gudaulin

The story has the power of Arnold Schwarzenegger's biceps, a topic that has not yet been explored in cinema, and it is obviously made with enthusiasm and talent, care and knowledge, and simply honesty. Nevertheless, I have mixed feelings about this Baltic piece. The film experiments that appear at film festivals usually present a significant risk for the viewers because they can encounter a variety of things. I felt like a theatergoer who goes to see a play and accidentally wanders into a wax figure museum, meticulously crafted, intricately detailed, dramatically lit, and accompanied by an emotional commentary. With all due respect to the maker of the figures and the whole project, I would probably feel somewhat cheated. I can't claim that I wasn't warned, but I didn't take the information about the film seriously enough, or rather, I thought that the mentioned images would come alive at a certain point, and get moving. But then Martti Helde surprised me with the uncompromising nature of his artistic vision. From that moment on, when someone complains about the static nature of a film, I will give them a smack and recommend watching this film. If I had seen the film late at night, it would have had a more reliable effect on me than a dose of horse tranquilizers. It's all well and good that the images have an enchanting impressiveness, but what's the point when there is no more life in them than in a mummy's sarcophagus? A film made in a classical way, meaning I could perceive the dialogues, the acting of the participants, and the film music, would have had a much stronger impact on me, and I probably would not hesitate to give it the highest rating. Overall impression: 50%.

Looking Back is part of the wave of films from the second half of the 1960s, which represented a critical reflection of the attitudes and actions of a generation dealing with the trauma of occupation and taking determined action in building socialism. It was guided by the motto, "When a forest is being cut down, chips fly." There were enough valid reasons for the film to end up in the vault and its author to be considered persona non grata. Even just the sarcastic question about the difference between a fascist and communist dictatorship, which is uttered by one of the characters, must have irritated the normalization approval committee to madness. On the other hand, the openness of the social statement as an evaluative criterion was important precisely at the time of the film's creation; after several decades, what should be decisive is how the film stands artistically. I have mixed feelings about Looking Back. The only thing that works perfectly is the black-and-white camera. The admired Čepek gives a routine performance, although in his case that means he is still a class above the rest. However, I actually didn't believe Jiřina Třebická in her role. She seemed oddly wooden and unnatural to me. If I didn't know her from several other films, I would think of her as a woman who missed her calling. Máša's direction is uncertain and the screenplay, with all due respect, is schematic. If Looking Back was meant to be a showcase of Máša's work, then I understand why the director didn't succeed after the circumstances changed. Overall impression: 40%. I wonder if it's perhaps the weakest film in its category...

I haven't seen this in the theater, but because I am well-read in Fassbinder, I understand that he wanted to settle things with the German bourgeoisie, the establishment that never fully separated itself from its war past during Fassbinder's short life, with all the conformists against whom the left-wing agitator defined himself. Thinking about it, he was bothered by everything and everyone. With knowledge of German history, everyone probably understands why a big Jew appeared in the play, and with awareness of Fassbinder's sexual orientation, you will understand why his characters have such complicated sexuality. However, this context is lost when the play is transferred to the Czech environment, and what remains is a clumsy attempt at great art. I also have a fundamental problem with Gabriela Míčová. Her prostitute Romi, at least as I understand her, was supposed to be in the midst of those selfish monsters, the only human being who allows herself to be exploited by others, and one should feel at least some sympathy for her. I don't know if it's her acting or if her personality has this effect on me, but she seems just as repulsive or unsympathetic to me as the rest of that strange gathering. Overall impression: 25%.

In the opening minutes, it feels like a very raw, unfiltered ride through the underground of a city, a road movie among alcohol-soaked human wrecks, impoverished homeless people, and desperate individuals who survive from day to day. I expected to see a strong realistic social study of people on the outskirts of the system or completely beyond its reach. However, the meager existence named Carax quickly veers toward the shining neon lights, which create a contrast with the filthy homeless people, and the viewer's gaze slides towards the rocket geysers fired during the generously conceived city celebrations. Among their reflections on the surface of the Seine, Carax's characters zigzag while water skiing. Good Lord, what does this have to do with the life reality of Parisian homeless people?! Even those at the bottom of the social ladder are entitled to love and undoubtedly experience it, but it is much harsher. In their world, there is no room for melodrama and beautifully shot poetic images. Carax envisions the love of his characters from a middle-class perspective, effectively lacking any significant features typical of kitschy melodramas. The loving couple is separated by a social abyss, the surroundings don't wish them well, and a serious incurable disease afflicts the girl, whom a miraculous treatment will save from the precipice at the last minute. If The Lovers on the Bridge is interesting in any way, then it is through the amazing transformation that Juliette Binoche undergoes. From a charming beauty, she becomes a burnt-out and embittered wreck, in whom no one would look for one of the most sympathetic actresses around. It is said that when Audrey Hepburn was dressed in an unattractive florist's costume in My Fair Lady, she cried from humiliation. Binoche clearly has no problem with that, and her goal is to sell herself as a great actress, not as a star. Carax offers another plus - impressive shots of Parisian streets, especially the Pont-Neuf bridge. The coldness of the stone blocks, and the images of majestic statues, will certainly leave their mark on the viewer. For these mentioned merits, Carax ultimately receives an overall impression of 55% of the from me, but at the same time, I take away the conviction that Carax is too manneristic a creator for my taste, and in the future, I will tend to avoid his work. By the way, one of his vices is also megalomania because those 130 million francs could have been much more effectively and sensibly invested. If I were a producer, Carax's image would terrify me in the most horrible dreams. The most expensive French film should belong to a different genre and look a little different...

I believe in the power of human conventions. We can convince ourselves of this every day. Have you noticed, for example, the speeches at funerals? The deceased was a failure in life, a domestic tyrant, and an extreme opponent, but the speaker utters phrases about how much we will miss them and what they did for those around them. The attendees appear tragic, and the most eager even attempt to shed a tear. A little later on, a more joyous ceremony takes place as a young couple enters into marriage. However, the witnessing guest does not emphasize the bride's previous romantic successes, nor does he boast about how many men she frolicked with in the past. His joyful speech does not find a place to mention that the groom divorced and abandoned three children for his future wife. When a mother shows us a newborn, she does not expect us to mention the apparent resemblance of the baby to a bat, although it may be our subjectively perceived truth a hundred times over. And, of course, from the perspective of a viewer of a film that is considered a part of the cinematic canon, regarded as a symbol of antifascist cinema, and made by one of the world's most renowned creators, one does not expect fundamental criticism or dissatisfaction. I could naturally add a star for the (undeniable) significance the title had at the time when the USA was still under the strong influence of isolationism, and President Roosevelt vainly tried to incite the public to actively defend democratic values. The horrors of fascism were not well-known and were even less desired to be known. The film came at the right time and performed its engaged work. However, it has already been rewarded by many others, and therefore, it does not need my support. In my opinion, The Great Dictator has a peculiar screenplay structure that ultimately moves away from the two main characters, and the film ends with the director's appearance and a proclamatory declaration of allegiance to democratic ideals. I am bothered by Charlie Chaplin's frozen aesthetics, which clearly stem from the silent era, and the film looks as if it was made a decade earlier. I am also bothered by the naivety of the portrayal of Nazi regimes, although much was concealed from Chaplin during filming. Simply put, the reality was much worse. Perhaps my expectations of a legendary title adorned with excellent reviews and an equally excellent reputation influenced my evaluation. I can say for myself that I enjoyed the film The World Belongs to Us, which did not make a global impact, significantly more. Although The Great Dictator also contains great scenes, as a whole, the film simply does not work for me. Charlie Chaplin is much more convincing in the role of the dictator than as the Jewish barber. He evidently learned a lot from the Nazi weeklies, and Hitler's pathetic self-centeredness is more than suitable for satire. Overall impression: 45%.

Taken with distance, what's most impressive about "Zakázaná zóna" is that the film looks much more expensive than it actually is, as if a large and influential studio stood behind it. Typically, it's the other way around. Gareth Edwards certainly presented himself well to the producers and demonstrated that he has what it takes for a big-budget production. On the other hand, the film looks somewhat conflicted. For many tastes, it's too intimate, shot in a documentary style where the average viewer would expect action, scares, simply at least a small dose of favorite genre clichés. Edwards, however, opts for unpretentiousness; danger is mostly hinted at somewhere behind the wall of trees in the tropical jungle, from vague movements in the shadows or water, and mysterious sounds that tantalize the imagination, hiding anything. On one hand, I was grateful that it avoided the traditional genre baggage that drowned so many other titles; on the other hand, it could have been conceived better. One hundred-meter octopuses may look impressive, but with such an invasion, humans would deal with them just fine. We have arsenals of weapons that we don't know what to do with, and the poor easily identifiable octopuses would get such a beating that animal rights activists would have nothing to protect. The real danger of contaminating the Earth's atmosphere would come more from microorganisms that could spread uncontrollably. In the movie, I didn't understand the growing dominance of the extraterrestrial invaders, and I certainly didn't understand how the oversized octopuses managed with gravity. No wonder the largest planetary organisms live in the ocean. So the octopuses probably sweet-talked or bribed gravity somehow. It would also be worth considering why the well-off dad didn't arrange air transport for his daughter, and I also thought that... Well, it could go on for a long time. As a road movie through a sick world where functioning institutions and certainties have collapsed, it wasn't bad, so in the end, I'll rate "Zakázaná zóna" at 60% overall impression.

I do not understand the director Vejdělek very well and his latest films completely miss the mark for me. With three stars, he probably reached his maximum with Vaclav, which he will most likely never surpass. Similar controversial material has been made many times in world cinema, and in most cases, more convincingly and with greater emotional force. On the other hand, Vejdělek can rely on the great names of two acting generations. Emília Vašáryová is excellent in the role of a mother and Ivan Trojan proves that he is a major star of contemporary Czech cinema. Trojan is perfectly natural and believable in the role of a mentally unstable village fool. Occasionally, the script stumbles, but within the framework of Czech cinema of the first decade of the new millennium, it is, I'm sad to say, solidly above average. Overall impression: 60%.

From the times of Svěrák's 'Jízda,' we know that a film can be made in our country for just a million, but this encounter with a Czech road movie didn't offer much more. If I were to be critical, I would say that this is what perfect film emptiness looks like. Comparisons to 'Bezstarostná jízda' (The Ride), which were mentioned in several comments, seem almost offensive to me, and as a generational statement, 'Jízda' doesn't work at all. Simply put, it doesn't have much to offer; the music from the Buty band is too little for a cinematic experience. Overall impression: 30% (just to fit into 2 stars and not be accused of harming Czech cinema).

I'm sad to say that this claustrophobic spectacle didn't impress me at all. I acknowledge that the screenplay writer and director achieve maximum results with minimal space and resources to keep the viewer's attention, but it's still a very relative success. What matters to me is that I can't believe in the film. Granted, with other genres, I don't concern myself as thoroughly with the logic of what I see, and I'm not strict in my assessment because otherwise, I wouldn't enjoy them at all. However, the fact that this thriller is based on nonsense should be easily uncovered even by an elementary school student. Overall impression: 40%.

It's only been a few days since I wrote about Just Another Love Story, the previous work by Ole Bornedal, that it shouldn't have an ending and I would be satisfied. The second encounter with his work brought me the same experience. For three-quarters of the runtime, I was floating in the clouds of a highly outstanding spectacle, enjoying the excellent camera work, sensing the rising tension and alarming signals of an approaching crisis, appreciating the scenes of emotional impact like a thunder strike - and then everything went down the drain within a few minutes because the director pushed too hard and didn't understand the psychology of the crowd or the individual. As a result, the typical film construct is exposed. Undoubtedly, it is superbly shot, but at the same time, unreliable. From such material, much more could have been extracted if Bornedal had tamed his imagination, not chased too many rabbits at once, and fixed the logical gaps. The film notably resembles Peckinpah's Straw Dogs, and I wouldn't directly speak of plagiarism, but certainly of strong inspiration. However, that film seems more believable to me and more impactful in its consequences. Additionally, it lacks the strangely reconciliatory ending. Nonetheless, I have no problem with giving this film three strong stars. Overall impression: 65%.