Twenty years later, the ocean still hasn’t forgiven Owen Chase. Chris Hemsworth returns looking like the sea itself chewed him up and spat him back out: salt-crusted beard, eyes hollowed by two decades of nightmares, voice cracked from screaming into storms that never answer. He’s chasing the impossible: the same white whale, bigger now, older, carrying the scars of every harpoon that missed its heart the first time.

Tom Holland’s Nickerson (once the wide-eyed cabin boy) is all grown, face carved with survivor’s guilt, signing on because some ghosts only quiet when you stare them down. Cillian Murphy and Benjamin Walker round out a crew that mutters prayers and loads rifles, half-convinced their captain is dragging them to hell on purpose.

The trailer is pure dread-soaked beauty: blood-warm water glowing under ghost-light, islands where the wind sounds like the dead begging for company, a final moonless showdown that feels less like a hunt and more like penance. When Chase whispers “This time I finish it,” you’re not sure if he means the whale or himself.

It’s not revenge. It’s inheritance. Some monsters don’t die—they wait. 8/10, and I’m already tasting salt water.

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