Matty

The voice of the individual is drowned out in the monolithic chanting of the crowd and the filmmakers, including Wajda, who voluntarily admits (as assistant director in Bursky's constructive documentary), that they were not innocent in this. A truly Citizen Kane-esque digging into the past, which I paradoxically most enjoyed when it remained in the present. Krystyna Janda’s nervousness is unbelievably sexy. 80%

A performative documentary about two Donkey Kong players, conceived as a struggle between David and Goliath. In this case, Goliath is Bill Mitchell, a self-made man who doesn’t want to lose his (maybe-not-so-) hard-won prestige. Given the North American tradition of playing arcade games, the predominantly serious tone is not surprising, though I can imagine how bitterly funny the same subject could be in the hands of a Czech documentary filmmaker (Klusák and Remunda come to mind). Anyone who doesn't get goosebumps during the final collage, which condenses the entire history of video games into a few lively images, either has no feelings or has never played. Appendix: If you’re interest in knowing who the current King of Kong is, watch the short YouTube documentary Doctor Kong: Cutting up the Competition. 75%

How much does winning cost? A few years ago, Pitt probably would have got the role of a top-tier baseball player. Because he has become more like Redford, in a good way (more serious material, a more serious expression), he now plays a guy who stands in the background. Less action, but no less ambition. For him, achieving success is of primary importance. If he didn’t succeed as an athlete, he wants to at least assert himself from a management position. Here he no longer has to consider others, because he is the one who hands out the checks. So why bother pretending and hiding his arrogant, choleric nature behind a nice mask? Not that he isn't a nice guy (with a few family stops), but he definitely doesn’t play "an American hero", always honest and infallible. For him, human beings are numbers that can, if necessary, simply be crossed out, in which I see a more distinct similarity to The Social Network, with the difference being that this time it’s not only about ones and zeros. The game played behind the scenes is more thrilling than those played on the baseball fields, to which this predominantly interior drama turns our attention only a few times.   Will the humanistic, economic or compromise approach win out? The answer is not clear even after the closing minutes, of which there could be fewer (and which push the plot in a slightly different direction). The film avoids adoring Billy Beane, or rather what he personifies (the pursuit of personal happiness at the expense of others). Though the film borrows certain story elements from theatrical fairy tales (flashbacks, a game that has to be won), it actually coldly shows what these films about great victories are based on. (For example, the otherwise important character of the coach is pushed aside, which is evident in his positioning on the periphery of the shot and is emphasised by the "committed" performance of the excellent Philip Seymour Hoffman). Miller peels away the sporting veneer to reveal the cynical managerial drama hidden underneath. At the same time, there are no obstacles placed in the Remuda way of good old tugging at the heartstrings, which, on the other hand, is not  assisted in any way (for example, by the soundtrack, whose primary purpose is to create tension). The ambivalent concept of the traditional assault on emotions is beautifully summed up by the daughter’s song, which Billy plays at the end. In short, it’s emotion with a “but…”, and with a lot of added value to think over. 80%

The film version of a tabloid that plays at serious journalism. Exploitation attractions (anal sex!, tears!, blood!), a visual aspect made interesting at any cost and characters that can be described with a single word (with an exclamation point) turn an intimate court/prison drama into something resembling an ancient tragedy. Everything is BIG and IMPORTANT on the surface and definitely doesn’t demand that we look too deeply beneath that surface. The roles are clearly divided, the protagonist is a super-positive guy whose life is ruined by a bunch of assholes (which I would have no trouble believing if I ignored the title “inspired by actual events”). The dramaturgy was handled satisfactorily. The end of one scene arouses curiosity as to what will happen in the next one, the simple visual shortcuts help with orientation in the relationships between the characters and important information is repeated emphatically enough that after a few tens of minutes you figure out what the lawyer is shocked to learn shortly before the ending. Furthermore, the formalistic techniques are so overused that you will know at the beginning of most of the scenes where the director is heading (here someone will get shot, there someone will fly off of the road), thanks to which the film is devoid of any surprises. As a spectacle for those who are oblivious to the incredible naïveté and for those who are amused by that naïveté, Kajínek stands out from Czech genre movies that don’t offer such a “binary” possibility of cultural experience, a certain element of self-assured trashiness. 50%

A path into the depths of an alcoholic’s soul. A dark drama that takes place mostly at night and in intimately lighted rooms, Today for the Last Time is at its most powerful when, in long shots, it leaves the alcoholics to deal with the inner struggle that they have already lost. The sense of ruin, intensified by the refusal to use flashes of hope, is lightened by the comedic interludes much less than one would expect based on the casting of the supporting roles (Menšík, Sovák, Bohdalová). František Smolík’s horrifying delirium is a testament to the talent of director Martin Frič (drawing from his own experience here), who made his reputation with comedies, but more than once demonstrated his directorial professionalism in other genres. The unexplained causes of alcoholism force us to adopt a negative opinion of the characters instead of being benevolent toward them, which was probably the educational point of the film (in line with the time when the film was made, the biggest bastard is adorned with gold and spouts English words). Today for the Last Time is suitable as means of preventing alcoholism, but it’s not didactic. 80%

It would be a shame if the assessment of this documentary got stuck on doubts about Ruppert’s mental health. Sure, maybe he’s a headcase, but how else could he know so much information about so many subjects? He comes across as a person adept at politics, economics, agriculture, mass media and spiritual matters (however, his monumental arrogance and faith in God don’t go well together). In short, he seems to be as clever as the hundredth monkey. Even if his other predictions didn’t pan out, he came dangerously close to the truth with the Greek revolution. With respect to the formalistic aspect, there isn’t much to say. I was bothered by the long pauses, which were probably intended to dramatise the words, which are chilling anyway. Whereas other documentaries tell you everything, this one leaves enough space for our own consideration, as much as it would be a shame to stick only to that. 80%

The feline adventurer in high boots got an opportunity to enhance his portfolio with his own feature-length film. Given his performance, there is a good chance that he will get more offers. These ninety minutes don’t abound with plot, the narrative would need bolder villains and more clearly defined objectives (the feline heist movie indicated at the beginning ultimately doesn’t materialise). However, the film smoothly moves forward and it isn’t slowed down even by the explanatory flashback, whose perceived tiresomeness is disparaged by the characters themselves. The screenwriters rather imaginatively set up the pretexts for the actions scenes, which are the film’s primary attraction (other than the tomcat’s pleading expression), though the originality lies not so much in the plot as in the multiculti intertwining of various fairy tales (Mother Goose, Humpty Dumpty, Jack and the Beanstalk). I can’t say how compatible such a fairy-tale compilation will be with the taste of a child audience, but lovers of “pure” classics devoid of jokes suitable for a censored version of American Pie will not be pleased. The offer of humour for parents is largely limited to various mild obscenities. The work with conventional adult genres is not as frequent and non-aggressive as in the first Shrek movies (other than heist movies, mainly chorizo westerns are disparaged, and the cat’s disguise is reminiscent of the costumes worn by luchadores wrestlers, though I have no idea if that was intentional), so all that’s left for the non-child viewer is to primarily enjoy how nicely the film with Garfield’s antithesis in the title role moves along. Those for whom that is not enough can think about the target audience from the perspective of gender. A seemingly boyish adventure paired a narcissistic cat with an egg-shaped something (that apparently doesn’t have eggs) and an emancipated thieving kitty, not to mention the film’s girlish content with an abundance of lovable stuffed animals and sophisticatedly choreographed dance scenes. 70%

The Ukrainian-born enfant terrible Eugene Deslaw, who collaborated with Czech avant-gardists (especially Zet Molas), added a funny commentary to Gaumont’s old slapstick, resulting in greater absurdity than even Monty Python could have come up with when they were at the top of their game.

The guys, of whom the most frequently mentioned is eighty years old, recall how in the 1960s they weren’t being bold when they showed more swinging breasts and exposed brain matter than was usual in American cinema. The cards are laid on the table from the beginning: yes, we made terrible crap, but it was fun and we were the first to do it. More than the course of filming, with a few exceptions regarding the making of particular gore scenes, the witnesses focus on the nature and (in)capabilities of their collaborators (quote: “of all the Playmates involved, she was the most wooden”). The juicy shots quickly lose their appeal and, unfortunately, none of those present is able to speak engagingly enough to add some zest to the stories from filming. The real experts couldn’t get a word in (only John Waters offers a few valuable remarks). On the one hand, this laid-back, fannish approach is likable, with the camera unabashedly entering Lewis’s home. On the other hand, you won’t learn much from it.

A pleasant setting with nice, affluent people who deal with existential issues and talk about ordinary things, behind which something more complicated is concealed. The beginning is very Rohmer-esque, and the film becomes more sorrowful from there. No frantic action is set off by the inherited property. For laymen, it is old junk; for professionals, artifacts; for the characters, tangible pieces of the past. Assayas impartially observes the “path” of this inheritance, leaving it up to us to decide what we think about the three siblings (I thought the three telephones were a mean gift, as if to ensure that Helene would contentedly stay where she was) and relying on emotions to arise depending on our own memories. If you don’t have anything to remember, that’s a problem, but I was properly touched by the ending, when even a representative of the younger generation realises what she is losing along with the old house. 80%