DaViD´82

Unarguably better, but still not good (enough). Lawrence realizes that stiff, paper-rustling dialogs full of life wisdom and great truths can only be saved from ridicule by actors with a big A and so tries to sideline non-actor “J-14"-type heartthrobs like Hemsworth and Hutcherson as much as possible. And he manages to do this in the first half. However as soon as (upon entering the arena) he loses the chance to rely on Harrelson/Hoffman/Tucci//Banks and mainly Sutherland (earning great respect for giving such a fine performance one of the dumbest villains), he is lost and the entire movie with him. Suddenly he is left only with beauties with no talent and he is unable to hide their lack of talent even with emphasis on the solid action ingredient which fails because everything important (and interesting) happens off screen.

Carnivorous snow meets Victorian values. The only problem was the length, which didn’t provide enough room for both layers of the story. And so, although there is the dismal Victorian "Winter is Coming" part with evil snow and the Paternoster gang (Doyle’s ethereal muse!) ingenious, chilling and functional, but on a sideline. The most important storyline is how the (un)returning Clare draws the Doctor out of his distant “come and eat me up, flies" shell. The Christmas special mixing together, in the same way as Christmas pudding, the unmixable (including a talking midget “potato" who looked like Nikki Lauder after the accident on the Nürburgring and murderous snowmen) in a tasty dish which, in terms of the Doctor’s one word test, deserves to be described using a word that reflects the essence and is catchy... I vote for the word Doctorridge.

The testimony of a generation (which, more than by the content and message of the movie, is delivered by Paster Oner and Vladimir 518) about how youths have nothing to do and so they get up to all sorts of mischief. And nor does middle aged Vorel know to do about that and so he gets up to all sorts of mischief. But unfortunately mischief behind the camera for an audience. It accepted all of the problems of part one from start to finish (annoying fade-outs after every other scene, grr!) and the same as in part one, everything stands or falls with Mádl alone; luckily (again the same as part one) it stands more than falls. If I were to mention a point where this movie falls, it’s Vorel Jr. and his non-actor tongue in a twist; which, unsurprisingly, applied to part one. As a result, on paper it is somewhat more serious and better than The Can, but in practice it is exactly the same with a different title; interesting to see, but there’s not much to it.

Imagine a random crime series and replace forensic science with the method of deduction. Imagine Criminal Minds and replace profiling with the method of deduction. Imagine The Mentalist and replace profiling with the method of deduction. Imagine Castle and replace crime writer with the method of deduction. Imagine Lie to Me and replace nonverbal communication with the method of deduction. Simply imagine any another overseas crime series and you’ve got Elementary.

The feeblest of Moffat’s four Christmas specials, but still sufficiently fairytale-like, suspenseful and fun, making it miles better than the prototype to which it constantly makes fond references.

A plan that you either endorse or... Or not. The heroine/tramp who looks like a clone of Julia Roberts, only years younger, remains impenetrable, as far as her motives are concerned, for the entire picture, so it’s up to the viewer what they think of her. She is a mirror that says more about you than about her. Theoretically at least, if you play Ozon’s game. I played Ozon’s game, but didn’t finish it, because in the end it is less refined than I expected from him and it comes across more intentionally superficial than natural.

An effing and blinding version of Yes, Minister / Yes, Prime Minister with a hint of the Office for the twenty-first century in a satire that is so aptly true and chilling that in fact it isn’t even funny. So this definitely is no classic Britcom, but more, how should I put it, a “politofuckcom". And the effing (not just) leaves Malcolm’s lips with a tempo that a Kalashnikov could be jealous of. Too bad that in this country it came out with disastrous subtitles by Petr Šaroch which were more a version of how he would have done political satire, rather than (even a very free) translation of what is said.

Cold enough to freeze the balls off an iron monkey, craggy fjords, huge icebergs and blue yonder as far as the eye can see... This dismal, bitter cold, “miles from anywhere" atmosphere means that you will be glad of a nice warm blanket while watching it. And maybe not just the one blanket. Otherwise, the environment and the atmosphere are the only things that elevate this otherwise rather run-of-the-mill spy thriller with a standard, interchangeable plot with the standard twists that you have seen a hundred times before to an excellent genre gem.

If Stiller had not tripped himself up so unsportingly immediately during the New York part when Walter’s over the top stories are like something out of Tropical Storm and so completely at odds with the mood and atmosphere that it is trying for (successfully from the moment when they set off on their journey) my impressions would have been much more positive. Even so, this just couldn’t shake off the label of “the movie that tried so hard, but so hopelessly for two hours to achieve what they achieved incomparably better in the first trailer".

A space opera in dirty garb that is equally clever, topical, mirror holding, epic, fateful, provocative and riveting as it is naive, amateurishly acted, full of filling, moralizing and full of moments that get the audience’s eyes rolling. In any case, at its better/best moments it’s really really good and at its feeblest it is really really bad, but never unwatchable; this is also thanks to the fact that the first situation described occurs considerably more often than the second.