What’s the commonality between death dates, an undercover hostage exchange that goes sideways, a doomsday theory and an industrial-sized box of crystal meth? They’re all clues used, in part, to define the season finale of Manifest.
Hey, remember the ’90s? Back when every one of Bruce Willis’ movies made $100 million and Brad Pitt was just beginning to flex his acting muscles (that’s Mr. Oscar Winner to you these days). I really feel like Goat Boy,… Continue Reading →