Marigold

Erik Skjoldbjærg is brilliant wherever he can use his ability to accurately describe a plot procedure and capture the atmosphere of the environment. The first twenty minutes are therefore almost captivating, and although they differ through a somewhat more conservative approach to the great NOKAS docu-thriller, Pioneer has at least the same drive. But then comes the intricate conspiracy and perspective of the main character with disturbed perception (memory of Insomnia) and here in Pioneer, a solid subjective plane (delusions, paranoia) conflicts with a conspiracy thriller that suffers from rather clumsy dosing of information and sometimes a bit of halting directing (the scene with the car in the tunnel is very sketchy). The ambition here is quite high - a moral critique of the "Norwegian economic miracle", which, from the point of view of the film, is based on the violation of fundamental human rights. The result? Disconcerted. But as a lover of underwater sequences, I necessarily have to give an extra star. Cameron must have liked this, too.

Pulling out Jarmusch is a rather sad example of lack of judgment in this random and incredibly superficial and intuitively random mixture of traditions / genres / assumed poses. While Jarmusch has created an electrifying, tight, and mythologically rich universe, Amirpour only mechanically shows off potentially interesting motifs that can be enjoyed, but nothing more. Her world is a corpse thesis, a cinéma du look without magnetism and discovery (even the transitions between genres are more convulsive than elegant). In some respects, it is basically ideologically close to Xavier Dolan's early films, but they had (annoyingly for many people) a dandy swing and narcissistic passions. Slowness can be magical, enchanting and engaging. Or just diligently depressing. This is, in my view, is the case of A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night.

A continuation what I would slowly start calling "Britnoir". Like Broadchurch, The Missing takes over the concept of the Nordic television detective show The Killing, focusing on the complex psychological and social fungus of investigating a single crime, in this case a child abduction. The theme of disturbed families, perversions and deep traumas is elaborated very consistently here and, thanks to very civilly written and acted characters, has quite a strong emotional vibe. The detective level suffers from the "logic is subordinated to the point" syndrome, but fortunately in the end the magnetism of the main character prevails, which was performed, on the verge of what is bearable, by the devastated James Nesbitt. His father has so much pain written in his face that The Missing sometimes balances on the edge of convulsion, but he always has enough stability to hold on. And, also, because the great Tchéky Karyo is the embodiment of the wisdom of old age as Detective Jean-Baptiste - the police version of Gandalf the Gray, when Bofur and Balin are flickering. Alternating two timelines is a great idea, because it creates a dramatic tension (we know what happens / doesn’t happen, but we don't know why). It's a pity that the dramaturgical series feels unbalanced towards the end (a captivating part 6 and a static part 7). The Missing is simply another promising concept that offers more than just excitement.

Quite possibly the most meaningful Epstein work, which is hurt by a couple of fairly stupid variety "metaphors" and a tough start. However, in the second half there are solid (albeit quite instructive) scenes in which Wisdom Teeth has at least a bit of depressing atmosphere. Sure, this normalizing fun job kind falters due to fancy construction and unnecessary "coincidences", but at least it's a little different from the sticky and harmless nostalgia. In fact, it would undoubtedly do well in the cinemas, where the demand for a "slightly rougher Hřebejk film" still does not have a dignified representative. For me, there is still an excess of panopticism and a tendency to chuckle cheaply in a disgusting normalization mausoleum, but Wisdom Teeth is actually a bearable film about dealing with fate and fear (by Jiří). By the way, he again proves that he can direct for television in a relatively subdued and elegant manner. Even sweaty love etudes with a fellow comrade can be survived. I would say that this is a conciliatory film about unpleasant things. Maybe too much. It needs to sharpen its edges and have less figure skating in shit. But I actually watched the whole thing almost without twitching, which hasn't happened to for a long time when watching TV. It’s harmless bubble gum. Actually, Pedro.

The most concise and balanced film of the whole trilogy, which did not dispel any of my doubts that accompanied me through The Hobbit. Despite all the convulsive emphasis on being epic, the trilogy is unfortunately very flat, it lacks truly interesting, structured characters (in fact, the only one who goes through any dramatic change besides Bilbo is Thorin), the supplied storylines are horribly shallow and the three films did not add depth, but rather amusement park-like, uncritically long action scenes. The Battle of the Five Armies itself surprises, because even after Gondor and Helm's Deep, PJ was able to create fresh, well-arranged and choreographically imaginative giant scenes (an army of dwarves and a redheaded janitor Willy on a giant pig are among the last few things I wanted to see in my life). Unfortunately, from the moment the giant chamoises unexpectedly appear on the screen, we move from epic to the pre-planned Tolkien arcade, a soft version of Mortal Kombat stuffed with a ton of clichés and WTF scenes (Legolas and his gravity can no longer even entertain Peter). The poetic magic of silence and pipe cleaning, which Gandalf does at the very end, is thus quite unique in the trilogy of sin. In fact, I'm most interested in digital blushes and the obsession of creators to put epic emphasis on almost every scene, so in the end almost everything seems like a wooden theater - moreover, the script is a bit weaker than the brilliant "Who am I, Gamling?" monologue of King Théoden. The Hobbit works as teaser for The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I can imagine that my child will be ecstatic about it in a few years. When he grows up, he will certainly agree with me that the original trio of films remains are unmatched in their greater muteness and higher cinematic agility. Or I’ll beat his ass.

A depressing and dramaturgically unmanaged band of shapeless heads, which uninterestingly speak of a rather interesting fate. Constructed according to the "I will impress you and you will give me an Oscar" midcult recipe. Maloof seems to think that with this documentary, he is helping Vivian Maier make history, but I think only her photographs can help her do that. Not this self-impressive school exercise...

An attempt at metaphysical art for 165 million, which tells the story of the fate and the essence of humanity, and humanity as such... and as a result falters due to its strongly rhetorical nature, and the fact that Nolan once again pulls his characters like automatons in a precisely constructed mechanism. With the exception of McConaughey, who, in his current form, could find emotion even in a piece of plastic, this is an astronomical clock of talking schemes and dialectic hangers (the marching suits feel a much more human than all the often crying characters). I don't want to be fully on the side of the haters - Interstellar has many. I enjoy a number of things in this authorial vision - the contemporary "pre-apo" skepticism balanced by idealism, a raw view of interstellar flights as a traumatic phenomenon, and work with space and the elements. It is also unbelievable how Hoyte Van Hoytema got moving the once immobile IMAX camera into a flexible multi-string instrument that evokes in some places the inner filming of Emmanuel Lubezki. Paradoxically, the height and width of the frame are used to create an intimate impression, perhaps even more often than to achieve a wow effect from the wholes. A faded look at a dusty future, a meditation on parents becoming the spirits of the future of their offspring at the time of their offspring's birth, and a few other things touched me. But as a whole, Interstellar reminds me of a combination of spectacular themes and motifs that fails to create what is not directly stated at the same time. And this is a bit of a problem for a film that deals with phenomena on the periphery of our rational perception of the world. For me, it's simply the type of spectacle for which the truly captivating part will be the bonuses from the production. [70%]

Cronenberg's critique of capitalism and the hypocritical society of deception is as superficial as Wagner's screenplay and as artificial as the digital barbecue at the end. The show of half-details, which in the case of A Dangerous Method really created the image of the world as an integral mirror, which gradually cracks and turns into something desperately anachronistic and toothless in this postmodern stylization. There is in it some vain preaching and the inability to get to anything sick (beyond the sick endeavor of the screenplay). A freak show full of superficial caricatures and patterns, the innards of which can be seen from the very first moment. There is something wrong with a film in which Robert Pattinson is the most sympathetic and believable character. Master, it's time to film your harvest festival.

Less is sometimes more. It is "only" a set of four short stories intertwined very loosely with the motif of a nuclear family, but Jaroslav Vojtek convinces at every moment that he knows exactly when to observe from a distance, when to go into a detail, when to dynamically stir the mise-en-scène and when to freeze it. The film, which gets to its characters without unnecessary words, can turn everyday situations into disturbing moments; it is not afraid of a fragment, a hint, or large lyrical points. The clear peak is the almost silent Snow Marathon (this is how a social melodrama should be filmed without a hint of falsehood). Not always tightened to perfectionism, but never beyond the edge of good taste. Impressive, raw, funny in a way that is not intrusive, and empathetic and hard. Along with The Way Out, a clear "federal" film of the year and evidence that documentary filmmakers transitions to feature films are the way to match foreign trends.

Dog breeders are major assholes, especially when the Russian underworld nicknames them Baba Jaga. The screenplay is a surreal jumble from head to toe, although it does contain some pretty cool ideas (unions for hired killers). As a stunt specialist, Chad Stahelski doesn't worry about any of it and deals with what he has to work with. The dog will break your heart, Keanu looks like a reincarnation of Satan from beginning to end, and the characters are not just flat - they have been run over by a steamroller. Fortunately, the truly infernal pensive dialogues, which come off as a compilation of bad comic speech bubbles, are balanced by a fairly decent portion of foresight and even larger portions of action. Here we can see that Chad knows what he's filming (wonderfully rhythmic threshing in a disco club, where the tempo of the fight is combined with changes on the dance floor), and sometimes he even seems to have a solid command of film language (wordless collage in the exhibition, solidly-timed jokes). Unfortunately, in the dialogues, he loses his way and he absolutely fails in escalating the film (both Russian villains are worthless at their core). Here we have a completely absurd story, presented in the style of a dark fateful spectacle with a sufficient portion of foresight and an insufficient portion of self-censorship. Either you will enjoy it to the fullest as action junkies (this is what Max Payne might have been like), or you will get through it with a mixture of amusement and grimaces. At its core, it's actually a terribly dumb mess.