novoten

When I stumble upon something every few years every time I enter a bookstore, sooner or later it starts to haunt me. Best of all in the form of a predictable romance, which transforms into something paradoxically embarrassing in approximately the third act. Paradoxical for the reason that anyone who has ever even marginally experimented with intimate play probably covers more in an evening than the entire contract of Mr. Grey contains. And embarrassing purely because the main heroine is the impossible Ana played by the equally impossible Dakota Johnson. On the other hand, Jamie Dornan, no matter how unplayable his role is, can recite all the madness that has been crammed into the script from the original with a fierce expression and surprising dignity. It just saddens me how much hype is and will be surrounding such a fatally unnecessary spectacle. If there really was only that Xbox lying in Christian's playroom, we would all be much better off.

As long as I tried to connect Rambo-like amicable repentance, financial tricks, empty love triangles, and Jim's own past, The Gunman held my attention with one hand and cut off branches with more and more characters with the other. But after leaving the cinema, the impressions of the action disintegrate into mere contemplation of how Sean Penn can pump up muscles like this after fifty and why Idris Elba appeared only when the film was almost ending. Unfortunately, Pierre Morel is also a man worth shooting, who proves that 96 Hours was the peak of his career, after which he is merely going downhill.

Once again, it's a story told in a rush and in a hastily made-up world that stands on terribly unstable legs. Just like with Elysium, logic is dealt a heavy blow every few minutes, confirming once and for all that I don't understand the most determined advocate for the Republic of South Africa. It's clear how much he enjoys writing, directing, and perfecting films, but when bloody scenes alternate with infantile ones and a barrage of insults with moralizing, it's all for nothing. That's why all credit goes to undeterred Hugh Jackman, whose villain is boring, illogical, and oddly poorly written – and yet I still enjoyed watching him. But without the final ten minutes, which will surely make pedantic viewers tear their hair out in desperation, it's a downhill journey once again. This is how Neill Blomkamp successfully extracted emotions from me for the first time in his career. Because of this, I have increasing concerns about the fate of the fifth Alien film, no matter what plot lines it follows.

First, a fast-paced high-class and, from approximately the second third onwards, "just" a crazier, more uncontrollable, and perhaps even unwatchable comedy, which has no problem making up half of its running time out of pure haphazard improvisation. But I liked Robin Williams, so his footage with my beloved Sarah Michelle Gellar and the reliable rest of the office, the adorable Lauren, the thoughtful Andrew, and the local star Zach, fit my mood fairly accurately. Considering the seemingly unnecessary overkill, which someone might mistake for stupidity, I understand how it was cancelled after the first season. Sitting down every week for such a specific type of entertainment was probably an impossible task, but thanks to the enjoyable finale, I'm not mad at CBS this time.

Season 1 – 90% – Twists that have you holding your breath, a seemingly routine study or work environment presented in the most attractive way possible, and a gallery of amazing (Annalise, Wes, Bonnie, Rebecca) or at least sufficiently well-drawn and therefore entertaining (Frank, Connor, Laurel, Asher) characters. This time, Peter Nowalk, the creator of the series, is taking the lead for the Shondaland team, thus changing my genre perspective once again. There have been tons of courtroom dramas or detective thrillers, but it's not often that someone manages to shatter all expectations into pieces. How to Get Away with Murder only barely misses a full score because the period before the revelation narrowly outweighs the period after it. Nevertheless, the Keating Five is on a confident path. I can already feel the tension that will inevitably get thicker among the characters. Season 2 – 90% – More intense and devastating in the autumn portion than the previous season, and even more breathless in the spring. There are cases when a successful concept can be repeated (despite the fact that it is almost impossible nowadays to succeed a second time with the same concept without boring a hungry audience) and the creators, who so eagerly throw obstacles, crimes, blood, and betrayal at the main characters, have managed to do just that. Viola Davis gives a performance on the frontier of human capabilities, the remaining main characters form a more cohesive group, and when combined with the gradually revealed secret of a single night, this is the true definition of a series where the weekly wait for the next episode is cruel torture for the viewers. It is therefore a shame that the spring portion presents itself more as a space for uncovering important questions from the distant past, but when you combine that with the emotional torment of the plot, it ends up being more of a cosmetic flaw than the downfall of the entire series. You simply cannot help but get sucked into this whirlwind of events. Season 3 – 80% – The season that seemed to be heading towards a top rating ultimately falls short. And not because it was weaker, per se; it's just that some of the screenwriting flaws the series has had for quite some time have only now become more pronounced. And yet the tension never subsides, the autumn portion traditionally frays your nerves with every scene, and the key twist is so clever that nothing in recent television history can compare to it. What's more, reliable performers like Charlie Weber or Karla Souza get material that helps them hold their own next to the still unbeatable Viola without a hint of shame. It's just the way the whole puzzle is solved that keeps me up at night. Already last year, I sometimes felt that in the most extreme moments, the writers used the main characters not as living personalities, but only as storytelling devices. Because the audience has become so accustomed to all the twists, it is increasingly difficult to come up with something new. In my opinion, the finale suffers from the fact that it tries to provide answers to questions that I almost don't care about, and the key question marks are answered in ways that I didn't expect and didn't even want. However, I want to believe that this is not a permanent phenomenon and that the drop in rating is only temporary. Season 4 – 70% – Although the actors go all out and bring emotions even out of controversial storylines (Lahey senior, the dragged-out mystery surrounding Wes, the downright unsuccessful crossover), the overall impression is ever so slightly diminished. The unchanging premise, where the autumn portion raises a hundred and one questions, only to have the spring portion answer at most half of them and instead pile up even more questions, is somewhat frustrating for the legal drama genre. Of course, some storylines (Michaela, Bonnie) do not develop as I would like or as I would find logical, but I've already grown accustomed to the fact that the writers often use certain characters only as pawns and are always more concerned about twists than overall impressions. It's a game. A game that used to balance on the verge of perfection, and it saddens me that it gets less and less enjoyable to watch each year. Season 5 – 70% – A very strong start and then suddenly, in the end, a feeling that the spring portion of the season was again unnecessarily sad and oddly stretched out over seven episodes. Unfortunately, I cannot shake the feeling that the series will probably forever stagnate in the position of a masterfully escalating spectacle which, in the end, offers answers to questions that no one asked, or resolves seemingly desperate situations with a deus ex machina that could have arrived at any time before. It's a great shame, because Bonnie, Annalise, and Frank are still top-notch, and I tend to breathe for them in their most fervent moments this time around, but moving forward with over-the-top episodes or relationship moves back and forth isn't enough to satisfy me this time around either. Season 6 – 60% – The weakest score in the show's existence doesn't mean that the last season was the worst at all costs. Perhaps it's just that my patience has run out, and the way the writers, led by Pete Nowalk, decided to address the remaining question marks at the very end annoyed me pretty thoroughly. And I can't explain it without spoilers. I much resent the fact that for every mystery, even the most elaborately constructed, there is a pretty similar answer. If in the early days the universal motto was "It's always Wes!", in the later ones it would be "It's always Castillos!" – and it wouldn't even be that much of an exaggeration. I find the idea that someone from Laurel's family will always be behind all the criminal goings-on unfortunate, to say the least. But the fact that important decisions are made off-screen and the key people are characters we are meeting for the first time is nothing short of a disaster. Then I'm also chagrined at the long-running false lure of something that never comes. It was Nowalk, in an interview before the last series aired, who explicitly said that all the questions we as hungry viewers have ever had would be answered. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when that same person, just after the series ended, coincidentally addressed the very question marks that had always plagued me (what happened to Laurel's mother, what role Laurel herself played in it, and what the occasional allusions to her lifelong mental state were supposed to mean) by declaring that the audience would surely figure some things out for themselves. Whatever, we all have our theories, of course, but in a production that has always prided itself on the ingenious reveal of the story and the importance of even the slightest clue, such an approach is an unnecessary step backwards. The finale itself stirred up a lot of emotions in me, both positive ones (Connor's farewell to Oliver brought a fair amount of tears to my eyes, as does perhaps every major speech, be it in court or at a funeral) and negative ones (the decision to let two of my favorite characters die for the sake of what could almost be an homage to another work). Perhaps I'm blaming something that has been present in How to Get Away with Murder for a while; I simply expected the show to meet its audience halfway at the very end, not just in empty words but in the genuineness of the experience. On the other hand, if there has been a show in recent years that has thoroughly overturned the brain's convolutions on the subject of theories and relationships, it was the one about the legendary Annalise.

Season 1 – 100% – For someone who feels right at home with comic books, explores the interconnectedness of the Marvel universe every day before going to sleep, and worships Joss Whedon as a guru, the pilot episode was a ticket to paradise. In the shoes of the newcomer Skye, I peeked behind the curtain of the Avengers and saw nothing less than an excellent blend of tension, adventure, great characters, unexpected guests, and the feeling that I am truly part of everything. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. immediately became an underestimated event, which becomes even more unforgettable with the twists connected to Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Season 2 – 90% – The initial surprises and twists that unfolded within S.H.I.E.L.D. and the looming Hydra were difficult to overcome. The direction that Jed Whedon and Co. took at the beginning, with the introduction of special abilities, a new race, Skye's origins, and everything around it, was a brilliant idea. This way, the Agents can firmly settle into the world of TV shows and interconnect and alternate between both worlds. And yet I have a minor complaint regarding the new characters – Mack, Hunter, and Bobbi – who came on the scene quite aggressively. Until that point, the events on the bus felt tight-knit and almost familial, and it took me a while to get used to the broader scope (even though it was entirely understandable due to Coulson's new role). I am grateful for every viewer who enjoys the show because I see the potential for many seasons ahead, especially with strong performers like Kyle MacLachlan, whose Calvin steals the entire series. Season 3 – 90% – Earthshaking. Whether it's comic book-related, with events constantly changing the game, or character-related, with Quake/Daisy/Skye as a flawed but admirably strong leader, this season has a lot to offer. Jed Whedon and the Maurissa Tancharoen and family have written an impressive amount of material this year, giving us true adventures (with everything related to the unknown planet), spy drama (the episode Parting Shot), and an unexpectedly dark odyssey with an enemy that sheds light on Hydra's origins. And since development of supporting characters is not overlooked, it's decided – AoS is a staple reinforced by numerous unexpected renewals. I desperately hope this won't be the last time this year that ABC has been this generous. Season 4 – 90% – Diabolical books, intangible beings, Ghost Rider, androids, dream worlds, and in the end, so much entertainment that I can't keep up with my eyes. Agents is operating at such a murderous pace that I can barely catch my breath during each episode. I can't help but admire how carefully they lay the groundwork for each story arc long before it truly begins. Most of the participants are genuinely amazing actors, and Iain De Caestecker, who may have been underestimated, handles each layer of his character with such finesse that he deserves an Emmy nomination as much as any actor in a more praised series. The fact that critics, and inexplicably viewers as well, keep snubbing Agents in proportion to their quality only makes me hold them closer to my heart. Season 5 – 90% – A space journey enhanced by a persistent enemy race, time games, and a clearly modest budget that turned necessary evil in the form of endless corridors into a storytelling asset. Even in its fifth year, the show manages to excel in details (the perfect 100th episode, Enoch, Ruby, the sophisticated games with gravitonium) as well as in its entirety. The final episode, despite my relief that it's not the absolute finale, ranks among the gems of television history. Season 6 – 85% – A return that was unwelcome for some and miraculous for others. During the longer break between seasons, the show settled even deeper in the hearts of its viewers, and I was cautiously afraid of new adventures that inevitably hinted at the departure of some beloved characters. Luckily, there was no reason to worry. In terms of ratings, it may be the weakest season, but it is still packed with action, emotions coming from unexpected directions, and all the ingredients I have been longing to see. Perhaps the antagonistic side seems somewhat interchangeable this time, but the season finale works as a captivating enticement for the ultimate farewell. Season 7 – 100% – Even greater doses of meta humor than ever before, surprising and expected returns, desired reveals, and the wildest way of traveling that Zephyr has ever experienced. I hold the first season dear with everlasting nostalgia, but the last season is the only one that can truly compare to it. I understand that for some people, the mood changes and special episodes may have been too much, but I have no words for the noir, the time loop, 80s songs, and especially for the finale. I can't understand how this show managed to last for seven seasons, really. The audience already fled long ago after there were no more explicit connections to the movie universe. But for those who remained, the reward is the sweetest.

Season 1 – 50% – Adding something new to the world of relationship sitcoms has become quite a challenge in recent years, as individual stations announce (only to cancel a few weeks later) various attempts at new romantic couples ten times a year. FX took a different approach, as they got the main couple together right at the start, they slept together, and then they started insulting each other more and more frequently, both openly and covertly sending each other where the sun don't shine. I had never seen that in a series before. However, being original doesn't always mean being good. Both Jimmy and Gretchen, as well as their friends Edgar and the beautiful Lindsay, are so self-absorbed that none of them (perhaps with the exception of unlucky Edgar) realize how toxic they are to those around them. And in those moments when they are at their worst with their community and I should be laughing the hardest, I am thoroughly disgusted. So, thanks for the few moments of "softened" self-reflection and a perfectly functional melodramatic finale. For others, there may have been points deducted for predictability, but for me, it was a last-minute leap into a weak average. Season 2 – 40% – The successful ending of the first season brought a big challenge. How to maintain the crude humor and crude personalities of Jimmy and Gretchen while attempting a relationship without being too far-fetched? Stephen Falk fatally failed to handle this task, and all efforts to return both halves to their roles as vulgar stumps are sadly forced. This isn't much helped by the exaggerated storyline of Gretchen's illness, which not only feels like it's from a different series but which I don't buy for a single second. And when Kether Donohue, who is always the best, gets scenes in the script like "injecting hot microwave sperm," I feel ashamed and sad for her at the same time. YTW is a series that is noticeably proud to come from a cable channel, yet paradoxically uses that advantage constantly to its own detriment. Season 3 – 30% – I didn't realize it could get any worse. I remember how at the very beginning of the show, many viewers were praising the creators for how all the relationships here seemed fresh and realistic. I wonder if anyone would say that now. Lindsay, instead of her usual selfishness, suddenly becomes stupid, and her behavior around pregnancy is, to put it mildly, offensive. Plus, her storyline brings along a lot of space for the repulsive Paul. Gretchen is an unbearable human being no one could stand to be around for even an hour, and Edgar? He is a prime example of what it looks like when one character is desperately surplus, because storylines like Dr. Weed can only be called embarrassing. I intentionally omit Jimmy, who somehow still remains in the center of events only because he is writing a book. But there is one thing that astounds me more and more. How perfectly this group manages to irritate me within a single scene. When everyone at least somewhat calms down, along come the real garbage, like Shitstain and company. If I could wish for the cancellation of just one season, it would be this one. Season 4 – 0% – Lowering the intelligence quotient of the characters in order to maintain the impression of a continuous stream of jokes contrasts so much with the attempts at sad drama that I would honestly have preferred for showrunner Stephen Falk to punch me in the face rather than try to continue the already stretched-out storyline. Pure hatred, which I masochistically subject myself to even in its last (!) season. Season 5 – 40% – Reconciliation. At least to the extent that Stephen Falk's efforts have convinced me that Gretchen and Jimmy are supposed to be real characters with some lived moments. That's the only reason I'm able to overlook the well-crafted (but ultimately somewhat futile) flashforwards or the awkwardly shining episode with Paul's family, which inexplicably parodies the great film Call Me by Your Name. The biggest failure, which I'm now trying with all my might to forget, is the treatment of Lindsay's character. Apart from the fact that she definitively comes across as an empty figure in the last season, the writers also use her to exploit every last cliché and end her character just as you would have expected. Without that, this would have been a meaningful spectacle in the last year (possibly thanks to the episode The Intransigence of Love, which shows that the main creator could actually tell a good story outside of this toxic mishmash). However, despite my originally zero expectations, I am paradoxically disappointed – and I never want to hear anything about them again.

Not all English towns in TV series are irresistible. Some you would move to immediately, others would at least be worth careful exploration. Not Blackpool, though. At first glance, it appears to be a filthy backwater where no one can be completely happy and sooner or later their troubles will come to the surface. And on second glance? Like a filthy backwater where, in addition to troubles, various secrets float to the surface. Perhaps an unexpected murder of a scoundrel from next door. At that moment, not only does an investigation begin, carried out by a likable detective with a taste for all kinds of unhealthy treats, but also a great family drama, at the end of which the fates of all involved will be irreversibly transformed. And, as is customary in British TV series, I marveled at the individual performances of the actors playing the main family, their friends, and acquaintances. But, as is not often the case with British TV series, many heated situations are resolved with perfectly fitting musical interludes. And in combination with unexpected mood changes, such a creative direction works perfectly. At the center of it all, two kings named David stand against each other. And both David Tennant as Peter Carlisle and David Morrissey as Ripley Holden capture all attention deservedly with every deep or harsh glance or unexpected grimace. And even though the pace of the last two episodes may have slowed down a bit too much, Blackpool will still not escape the jackpot of the highest ratings. It is precisely the sticky atmosphere of a place where no one really wants to be that has seeped too deeply under the skin, and it doesn't seem like it wants to leave anytime soon.

Season 1 – 70% – Bill Lawrence knows how to send unforgettable sitcoms out into the world, and even though he only wrote the first episode of this contrast in situations between the people from the highest and the lowest floors, his signature is apparent. Whether it's because he's combining work and relationships again or because the main chauvinistic boss with an occasionally soft heart is played by John C. McGinley, who is a few wrinkles richer and a handful of hair poorer. All of Mansfield's intimidating tactics are reminiscent of Perry Cox in full force, and it's a shame that, unlike Scrubs, he doesn't have as many people to play off of. Surprisingly, the series works much better on the waves between him and Skylar Astin, who are clearly on the same comedic wavelength, while the main love story between Brody and Jenny sometimes feels like just a box to be ticked. Nevertheless, the first ten episodes flew by, and despite the inconsistent humor of the individual storylines or the well-crafted supporting characters, it's hard not to wonder where the whole plot will go without getting stuck in one place. Season 2 – 80% – The more annoying the Harvard and ground floor storylines are, especially in the first episodes, the more pleasantly Brody's effort to achieve previous successes and deserved happiness comes across. The second year of this crazy party burns even bolder (Threepeat's appearance in news reporting), more relationship-oriented, and surprisingly, even more cohesive. And as is often the case with pleasant and mood-lifting sitcoms in recent years, the best came at the end. The phenomenal two-part wedding episode, loaded with great ideas, life-like dialogue, and surprising twists, remains the last thing that TBS gave me. The fact that it was the best of the series is a sad irony because the singing Brody, the forever cheerful Jenny, and the perfectly arrogant Mansfield grew on me more and more with each episode.

My Fair Gillady pays the same price that a sadly high percentage of new sitcoms have been struggling with for the past few years. In the pilot, it only hints at a fraction of its potential, with a some episodes targeting its potential audience to varying degrees of success. But just when it finds its full strength and starts spewing out fresh ideas, perfectly fitting one-liners, and surprisingly powerful moments, the inevitable axe comes down from above. Watching a karaoke night where Sia's "Chandelier" was performed was bittersweet. Because when you see one of the most romantic and impactful moments that comedy series have offered me in recent years, and you know that this is slowly but surely fading away, it's not exactly cheerful. It's even more unfortunate because the divine Karen Gillan is truly growing with each episode, moving further away from her originally shallow character and occasionally even being given appropriately serious moments by the script. Selfie was lifted higher as a result. Although I saw its concept as seasonal at first, I've come to the sad realization that I would willingly follow this story for years.