Marigold

I don't expect much from Iceland anymore, the award-winning short story web Vonarstræti was naive and with the 90s, Rams fine, but shouldn't have won the Un Certain Regard under any circumstances. Therefore, an even more pleasant surprise is the return of the written-off Dagur Kári, who shot a film which, at its core, looks like every other Icelandic drama about a lone freak, but manages to create a believable human mountain of emotion, fragility and virgin goodness. A subtle film, without falsity and excesses, predictable, but surprisingly touching and captivating storytelling about pure goodness. Tender love is blind, as sung by Dolly Parton. Virgin Mountain is definitely one of the best things from there in the last (many) years.

The first half is good, filmed with a typical Nordic feel for an obsessively arranged and illuminated pre-camera space, but above all with such slow tension that one also enjoys the necessary genre clichés. Unfortunately, the half after the disaster is completely barren, the film loses both tension and the captivating landscape, and the attempt to make a claustrophobic and dimly lit survival drama has to deal with a truly lazy screenplay (purposeful random side characters) and sentimental filler known from US disaster films. The wave is a bit of a paradox, and as national blockbuster it will hold up, but outside of Norway it competes with Hollywood productions with the same collection of clichés in a much cheaper version. This is not exactly the optimal way forward. More like a nice splash. [60%]

Ryan Coogler is a gifted child. One hardly wants to be angry at his crackling naivety when he sees how much skill (especially) the cameraman has, but the fact is that Creed is more of an unintentional infantile comedy than a boxing drama. He raises the greatest hope for emancipation when he pulls out an incredibly dense one take fight in the middle, but instead of finding his own legacy, he ends up a labor-intensive retro in his father’s place. Sly is the only anchor, otherwise it all breaks down for Coogler into laboriously constructed storytelling and a doll-like main character who has to shout to "make a drama". Maybe next time, yo.

As long as during the first 30 minutes we capture the amazing promo reel of Lubezki's camera, which equilibristically flows through the space between panoramic and contact shots, it's captivating. But then comes the need to tell a story and work with the characters, and the master of shallowness Alejandro is suddenly back with everything that it encompasses. The means of storytelling diverts attention from what is told to us. The film has an incredibly-compiled screenplay full of coincidences, which is supposed to be based on ultra-realism, but in fact is constantly slipping out of it towards an attempt at a metaphysical anti-western. The symbolic plane, the game with landscape and flashy symbols, is so superficial and clueless that it’s shameful. Although Leo breathes like a frightened mule and practices the crawling lessons he learned in The Wolf of Wall Street, he basically has no acting to do (I was almost sorry for him during the scene in the ruined temple). The film becomes a superficial high school exercise in Jack London's tenacity, which, thanks to a number of physical details, unfortunately grows into a parody of itself - Glass is Iron Man between trappers and Meresiev of the 19th century. It is not a celebration of the tenacity of man, but of the superfluous ego of a creator who puts himself above the story and the character as a dubious god. Revenant is a rare spectacle, an intellectual exploitation and a film that brings nothing more than magnificent filming of landscapes and action. Otherwise, it's a boring camping guide and a college of starting fires. Where there is nothing, not even the tinder burns. Metaphysics for the poor from the grizzly among the overrated filmmakers. P.S. The bear takes it all, the best CGI scene ever. [50%]

Can a two-hour lesson in pre-crisis economics, where CDOs are constantly shortened and there is swapping, be dynamic, emotional and fun? A very big bet on uncertainty, but surprisingly yes - a great masterclass of editing, music dramaturgy, (detailed) directing of actors and, of course, the glass eye of Christian Bale... Monetary shots right from the start of the year, write the mortgage in the name of your pooch, buy seeds, invest in water and listen to METALLICA. And have your colon rinsed out regularly. Nothing ends, moving on...

A promising Victorian plaything that degenerates halfway through into a festival of self-referential self-propagation, the point and substance of which escapes me. This series went from a refreshingly dynamic detective story to annoying fan service full of heavy-handed attempts at meta meta meta meta jokes somewhere around season three. I did not enjoy it and it’s quite annoying.

High octane female emancipation milk. At first, the over the top effort to be over the top overwhelms the engine, but over time, a rather cute structure of carcinogenic ideas emerges. It can't be considered a model of feminism in Hollywood, but Uncle George burned out with his love of strict matriarchy in his old age, and by some miracle Charlize understood what was being asked of her. It's such a cruel mess that it finally finds its frantic path full of debris and crazy stunts. After the initial attempt not to fall asleep, there was a phase of smiles. Hell on wheels and mutated cabaret. Definitely not the best of the year, but definitely a quirky entertainment concept. At the same time, it is a demonstration that Hollywood is turning away from digital trends this year and is looking for its material roots. And Hollywood is also not afraid to show that the famous heroes live in a world of rubble and are actually a bit of a nuisance.

I don't mind the criticism that it's all too derived and the whole movie is the most expensive fan made affair of all time. I would even add doubts about the main villain, which so far looks more like he’s from a Marvel blockbuster... Yes, part seven fuses proven motifs and practices primarily from episodes IV and VI. Unlike Star Trek, Abrams moves in a much more stylistically grounded universe, but that doesn't mean he doesn't serve us a total abrasive delight, as Dan Nekonečný would say. After 136 minutes, the film rushes forward and the runtime is simply subjectively terribly short. The obsession with the overpaid mise-en-scène has disappeared, Mindel's camera moves more with characters who don't just recite theatrically, but rather breathe. The digital haze of the new trilogy has given way to materiality. Stormtrooper skirmishes are pure pleasure and there is no choice but to move the spin-off Rogue One among the most anticipated films of 2016. The new characters learn quickly. Emphasis on well-dosed pathos, gestures, timely winks - they learn it all with ease. But of course, the battlefield belongs to veterans who awaken the Force of Nostalgia. Star Wars has ceased to be an epic galactic saga about the taxation of trade routes and relations between various representatives of galactic politics, and they are returning to a fairy tale with everything that it encompasses. Epic arc, ancient scenes, big beautiful words. If the new trilogy was criticized as an operetta, this is an opera again. We may not seem to have much in common with 1977, but for me, this epic of the eternal battle of good and evil is as important today as it was in a time dominated by villains. Not so much because it contains a very complete feminist undertone (which torments Czech mental apartheid), but rather because it again fully recalls the validity of Yoda's thirty-two-year-old words: "Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter." Abrams may have just built a bridge between the old trilogy and the new universe, but it's a bridge that is a joy to walk on.

Strong acting, masterfully directed and written, but for me it falls into the category of predictable queer drama with everything that it encompasses, including very stenciled emotions. A model American melodrama that deservedly receives acting awards, but at the same time a film that ends only with realization bravado. Cold, forgetful, over-cultivated - at least that's how it felt to me during this year's Cannes competition.

In contrast to the concentrated and very personal (and distinctive) Gadž, this is more of an unnecessary dilution of familiar shots and situations of a somewhat sketchy and unbalanced scene from anti-Roma demonstrations and subsequent counter-reactions. A number of topics open up here (including a very inconsistent Roma identity), but everything remains somewhat torso-like and broached. Even sudden bounces to a purely personal plane are no longer as convincing. I like Tomáš's work, but the feature form is not completely ideal. Television and an hour were plenty.