Marigold

A nice Austrian mix in the style of the Coen brothers. There is at times some truly dark humor in the film about a secret room under a house and a guy who grinds up a couple of Russian pimps due to some bad luck and an excess of love. An irresistibly lax ex-policeman and many other bizarre people of all kinds get involved in the story. I was quite annoyed by the fact that while the subtitle sequence is exclusive, The Bone Man sometimes slips unnecessarily into visual routine. The film’s bar is raised by both the acting and, above all, the syndrome of "Austrian cellaring", i.e., malignant brutalities that flourish under the combed surface of normal citizens. Haneke analyzes this syndrome, Murnberger plays with it in the spirit of postmodern interest in decline, and yet we can also find elements of social satire in his film. I really did enjoy the film. However, the feeling that the film is not nearly as radical and abnormal as it should have been persists in me.

What at first looks like a great comedy about Russia's approach to life and everything else, violently turns in the end into cultivated kitsch and a very overly complicated attempt at drama. Some of the "ethereal" statements about the essence of music feel like threshing straw and verbal masturbation, and some shots (especially reminiscences from the gulag) like the cheapest of clichés. It's too bad, because the acting is perfect, moreover with very funny dialogues in places... However, the pursuit of soulfulness does not work with the clear parody elements, at least not in such a way as to form a coherent whole. Mihalean's talent is indisputable (the perfectly rhythmic tempo of the conclusion together with Tchaikovsky's music), but there is a feeling of disharmony and falsehood in The Concert - my ears started to hurt in the second half. It's unfortunate, because until then, I was convinced that the hackneyed clichés about outsiders who had conquered the world would bring me to my knees again.

I have always wondered what impresses me so much about the guy with the Brezhnev vegetation above his eyes and with his collar up. Now i get it. Ken Loach filmed an unbalanced mix of social drama, comedy and love story, and it's all led by a man with walking charisma - Eric Cantona. For me, the film amounts to 116 minutes of extraordinarily entertaining spectacle with an extraordinarily positive undertone and an extraordinarily subtle grid of a view of the English "proletariat". A passionate apotheosis of football, camaraderie and hopeless losers, headed by the god-man Cantona in a wonderfully self-parodying creation. Even though at certain points I thought that Loach just couldn't hold this all together, it always somehow worked out miraculously, and I came out of the movie theatre feeling like a citizen of a pretty normal planet and a pretty normal society. As long as the phantoms of football geniuses appear to postmen and advise them about love, then we're going to be alright. This is a warm film full of formal holes, but with perfect focus and an ending worthy of Eric.

An austere Nordic skeleton, over which the screenwriter stretched a red screen of tense melodramatic motifs and grinding formal twists. He thereby unnecessarily undermined the archetypal story of a wanderer passing on his fate to a younger man... and mourning his own past. The excellent acting and the impressive image of a tilting ship take on water mainly due to excessive will and intemperance.

Another way of looking at it is that Wes Anderson did not bend his back to the genre, but instead the genre bent its back to Wes Anderson. A typical affair with flashy retro dramaturgy, a sly monotonous pace, an imaginative camera and content on the edge between a fairy tale and the philosophy of life over a morning bowl of cornflakes. If not for the middle, wherein the attempt at a psychological analysis of cute puppets goes a little beyond the real possibilities of Anderson's film, it is a flawless affair - old-fashioned, imaginative, waywardly...a film destined not to succeed commercially, but to be infinitely loved. Bravo, Wes!

I'm somewhere halfway between fascination and enchantment. Campanella was able to imprint in his film the unmistakable emotionality of "Hispanic" culture, which is tossed in somewhere between deep experience and exalted kitsch. Sometimes I was brought out of the film by moments when the makeup was shining too brightly - both the real make-up and the narrative makeup. Anyway, The Secret in Their Eyes always has an answer ready - a moment that puts the story back in place. If tuned, it can be compared to Almodóvar's tender period around the film Talk to Her - it is exacerbated, swayingly lyrical and surrealistically beautiful, as if a soap opera, a thriller and a psychological drama intertwined. The acting is a firm fixture, the levels of storytelling are very legibly and clearly organized, and the result is thereby an easily accessible film that also surprises through its themes... However, I get the feeling that true perfection is still hindered by the ostentatious layer of makeup and a very conservative form of storytelling, which Almodóvar sarcastically makes fun of in Broken Embraces.

It’s really too bad that the author does not consider the raw testimonies of the actors of the North Korean slave factory to be impressive enough, and that she considers it necessary to underscore them with very dubious dance numbers. This tends to dampen the emotions rather than strengthen them. Kimjongilia could use greater materiality and less persuasiveness – if, for example, Heikin used more segments of North Korean propaganda, her documentary could be more than just a passionate highlight of one of the most terrible and overlooked disasters of humanity in the 20th century. This type of lyrical approach to a documentary needs more of a "Špátová" talent for visuals, and Heikin does not have it.

A surprisingly infirm and a completely dramaturgically-killed infusion from the Band of Brothers, which lacks both a frenetic atmosphere and charismatic heroes, and most of all the beautiful "micro-stories" that made its predecessor a truly raw testimony about man and war. The Pacific is visually pretty, but ugly on the inside. I wasn’t motivated to watch by the series itself, but rather by my long-term passion for the war in the Pacific. [this comment was written after watching the sentimental film number 3]

How much does our permanent freedom cost? And what is the situation in the regions of Afghanistan, where mass media journalists prefer not to go? A bold and quite depressing film given its message, and which is brought down by a very "tourist-like" concept and clumsy attempts to extract emotions from the viewer. But there is no need to cajole here. What is necessary here is to simply watch closely and think about the price people "somewhere far away" have to pay for our safety.

Anti-Semitism as a self-fulfilling prophecy and a tool for manipulating citizens – Yoav Shamir penetrates the "protective" structures of the Jewish community and bears witness to the way Israel builds its myth of the "endangered" nation, artificial fear and artificial hatred. Although Shamir moves between extremes, unlike Moore, he has no opinion on the matter and does not try to sweep the floor with the viewer. The film does transition between topics a little wildly, but Defamation offers an intelligent and thoughtful perspective of a nation.