Marigold

Steven Soderbergh borrowed the attractive theme of drug trafficking and wrapped it in a narrative robe that characterizes independent American cinematography of recent years. However, its multi-stream drama is far from brilliant, e.g., 21 Grams or Memento, but it is a rather cautious and predictable specialization of the content, similar to the documentary camera and the game with colors, which in this case does not seem particularly successful to me. What I find successful are the acting performances – Benicio Del Toro, in particular, with his demonic cuckoo of a reformed sinner, once again convinces me 100%, and I also liked Michael Douglas, who brilliantly played the sobering of a typically American self-confident politician. I see the most valuable thing in Soderbergh's film in the story and its point. Looking at the "war" on drugs, which is full of hopelessness and disillusionment, and, ultimately, small victories. It's not joyous storytelling about heroes who spectacularly destroy drug lords. Traffic shows that such a hero would first have to destroy his own children. Although I'm not particularly enthralled by the filmmaking qualities, there are still bright spots for which the film is worth it.

Decent work all around. Like a proper model viewer, I got caught in the sloppiness and didn’t read the readable ending, which adds one more star to the three stars for good craftsmanship and excellent acting.

Spielberg's version of War of the Worlds is a great counterpoint to the tradition of the disaster films. It is a film unusually turned in on itself, which mostly despises the monumentality of battles and the pathos of heroism. It focuses on three small, insignificant points that are desperately tossing in the wild tide of war, and they have no time left for any heroism, phrases, or nationalism. The actors' portrayals of the three points is famous – the chemistry of the family trio is especially dramatized by the tiny Dakota Fanning, whose life is worth much more, from the point of view of the film's narrator, than some Statue of Liberty, the White House and other hitherto indispensable elements of the genre. Tom Cruise doesn't surprise me anymore – I know he's one of the best, and Ray Ferrier just confirms it. Steven Spielberg uses the wonderfully functioning magic of the characters and holds them close to the body through Janusz Kaminský's phenomenal camera. The result is an intense and unusually intimate spectacle, into which the luster and glory of the great battles of mankind reaches only in the form of vague messages. John Williams' unusually introverted soundtrack and, of course, the magnificent effects, which are among the best ever, complete the dense atmosphere of War of the Worlds. The most impressive moments are scenes with hints of the destruction of mankind – the rain of clothes, hundreds dead in the river... Spielberg has become the ultimate leader of contemporary spectacular science fiction with this film. His films have a soul, they have an engaging visual, they have spark. And unfortunately, they have broken endings. In War of the Worlds, the problem is not in the idea, but the fact that the cliché, which had been successfully avoided until then, strikes like a bolt of lightning at the end. Too bad. A weaker 5*.

The best Czech comedy of all time. Unlike most of the others, it just doesn't get boring and its catchphrase richness is perhaps inexhaustible (I saw the film for the sixth time and kept finding new and new spiritual gems).

A black COMEDY? They said they were playing for him. There's about as much humor in The Man Who Wasn't There as there is in Kafka's “The Trial", and it's a classic of world existentialism that would be proud of Ed Crane's character and fate. True, the Coens’ hero is somewhat more active and plays out the tragedy of his fate himself, a decision that is as sleepy and incomprehensible as him. And in the growing current of fateful events, Ed is also trying to swim a little more than the surrendered Josef K. However, his disillusionment is even worse. The Coens created an incredibly impressive, plastic and stylish portrait of a man-loser whose life eluded him and who at one point became a ghost for others (and for himself). The strongest thing is Ed's character, who was played with incredible credibility by Billy Bob Thornton. The initial impression that he is a cold cynic who has simply declared eternal silence on the world grows into a strong affiliation with an ordinary man who is silent in a world he does not understand and which does not understand him. By the end, Ed Crane's ice mask is finally gone, and the viewer suddenly faces a character so human that it reminds him of our daily little existential inferno in the outlines. Behind the wrinkles and rigid grimace of the main character lies an incredibly fragile human core, a core that melts while listening to Beethoven's piano compositions, a core that would like to speak but cannot, because it does not know what to say. Long after Ed was watered with the light of eternity, I sat staring into the darkness, relishing the feeling that the Coens had accomplished something truly GREAT. A film as black as a freshly painted coffin, a perfect urn full of absurdity. The cremation of everyday life.

Unlike the film Powder and Petrol, Voskovec, Werich, Honzl managed to create a more close-up and complete film, which is a balanced (if not enlightening) spectacle in the style of old grotesques rather than a summary of the best sketches of the Liberated Theatre. Of course, there are several Ježek hits and excellent puns in which the V+W pair is really at home. Quite surprising, however, is their sovereignty in the "mute" passages, which only copy the overseas grotesque, but still have flair in the Czech version. I consider one of the negatives to be the overly schematic script, which does not lack poetic love of low genres, but does noticeably lack something funny and refreshing... However, such performances of the family menagerie are still hilarious after all these years. A stronger ***.

Powder and Petrol is the first cinematic taste of the V+W duo in a time of dying poetics, and it must be said that its poetics seem to have been somewhat marked by this fact. The good and humorous in the film is the product of the Liberated Theatre and the ingenious poetic puns of a pair of legendary comedians (the puns from the vest pocket do not age, like great songs with memorable melodies by Jaroslav Ježek and equally brilliant lyrics). Unfortunately, the theatrical sketches are connected by very sparse scenes that are naïve but not funny, and equally attempts at sound grotesque do not seem dazzling due to the clumsy direction of Jindřich Honzl (the fact that theatre is not a film is felt quite strongly). But I still like watching this film, if only because it is one of the few more complete visual proofs of the form of the productions of the Liberated Theatre. Later films, thanks to their intensifying ideological subtext, represent much more sovereign works in terms form and content.

One world is not enough for me to be happy at the time, but with hindsight I have to evaluate very positively the sparkly duel between Bond and Elektra, which culminates in a really rough demonstration of agent 007 principles. The script is a bit shaky at first - confused, very conversational, but as soon as the plot gets going and the excellent caviar tycoon Zukovsky played by Robbie Coltrane enters the game, the entertainment is taken care of. This time, the main villain "actor" has the surprisingly emaciated face of Robert Carlyle, and in essence it is a rather turbulent fate that attracts attention and sympathy uncharacteristically. The action scenes aren't that crazy, the story keeps a low profile and takes on fewer fantasy elements, and Brosnan has hardened a lot in his expression since GoldenEye, which is a good thing. It fits him. Judi Dench as M definitely proves herself, the chemistry of the feminist hooker boss is great, and John Cleese's new "Q" (actually R) is also more than promising. Plus, the title song GARBAGE is really great! Summarized and put into context: probably the best Brosnan Bond film. Edit 2012: Apted's direction is terribly professorial and boring - it is clear, but the slow and long camera rides and the use of the shot x counter-shot scheme in the frenetic action reveal an old-school director. Moreover, the screenplay that draws Bond to the melodrama contains an excessive amount of pathetic filler. Looking back, I'm a little sad that M, who originally profiled herself as a sharp and ruthless commander, is turning into a bit of a funny grandmother without an edge. There are interesting attempts to experiment with linking Bond's susceptibility to women and the main villain, but with a little poking, it smells like a lot of bad theater in places. Years later, I'm going back to my first impression from the movie theatre. In the context of Brosnan Bond films, this is not the weakest, but the title of the best belongs to the film after. This one's not enough.

Last time I saw this movie, I was a little boy who loved cowgirls, and Sergio Leone's classic inevitably seemed strange, protracted, not very "dramatic"... It took a few years, and it occurred to me that Once Upon a Time in the West is much more than an absolutely riveting western example of drama, where wild west genre supplements serve only as backdrops. Leone concentrated the focus of the narrative perspective on the detail and semi-detail of Tonino Delli Colli's superbly composed camera; it's almost unbelievable that maybe half the film is concentrated on the faces of the actors. The weight seen in the facial expression is unreal, and the grace with which the actors bear it is equally unreal. Bronson and Fonda manage the expressionist emphasis on the eyes with a breath-taking statuette rigidity, while Claudia Cardinale's sexy face has an ageless charm – fragility, treacherousness, seductiveness. The archetypal story of the avenger is done by Leone so incredibly personally, in a focused way and with feeling that it would be hard to find a stronger film. Moreover, Ennio Morricone's brilliant soundtrack amplifies all the emotions tenfold. How does Once Upon a Time in the West trump all the other westerns? It's not the story, the effectiveness of the shootouts... it's what a classical philosopher would call the cinematicity of the film. Once Upon a Time in the West is one of the most cinematic films I know.

The third time's the charm. After the utterly shallow Loners and the empty bubble that was Whisper, Ondříček managed to hit the target satisfactorily. Simply because he has stopped playing at more than a panopticon of quaint, crazy and unrealistic characters. That he made a weird comedy that is not deep, which is basically about the brown non-fragrant one, but is excellently acted (Ivan Trojan's performance is flawless, more than flawless! and Jan Tříska is irresistibly perverted), and it is dynamically filmed, originally humorous and kind, crazy kind. True, Ondříček bet on everything tried that worked reliably before, but he embodied it in a film that doesn't come off as something that says something about our time... and perhaps that is why One Hand Can’t Clap has at least partial informative value. Just a little bit. Actually, it's just a collection of black humor. Quality black humor. And that's the point first and foremost. ***1/2