But the way it ended on a downbeat as well is its true contribution to cinema. The rebels didn't get a single win throughout the entire movie and the credits start rolling like it's no big deal. There's zero intention on the part of The Empire Strikes Back to be the end of the story. It wasn't shot back-to-back as a planned trilogy. Back to the Future would pull that trick later in the decade and Lord of the Rings wouldn't bring it into blockbuster vogue for another 20 years. And even with the success of Star Wars, George Lucas still had to fight to get The Empire Strikes Back made the way he wanted it. And there was no guarantee of a third installment. But still, he had the hutba to pull off that ending. It's a gutsy move in a franchise we take for granted these days, but it wound up being one of the best parts of all time.
>> I know.
When is a sequel not a sequel? When is a middle chapter not in the middle? Now, we're talking [music] franchises. And what is a good franchise entry if it doesn't do a little of everything we've already talked about needing from a good sequel? There's no small amount of moving the ball forward needed from a franchise entry, and Marvel, of course, was the standard bearer for a solid decade of world building. The Winter Soldier narratively made waves throughout the rest of the films and TV series while doing it with heart. Well, Guardians of the Galaxy introduced a whole new teen that fit right into the universe's tone and moved the larger Thanos plot ahead. Logan wasn't technically part of that world until much later, but it showed what you could do to an audience who had grown up with Wolverine and didn't want to say goodbye. DC didn't have much luck worth mentioning with the Snider verse and interconnected world building is a pretty rare thing on the big screen. Kong and Godzilla have versed and exed into new empires in recent years, but our number seven pick goes to the longest running franchise not about Atomic Kaiju with James Bond and Goldfinger.
>> I think you've made your point, Goldfinger. Thank you for the demonstration.
Choose your next witism carefully, Mr. Bond. It may be your last. The purpose of our two previous encounters is now very glittery. I do not intend to be distracted by another. Good night, Mr. Bond.
>> Do you expect me to talk?
>> No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die.
>> Bond, James Bond, has been going strong, a few pigeon double takes aside, since the 1960s and is one of the most bankable franchises of anything, cinematic or otherwise. And the reason I'm categorizing it here is that right up until Daniel Craig's entries, there just isn't enough connective tissue between the films to qualify as sequels. Love interests are swapped out each time. The actor is recast every handful of films, and there's practically no shared history between them. A reference or two to A Dead Wife aside. It wasn't until the third 007 film, Goldfinger, that Cubby Broccley and company thoroughly hashed out the formula. Dr. No and From Russia With Love came first. But the Bond we know officially started with Aric Goldfinger and his plot to irdiate the gold in Fort Knox so that his supply would become the most valuable in the world. It was an outlandishly villainous plot featuring lasers aimed at Shan Connory's crotch, a tricked out Aston Martin, a quirky henchman with a hyperp specific way to murder people, globe trotting to luxurious loces and the iconic image of a woman suffocated in gold paint. Goldfinger molded the franchise into a reliable format that hasn't changed much since. It's been worth making fun of from French parodies to Mike Myers and dual leading roles and one of the most iconic episodes the Simpsons ever made. So Goldfinger must have done something right.
Akin to the franchise entry, we've also got the spin-off here. There's an important distinction to make. If a film series has generated a few sequels along one story line the first time they venture off to focus on new characters, it's not quite a franchise yet, but is a spin-off. Animation worlds expand rapidly, giving us the minions off the mainline Despicable Me sequel, which I mentioned first because I have children and minions are rarely far off from my mind. Puss in Boots added to the Shrek verse in wildly unconnected ways, with The Last Wish being a legitimately gorgeous to look at film. While Lego Batman showed more of the heart the two Lego movies surprised us with. Horror franchises are particularly good here as well, with any number of Conjuring spin-offs following the exploits of demons and Annabels and nuns on spooky side quests. Action franchises have turned in some good entries, too, with like as Travis Knight bringing his stop motion expertise to Transformers with Bumblebee. Hobbs and Shaw spun away to be Fast and Furious all by themselves. And while Prey was a fantastic Predator film nobody saw coming, for our number six pick, I'm going with another Dan Tractenberg film that took us by surprise.
And 10 Cloverfield Lane.
[panting]
10 Cloverfield Lane is kind of the ultimate spin-off. It would have been the second entry in a would-be anthology series that sputtered pretty hard its next time out. The film also began its life as something else entirely, a spec script with a different title and a different ending. Seeing that the story shared DNA with the city stomping kaiju found footage gym that came before it, a film also shrouded in a fair bit of mystery before its release.
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Only then did it become a Cloverfield movie. That real world context aside, 10 Cloverfield Lane is a perfect spin-off also because it pulls on the same threads as the original, but from a wildly different perspective. Instead of seeing the devastation wrought by the invading Kaiju firsthand,
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we're left stew in the paranoia of whether or not it's actually happening. Dan Traxxenberg traps us in a basement and uses an expert fluency in the language of thriller cinema to set up obstacles, shift the focus of the danger, and finally reveal the truth, all in a modestly budgeted movie contained in a single location. There are no cities destroyed or chaotic camcorder footage of the Statue of Liberty's head. But the small-scale havoc in a doomsday bunker is no less impactful.
There is, of course, a different flavor of spin-off that features a subtle enough hallmark to deserve its own category. This is the changing of the guard. This is not, mind you, simply recasting a new actor in the lead role of a film series or rebooting the thing altogether. This is when a torch is well and truly passed to a different character. Having said that, I will naturally give Batman Forever a shout out here as the exception to the rule as the new Bruce Wayne and new director and expansion of the Bat family counts for something. Ghostbusters Afterlife had the right idea to change the entire setting of its long-range sequel in addition to its protagonists leaving New York City for the plains of rural Oklahoma. The new set of Dwayne Johnson led Jumanji films did the same while Ballerina attempted to do the same. Wes Craraven's meta as hell New Nightmare tried a much more unorthodox passing of the torch from fiction to non-fiction. And for the most part, it worked out to be a lot of weird fun. If for no other reason, it was clearly laying some groundwork for Scream. But nobody quite so effectively handed the baton from one generation to the next like Ryan Cougler and Michael B. Jordan did with Creed.
>> I want you to train me. All right. I need somebody solid. And who else better to go to? Now you at least owe me that.
>> I can tell the way you're talking. You've been to school, you know, so I figure you got some brains. Why would you want to pick a fighter's life when you don't have to? If Apollo was around, he would tell you that, too.
>> He ain't around.
Creed would go on to feature two more sequels, neither of which were bad by any measure. But Cougler and Jordan's first round following the illegitimate son of an all-time great who died in the ring, reconnecting with his father's former rival turned friend would have been a great movie on its own. It's a study of legacy and inheritance and how to incorporate the shadow you live under into your own story. Creed was clearly made with a genuine love for the original series and an understanding of not only what made them great, but also how to bring a fresh perspective. Plus, it's got some incredible fight choreography to boot. But it's not a standalone movie. It's a sequel to six movies in which Sylvester Stallone's Rocky fought well past his sell date. Stallone's Oscar nominated run as the aging
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boxer transitioning into a mentor role makes the movie literally about one generation letting go of the past and embracing what the new generation can offer, which is a meta narrative we can get behind. Not quite the New Nightmare brand of meta, but still a good dose of context with
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which to enjoy the movie that much more. It also features one of the most incredibly timed blasts of nostalgic music in film history. The Bill Conti horns from Rocky's original soundtrack coming out of absolutely nowhere become Adonis' theme as he stands up for his final round. It's a single moment in the entire film's runtime that really cements Creed's legacy as the best changing of the Guard sequel in quite some time.
Next up, we've got the categorically similar to the guard changing sequel, the long range sequels or reboots or Lego sequels. God Christ, they're two cutesy names for the same thing. That's tough. While they're neighbors, to the point of sharing a wall in a duplex, the long-range sequel doesn't endeavor to generate a new series. It's not telling a different story or following a side quest like a spin-off. Instead, it picks up the same narrative that was left off years ago. While this seems like a newer phenomenon given the nostalgia fervor of the last several years, it's important to recognize the older entries though. Scorsese sequel to The Hustler: The Color of Money finds an aging fast Eddie taking a young Tom Cruz looking billiard's talent under his wing. And even Ingmar Bergman revisited his epic chamber piece Scenes from a Marriage 30 years later with Sarah Bend.
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Mad Max Fury Road counts here as opposed to a passing the torch because Tom Hardy was playing Max technically, but Top Gun Maverick, T2 Train Spotting, 2018's Halloween from David Gordon Green all did it well. And even though Keanu Reeves has helped bring back both Bill and Ted and the Matrix after lengthy layoffs, the king of the long range sequel seems to be Harrison Ford. From The Force Awakens to two very unnecessary Indiana Jones sequels. Oh, that can't be good at all.
And our number four pick, Bladeunner 2049.
>> Is it real?
>> I don't know. Ask him.
In 1982, Blade Runner changed the way science fiction looked for an entire generation. And as the first big screen adaptation of a Philip K. Dick work raised ideas that writers are continuing to grapple with today. It also really didn't need a sequel. In fact, a sequel really shouldn't make sense. The decades-long debate as to whether Decard was a replicant or not added to the film's mystique, a film that was very much not a commercial success, as did the many iterations of the film that have been released since its original theatrical run. What makes 2049 brilliant is that it follows in its predecessor's ambiguity. It both answers and doesn't answer some of the original's biggest questions. No matter how you come down on the "is Decard a replicant" question, for example, you're able to watch 2049 and continue believing whatever you like. Denis Villeneuve seems to be under no obligation to clarify anything about the original or fill in the nitpicky gaps that so many LEGO sequels get fixated on. Ryan Gosling's K is not the new standard bearer for the franchise, nor is he even the Luke Skywalker style chosen one on whom the plot hinges. He's a cog in a bigger story, one that's not his, which allows Bladerunner 2049 to explore the questions of humanity that the first Blade Runner raised so ambiguously and interestingly a generation ago.
We're down to our final three picks, so it's time to stray a little further a field into what is traditionally my favorite part of movie listing where we get a little weird for a few picks. It's time to transcend the narrative to arrive in the astral plane of the spiritual sequel. These are the movies when a filmmaker revisits an idea or a theme more than stories or characters. These sequels are recognizable in a director's style more than the substance on screen, which makes them extra fun to spot. This is Linkletter's easy hang out on the baseball diamond Everybody Wants Some as the successor to the landmark high
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school slice of life Dazed and Confused. It's Desperado for Robert Rodriguez following up El Mariachi. You can make an argument for nearly all of Miyazaki's
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work, but I've always felt like Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind and Princess Mononoke share a little more DNA than the rest. Ridley Scott's The Duellists and The Last Duel share a bit more than just the one word in their titles and make for interesting partners. Carito's Way is Brian De Palma's more maturely looking back on the past as a follow-up to Scarface's greedy Never Going to Die energy. But where crime epics are concerned and spiritual sequels for that matter, nobody's done it quite so well as Martin Scorsese and Casino.
>> All right, I'm going to give you a choice. You can either have the money and the hammer or you can walk out of here. You can't have both. What do you want?
>> I just want to get out of here.
>> And don't forget to tell your friends what happens if they [ __ ] around here. You understand?
>> I'm sorry. I made a bad mistake.
>> You'reing right. You made a bad mistake. Cuz if you come back here, we catch either one, we're going to break your heads and you won't walk out of here. You see that saw, we're going to use it. You don't [ __ ] around in this place.
Whether you believe it or not, and if you absolutely have to take a hard stance on this kind of thing, you can. But Casino might actually be better than Good Fellas. At minimum, the way it will always be, the latter's little brother is the real crime here. The way Casino digs into a criminal enterprise across decades, consuming shady characters of all sorts into its vortex of glamour and greed and violence endured its share of unfavorable comparison to Good Fellas when it was released and of course in the years since as well.
>> Casino, seen it already, but I liked it better the first time I saw it when it was called Good Fellas. But Marty is just so goddamn good at it. With the glittering lights of the mob-run Las Vegas strips, Scorsese painted his organized crime canvas with a whole new setting and from a different perspective as well. Where Good Fellas followed a man in love with the life afforded by the mob, Casino was about a man obsessed with order and control. And even though Casino largely followed the rise and fall structure of most of the best crime movies, Rothstein can't control the downfall of the wise guy's racket in Vegas. But still, under the brutality of the life they've all agreed to is a sort of nostalgia, an admiration even for the way things worked under the mob. They had a good thing going, and the story of how even they couldn't make it last is a fascinating portrait that deserves to sit alongside Good Fellas. One does not need to be better than the other. We're lucky to have both. And as Sam Rosteen would say, and why mess up a good thing?
Now that we've properly shaken the surly bonds of sequel gravity, let's tack on a whole other movie. You know what? Let's tack on two other whole movies. Let's talk about thematic trilogies. When a spiritual sequel just isn't enough and an idea is so worth exploring, a filmmaker revisits the same idea three times and qualifies
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for this category. Congratulations, you guys. Some are quite obvious. Krzysztof Kieślowski's Three Colors trilogy, for example, digging into the metaphors behind the colors of the French flag. There's the curious sensory extravaganza of the Katsi trilogy, tied together as a study of man's obsession and ambition. There's Edgar Wright's Cornetto trilogy connected by genre parody and throwaway references to ice cream. While Roy Anderson's living trilogy took 15 years to complete,
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same for Wong Kar-wai's Love trilogy. There are thematic trilogies that arrive in quick bursts of creativity like Ingmar Bergman's Silence of God films or Michelangelo Antonioni's Alienation trilogy from the early 60s or Ozu's Noriko trilogy in the late 40s and
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early 50s. That all nine of those films rift on the theme of traditions chafing against the mid-century's oncoming modern lifestyle.
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Honestly makes them all related in my brain at least. But for my number two pick, man, it is hard to beat Park Chan-wook and his Vengeance trilogy. Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, Oldboy, and Lady Vengeance comprise three chapters of warped revenge tales. The three films are consistently difficult, offering no real catharsis for their revenge-minded characters. They're challenging, torturous psychological thrillers, each executed with a unique noirish style that's a funny little spoonful of sugar that helps the bleak, violent medicine in the rest of the movies go down. Each of the three films presents a different story with the same results. An obsessed protagonist violently seeking revenge that, to be honest, it's hard to argue they don't deserve. The result is a sense of relatability to the characters that terrible things can happen to anybody, but that anybody is also capable of terrible things in their search for retribution. With his Vengeance trilogy, Park Chan-wook presents a twisted perspective that doesn't leave many on-screen untarnished. Booed by the cult classic masterpiece status of its middle installment, Oldboy, it's a trilogy that's as consistent in style, tone, and narrative as any start-to-finish three-part story could hope to be, making it one of the best thematic trilogies cinema has ever seen.
What is a sequel's purpose? We got all the way to number one before I even bothered asking that. But what is it if not to expand upon the original? Well, how about be better than the original? What parent doesn't want to see their children do greater things? These are a rarer breed of sequel to be sure, but for our last spot, we have to honor those sequels who saw what their ancestors did and thought, "Nah, I can beat that." The Bride of Frankenstein, as we mentioned up top, is better and more lasting in a lot of ways, as many of the tropes we associate with Frankenstein actually come from Bride as opposed to the first one. I'll go to bat for Paddington 2 as one of the century's greatest movies, period. Not just sequels, until I draw my last breath. But Paul King and That Adorable Bear's Misadventures in Prison doubled down on everything that made the first movie charming as hell in all the exactly right ways. Ditto for Hot Shots Part Deux, but I won't explain myself to you on that one. Now, to be honest, most of our other picks, it could be argued, surpassed their predecessors to some degree, and they'd feel right at home here in the top spot as well. But I saved the best for number one.
Terminator 2: Judgment Day.
>> Mom, are you okay? Mom,
>> come with me if you want to live.
Terminator 2 is a sequel that's better than the original on every single level. James Cameron wrangled a convoluted time travel plot into something more manageable, efficient, and with an outsized heart. If 1984's The Terminator were a simple sci-fi thriller machine, T2 adds nuances of fate and destiny and the terrible burden of knowing how things are going to turn out. The storyline, where Arnold's T800 learns to be more human along the way, is a fantastic lesson for sequelers everywhere who fall more in love with crafting mind-blowing narrative mythologies than they do the characters on screen, who are the more important part of the equation. James Cameron's technical innovations took leaps and bounds here as well, inventing new ways to create realistic computer graphics in the early days of the CGI revolution, but there is an amount of practical effects that would surprise you. But the blend of the two is where Cameron's brilliance lies and still does all the way through the motion capture tech on Avatar. It also quite frankly should have been the end of the Terminator franchise. Judgment Day wrapped things up so perfectly that has to be part of the reason nobody's really been able to give a [ __ ] about the movies that have come since, making it all at once better than the first, impossible to top, and maybe the greatest secret of all time.
Well, that's about 5,000 words on sequels. And if you're still here for these last few, prove it by letting us know what your favorite sequel is in the comments. And bonus points if it's one I didn't mention. There is a lot. And as always, subscribe to IGN and Cinnaphix
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