Marigold

It was supposed to be a five-part miniseries or a three-hour film; then, it would benefit from the huge number of themes and great supporting characters. At the same time, the transformation of Affleck from a straight Boston scrounger to a mafia hood might not sound so unconvincing (at one point he assures us that he does not want to have anything to do with the world of organized crime; but after a moment he suddenly jumps into the position of a menacing boss). But when I think about the overload of storytelling, Live by Night is a fun, stimulating and time-relevant capture of a fragment from the history of the American South, which reflects a number of essential motifs. Solid work with period scenery, a good atmosphere, brisk action and a very fun side storyline and character - the main storyline needs more care and detail, but even so, I went along with the protagonist the entire time without any problems. The scene with KKK in a cigar factory is very, very relieving [75%].

I don't know if I can find out exactly the moment when the refined and clever show became a bombastic display of cheesy masks and self-centered twists, in which the detective serves only as an alibi for developing the increasingly frail story of the central triangle... In any case, I can quite clearly assess (even without the help of a therapist, who, by the way, is needed by the creators rather than the characters) that the symptoms worsen and Sherlock becomes an inconsistent and disintegrated jumble. It is held together only by the would-be eccentric set pieces and the willingness of the fans to go with characters, whose only purpose is to keep hungry/uncritical fans on their toes. Even at the cost that the twists and the world in which they are embedded lose all justification. Bollocks. Compared to this conclusion, Cimrman's The Gale from the Mountains is a masterpiece of plot motivations.

A barren family drama, but a really nice hanger for paintings. A neatly spruced up biography of a troubled and fascinating man who never dives completely alive above the surface, but moves beneath it exactly as elegantly as Jacques demanded of his divers. By far the most interesting character and acting performance goes to Simone Audrey Tautou. She deserves even more screen time. I consider Sall's film more as a time-relevant reminder of a family that has done quite a major piece of work for our understanding of the Earth. Otherwise, Odyssey is more of an example of overly reverent and non-conflicting filmmaking, which is nice to look at. [70%]

I didn’t lose any hair from it, but if I could erase this film from my memory, I'd do it immediately. It's nice that Singer doesn't use the joke about a threesome in a film where nothing really works. But compared to this mess, it looks like the work of a demigod. I experience the greatest moments of regret and helplessness in the character of Eric, for whom Singer and the rest prepared one of the worst rebirth scenes ever seen in comics (The Birds meets Polish Robin Hood). The casting of the new faces had to take place under the slogan "find the actor with the least amount of charisma". The crown is set by the "red jewel" of the film, the new Jean Gray, who resembles the bullied Mana from high school. One can't even feel bad for Oscar Isaac, because his mask allows him only one grimace (an angry overbite). What next? A bloated runtime that reflects the problem of many other blockbusters - they are awkwardly looking for an alibi for the final battle, in which the characters behave according to mysterious mechanics. Not that you can't justify the twists in retrospect, but the thin manure beforehand doesn't justify it. I'm glad Wolverine got his forest jogging - I wanted to run with him and leave the stuffed dogs far behind me. If only the film rewarded me with a spoiled visual, but almost everything here feels artificial. Remember how the other X-Men built a world that mattered? Characters who carried stories and weren't just hangers for super-abilities? Here, there is only effective enchanting - a fart transforms into an even bigger purple fart. I firmly hope that Bryan has finished building his shapeless pyramid for good.

Nazi punks fuck off. It kept me on my feet like a pit bull and tightened its grip at the end. It follows a single logic - the logic of escalating tension. I turn off the logic circuits - this film is everything I expect from a slasher. Great characters, atmospheric environment, a smoothed-out villain and intense "game" finale. Brilliant point. I enjoy every detail. DIY garage pleasure with a properly turned-up amp. Probably the best Yelchin role ever.

A Chinese billionaire gave money, Hollywood its biggest star, the Middle Kingdom of the once great director and a wonder of the world. The result? An asexual, culturally indifferent and dirty pig, which builds the greatest hope in the first twenty minutes. But in the end, the more artistically pampered Warcraft drowns in a soup full of undercooked characters, narrative clumsiness and funny ideology, which is desperately trying to convince completely different types of audiences. A proper critic does not use the word boredom. But here, the helplessness castration is physically palpable. I’m sorry, but it’s BORING.

A charming update of a classical musical, which, in the captivating rhythm of jazz, tells the sensual story of two souls whose paths were supposed to come together, but they just intersected. It made me so sad and was hard on my soul that I wanted to poke my brain with a needle from a turntable in front of all that technicolor beauty. Do you love jazz this much too?

All right, autistic people are beautiful creatures, but don't give them weapons and super computers, because they'll probably start a secret service. I haven't seen a film in a long time that falls apart so grandiose after a captivating introduction. The first part, where the viewer actually watches the very routine actions of the main character and a few hints, is not boring and attracts with promises of interesting revelations. Gavin O'Connor also directs very smoothly and elegantly. The second half, where the information deficit is being addressed and something needs to be unraveled quickly, was probably written in a secret collaboration between Cimrman and Jarchovský. I haven't seen an explanatory monologue used worse since Innocence. When J. K. Simmons, with his feet on the table, explaining 90% of the story, it's on the verge of non-art. And the final revelations are really almost a crazy comedy. If at the beginning the question arises as to whether realism and action exaggeration will be fighting against each other in the film, the conclusion offers a ready-made orgy of things that do not fit together. I absolutely appreciate the grace with which both Affleck and (again amazing) Bernthal handle the WTF moments. And I don't have to be autistic to figure it out.

Condemning it because of nostalgia or resistance to correctness is, of course, stupid. The film has problems elsewhere. The cast is strong, but Fuqua doesn't get much out of it, especially in the first half, just a demonstration of photogenic faces and poses. Things come to light in the final battle, and until then, sometimes a one-liner here and there sparkles, which Nic Pizzolatto knows how to write. The last third is a pleasant old-school battle with a good pace and quite pleasantly chosen deaths in the group. The problem of The Magnificent Seven is precisely that they are somehow indecisively straddled between a classic western and a buddy action film with a more modern style. When in the end there is a "Technicolor" palette with tombs and the notorious melody of Elmer Bernstein, it feels completely false. The golden age of the western is gone and this group rather swiftly passed it by. Which, given its composition, is actually too little. Sympathetic ***

The message of the film is that there are only problems with blacks and they are lousy campers. And the fact that although the technical possibilities of filming have improved, people are still just filming bullshit. There was nothing left from the first one but Krčák and the hysterical brat of the walking human lunchmeat. I was only interested in one thing: did anyone save the drone? The only meaningful character. Otherwise, the film is about as scary as when you pitch a tent in the garden and talk to your friends all night about cooking. He who turns off the light sleeps. And wins.