POMO

Avatar: The Way of Water has the screenwriting of a mediocre television series that’s not in any hurry to get anywhere. Not only can the story again be summed up in a single short sentence, but it’s the same as the last time and it looks like the next one won’t be any different. The unnatural movement of the blue lizards on dry land hasn’t changed since the “pilot”, so the first half of the film comes across like a video-game demo. Transitioning to the world under water is thus a tremendous upgrade. The lizards swim much more elegantly than they walk and jump, and James Cameron breathes extraordinary life into the fictional undersea plants and animals. It is beautiful and enchanting.  Luc Besson will be pleased. The human characters are also given space on the water, thus giving the digital artifice a more physical sense of drive. All of those submarines, mecha crabs and wicked scenes of “whale” hunting are uber cool, reminiscent of the action treats in Waterworld. Overall, however, the Avatar phenomenon becomes rather more of an amusement-park attraction (with the promise of a VR future) than a cinematic work in the true sense of the word. It’s kind of like Cameron’s version of a Marvel flick, but with poor character development, which is a bit of a shame.

There’s nothing much to fault this romantic film for, but there’s not much to praise it for either. A safe relationship plot in which none of the characters can be judged for anything, despite their indulgence in forbidden fruit. The lack of greater dramatization and the 100% fulfilment of the genre template practically make the film a Harlequin romance. However, the helping of sensuality in the erotic scenes is pleasing. It’s interesting to see how, thanks to the open internet age, unglamorized sex is becoming a natural part of mainstream film entertainment.

The viewer is drawn into the roar of demonstrations in a bombastic way; the first long, seemingly one-shot scene is technically beautiful. The film’s anger-fuelled drive never lets up, reminding us multiple times of the filmmakers’ effort to create superbly composed, dramatically intensifying long shots. However, they don’t manage to bring us close enough to the characters that we would experience the hell that they are going through. We don’t even learn anything more personal about the most sensible of them than who her sibling is. With such a simple plot premise, no binding emotions and no higher artistic reach, Athena becomes a bit of a superficial construct.

It’s no coincidence that such a beautiful film about people and filmmaking is an autobiographical statement by the creator of the most heartfelt works of cinema. The circle is closed, as the unique tenderness of the iconic filmmaking triumvirate of Spielberg + Kamiński + Williams merges with the content like never before. Everything led up to this. ___ The Fabelmans is the most comprehensively told family drama that I have ever seen. And even though no tragic events happen, it is also the most impactful family drama for me personally. It is a deeply felt depiction of the life events of childhood and youth in the smallest yet most essential details, embodied in an appropriately sensitive, surgically precise film narrative. A mosaic of fragments forming the personality of a man who, through pain and joy, became one with the film camera, which revealed the origins of his biggest (family) disappointment in his adolescence and helped him to gracefully resolve his problem with bullying in high school. That he later went on to make his mark on the artistic and social history of the world with that camera is another story. ___ The cinephilic dimension of The Fabelmans is a bonus added to the narrative about family values, which have always formed the essence of Spielberg’s work. Except here he has made it a key part of the story that’s even nicer than we could have wished for. The casting surprise in the epilogue and the last shot brought me to my knees and took me back to a place to which I feared contemporary cinema would never return. Steven forever ❤️

A Tarantino flick without Tarantino. Whereas in his previous film, The Cabin in the Woods, Drew Goddard uniquely juggled the clichés of the horror genre, in Bad Times at the El Royale he only clumsily tries to cook something up from the ingredients of gangster movies and the diversity of characters placed in a precarious situation. But the problem lies in those characters. The definition of the two antagonistic characters (the girls) is weak and their random inclusion in the main storyline (Jeff Bridges looking for something) comes across as superficial. And the film’s least effective and worst-cast character is the one played by Chris Hemsworth, who should have instead kicked the film’s climax up a notch. The film also fails to properly exploit the potential of the “in the wrong place at the wrong time” motif. The intermingling of timeframes is not cleverly developed and the pace is needlessly slow in places, relying on dialogue that lacks refinement. However, Jeff Bridges gets the job done, Dakota is better suited to the role of a bitch than that of the dainty lady in Fifty Shades of Grey, and the young supporting actor Lewis Pullman ends up making the most sense of all.

Anonymous Animals is a cool idea for a fascinating bit of metaphorical bizarreness, but the result is rather comical. Most of the characters without masks are most likely the director’s friends, as they are incapable of even looking natural in front of the camera. Whenever a scene really gets going, it’s cut dead by a sharp cut. There’s not even a trace of suspense or a feeling of dread, or anything “horror” for that matter. Though the music is occasionally forceful, it’s all in the “intense” scenes, which just leave you staring in wonder. If the screenwriter had had the ambition for a feature film and if the plot had been developed into something more interesting, unpredictable and to the point, Anonymous Animals could have at least stood up as a functionally awkward flick with a certain complexity of vision.

Troll is a Norwegian fantasy movie for eight-year-old boys. We see more of the soldiers, tanks and helicopters than we do of the titular troll, all in a Hollywood formula with the typical clichés. And that predictability and the attempt to create cool moments are irritating. However, the troll looks good and the Norwegian landscape is beautiful and atmospheric. It’s still possible to enjoy that. The film falls apart in the second half, when some of the characters want to bomb the troll and others simply don’t know what they want, but they have some sort of affinity for it. A worthless derivative of the King Kong theme.

A conversational film in a moving car that quite successfully holds you in anticipation of how it will turn out. A cop, a witness and a random passenger who doesn’t inspire much confidence. However, the first twist, which finally comes after 90% of the runtime, is predictable and the second twist, which concludes the film with a would-be shocking point, is the biggest genre cliché. Furthermore, it is bolted onto the preceding plot in a superficial and nonsensical way. The admiration for Tarantino is likably acknowledged, and not only in the font of the closing credits from Pulp Fiction.

Fire of Love is poetic, philosophical and even a bit romantic. The director pulled the maximum out of the shared life story of a pair of volcanologists that ended decades ago, while also contributing a nice lyrical framing to that story. She finds both fatefulness and the couple’s life mission in their unusual and hazardous occupation, as well as in the unbreakable bond of their relationship. Theirs was a happy and fulfilling life journey. The shots of the couple from TV interviews are humorous, whereas those from the field while filming erupting volcanoes are interesting. And the shots in which they are standing mere metres from flowing lava are breathtaking. “As in love, there are mysteries. You fall hard for what you know. Harder, for what you don’t.” Fire of Love is a film that will stay with you.

SPOILERS! Such potential. And such a mediocre film. Instead of an intelligent sociological study of the conflict between social classes, The Menu turned out to be a bittersweet tale about an angry chef who punishes some for once criticizing his cooking and others for something else completely unrelated. And this tale is told in an unimaginative and, in places, even silly way (the theatrical punishment of the angel investor, without whom the chef wouldn’t even have had a restaurant). The main villain is worthy of zero respect. Even the character of the restaurant critic is not construed as a metaphor for the film reviewers who would like to rip this film. The main character (Anya Taylor-Joy) is the only one who makes sense with her perception of the situation and her reactions to it. She also gives the plot concept the only imaginative creative impetus by revealing her identity. A weak three stars.