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Season 1 – 70% – Given the fascinating dynamics of all the relationships between the main trio, I almost don't want to complain, but I was simply expecting something more from the first steps beyond the Fringe. The comparison to The X-Files is perfectly accurate in terms of genre, slightly paranoid atmosphere, as well as the fact that even Mulder and Scully had their troubles maintaining quality in the first season and only later reached truly legendary storylines. The team around J.J. Abrams deserves credit for their efforts to tie together even the least attractive cases into one big narrative tapestry in the last two episodes. I may have many criticisms regarding the pace and paradoxical simplicity of individual plots, but when it is revealed in the very finale where the whole Fringe matter is likely to lead, all I want is to dive headfirst into this world. However, for now, I can only give it three stars in the rating, perhaps somewhat preemptively. Nonetheless, I have no doubt about the future improvement in quality. Season 2 – 70% – Surprisingly, it follows the same development as a year before. The purely episodic plots are almost shameful rip-offs of early The X-Files (the visions in Dream Logic, the telepathy in Of Human Action, the beings in Johari Window), and even though the relationships between characters remain the most delicious component, the long-term storylines achieve success only sporadically. The whole affair surrounding the shape-shifters seems somewhat stretched, while the foundations of the individual doorways connected to the passages give the necessary tension and emotions, especially in the excellent final two-parter, which unhesitatingly becomes the best story so far. I just wish that such a significant change in the game had a stronger follow-up than what happened between the first and second year. Because if the screenwriting team with such immense potential also squanders the next opportunity, all the efforts of the Bishop clan might become insufficient. Season 3 – 85% – The plot splits into two specific lines, where every banality can have fatal consequences, and the series finally stands on its own. The atmosphere of impending catastrophe, which sooner or later must arrive, has finally captivated me with the Harvard team, and the acting opportunities that are provided, especially to Anna Torv, are so ingenious that I can't stop marveling. The twist-packed (yet perfectly functioning) final episode is a leap into the unknown, which is even more endearing to me because it can end either as a triumph or an absolute disaster. Season 4 – 60% – A huge step backward that can't be justified by the fact that the series is starting or by an attempt to test the tolerance of its viewers. The reboot of the universe also encompasses a reboot of the concept itself, and after experiencing an engaging and often gripping serialized story a season earlier, the episodic supernatural procedural becomes maddening at times. However, when the trinity finally gets back together and fringe science crosses over the titular boundary, we can speak of a last-minute rescue. Still, I can't help but feel that the potential is possibly only 33 percent exploited, and all the time manipulations, alternative universes, Observers, and everything else are most of the time just backdrops for unnecessary repetitions like those involving David Robert Jones. However, there is one shining hope. The episode "Letters of Transit" is the best of the whole series and primarily hints at the end of an era. Only in this direction does the path now lead towards a dignified (and theoretically truly revolutionary) continuation. Season 5 – 80% – A step into the unknown, a new series, a change in genre. We can call the fifth season whatever we want, but we can't deny the courage of the creators. Just when one previously unthinkable storyline unfolds before me after another (Etta, Peter, and the Observer's identity, Donald), I realize over and over again that the original concept has become remarkably diluted over four seasons, and it's time to move on. And even though I'm not a big fan of the post-apocalyptic genre, J.H. Wyman, as the writer of all the crucial moments of later years, succeeded in this. Sometimes, he unnecessarily gets lost in several standalone episodic moments but then compensates with logically escalating tension, a perfect trio of final episodes, and pushing Joshua Jackson to his best performances. Although Fringe had its weak moments, and it wasn't always easy to look forward to the next episodes, it always managed to hit the right sensitive note at the end. Despite not fully realizing its potential, I mostly have positive memories of it.

Season 1 – 90% – Everything in the supernatural genre has been said in recent years, and every newcomer must try an approach that will at least slightly differentiate them. And Toby Whithouse wrote his series from the world of darkness and blood and attempted it... in a completely ordinary, human, and civil way. At times, it really seems that Mitchell, George, and Annie will play out their stories purely through dialogue, small jokes, and interpersonal interactions with neighbors, acquaintances, friends, or lovers. But then there wouldn't be the gang around the slimeball Harrick, which frames their efforts with a clash with a group of (how else but completely elegantly) acting bloodsuckers. Because I expected mostly light entertainment from this haunted house, I remain shocked at how successful it was even in more serious aspects. A unique achievement that surprises with each subsequent storyline. Season 2 – 90% – More serious, bloodier, bigger. And damn more depressing. In the opening episode, the BBC gave me quite a few wrinkles because there was very little left of the original concept, perhaps only the main characters. The plot felt like a really bloody horror, and the motivations of the supporting characters felt unnecessarily rushed. But it was just a matter of getting used to it and accepting the fact that the life path on which a vampire, a werewolf, and a ghost are embarking has taken a significantly darker direction. A direction in which tears or a genuinely suffocating emotional atmosphere are not far away, but the viewer's reward is all the more substantial. In the end, I just sat there exhausted and nodded in admiration for the diversity of genres that can be squeezed into eight episodes. It is hard to say how long such a specific spectacle can continue, but at this moment (partly also for the incredible courage of putting this into prime time) Being Human lands the highest rating. Season 3 – 100% – From the initial trip to the other world to the devastating conclusion, it may be the most engaging thing the British TV world has ever offered me. The way the central gang, along with the episodic cast, has matured in their acting and the boundaries the uncompromising screenplay forces them to push constantly made me sit on the edge of my seat, frozen, and only occasionally wipe away beads of sweat. The price for humanity is sometimes unattainably high, and anxieties, crimes, and all the bad things from the past tend to appear just when vampires, ghosts, or werewolves need them the least. At the very end, I could only silently admire the perfect gradation and fear that now the entire supernatural coexistence can only go downhill. But the ending shouldn't have been a surprise. Season 4 – 100% – The more complex the situation facing main creator Toby Whithouse was, the more admirably he dealt with it. It was really a close shave and the whole concept collapsing in his hands at a critical moment, but he held it together, revived it, and brought it to a completely captivating chapter. With Hal comes a rough and hard-to-tame force, which, thanks to the contrast with Damien Molony's certain elegance, becomes the surprising highlight of the entire eight-episode season. And while I don't usually demand naturalistic moments from a series, they fit perfectly in the fight against an ancient prophetic prophecy. In a sense, this season is the end of an era. And I was just trembling, hoping the quality would remain this high even in the officially last season. Season 5 – 85% – The rating is weaker than in previous years, but that by no means makes it a poor relative. On the contrary, it is precisely the fact that this coda, with its surprisingly far-fetched plot based on a battle against absolute evil, brought the whole effort to a honest and mood-perfect ending, that cements Being Human as an unforgettable achievement, and ultimately one of my favorite supernatural TV worlds. The final airing is filled with painfully gained experiences or sad failures, but even more apparently than ever before, it exudes an effort to be more humane than humans themselves. While in the first seasons, it was more about trying just to live and handle your own skeletons in the closet; the last two seasons are about the burning desire to change something. And that is admirable, captivating, and incredibly moving – but above all, terribly difficult.

When the love or motivation of the main characters is formed by a single bit of dialogue or a transparent situation, not even excellent casting can help. Kit Harington, Kiefer Sutherland, and Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje can work hard to bring some freshness to their stereotypical characters, but it only lasts until the script inserts another one-word confession into their mouths. After the highly entertaining The Three Musketeers, I expected Paul W.S. Anderson's next journey into history to be a perfect fit, but despite the fights, horses, destruction, or lava of Pompeii, it puts you to sleep more than it entertains you.

Okay, Hazel Grace? Moments of laughter, moments of tears – and the whole time with clenched fists, cheering for one miracle. The stars might not have been on Jim's side, but they were on ours. Because we could witness a captivating, intimate, and deeply personal love story. Personal not because Augustus has a Mass Effect poster at home or because he watches Buffy the Vampire Slayer with Hazel. Not even because I would definitely date a grenade of a girl. No, it's because until the very last breath, I admire how two people – despite illnesses, pain, and heart-wrenching disappointments looming every day – can give each other everything. And those who have loved before understand that a smile with tear-filled eyes is a constant state when it comes to these Stars.

The number one in the title signifies the position of the creators' greatest motor sport in their personal hobbies. They want to tell us everything about it – or at least something about everything. As a result, it necessarily ends up somewhat fragmented in terms of the overall history of the Formula One race, but some powerful moments make up for everything else, especially for those of us who did not experience that deadly time. Paul Crowder and Mark Monroe build a monumental monument to everyone who paid the highest price for their love of stepping on the pedal, and it is precisely in the divided and emotional memories of past rivals, friends, or lovers that the documentary is painfully powerful.

Bryan Singer's return to the Gifted Youngsters was eagerly awaited by the whole film world, and the feeling you get when the universes of X:Men: First Class and the classic adventures intermingle onscreen is relatively unmatched when it comes to sending chills down your spine. There's no denying that this mouthful was a truly enormous one, and thanks to the participation of virtually all surviving mutants, the X-Men: Days of Future Past grows into a truly epic event. Therefore, a running time of just over two hours is actually pitifully little for such a fateful combination. There is a heap of important events, heartbreaking speeches, and moments that will have a solid place in the entire saga, but precisely because of everything that needs to happen, there is no room for a proper break. It either requires another screening or, if possible, a more sprawling director's cut, which would have a real chance of becoming the best mutant spectacle. So far, it stands at hesitant 90%, which mainly saddens me because young Magneto has a somewhat conflicting role and behavioral shifts (not consistent with his character, for example, in X-Men 2), and I still don't know if Trask was even a villain. On the other hand, the emphasis on the development of Mystique is a pleasant surprise, as is the fact that Charles Xavier's rock bottom feels perfectly natural. And why does it still end up getting five stars in the end? The ending. For a person who has seen most of the installments several times and still worships the first X-Men as one of the best comic book movie franchises ever, the feeling of (semi)closure of one chapter is so poignant that I would forgive much more than just a few loose ends.

When this mismatched group appeared in Back to Earth, I was firmly convinced that it would be their last adventure, one that would symbolically conclude the Red Dwarf escapades on a slightly more serious note. I approached the tenth season without much faith, but I am glad that the six new episodes don't diminish, but instead transform the intermezzo into a stop that spurred Lister to renew old aspirations and desires. Trying to connect with the spirit of incidents that first appeared over a quarter of a century ago was a huge risk, which fortunately paid off. Although half the time the plots are only half-hearted, once the ongoing jokes become more intricate and the storylines escalate, it becomes powerful again. This is thanks in part to the episode Lemons, which I might include among the very best in the entire history of the series.

What was promised the most, namely a new look at that notorious destroyer of skyscrapers, ultimately never came. The human factor brings a lot of unnecessary subplots and surprisingly transparent clichés, while the scientific background hides an elusive mass of rapid-fire technical jargon. And it is in vain that Gareth Edwards painstakingly conceals the monster in all its glory, so much so that I was literally exhausted from the eternal waiting and postponement even before the main attractions arrived. Given how high this was aiming, the letdown at the beginning of the closing credits was painfully sobering. The numerous explicitly nerve-racking scenes (the tunnel) thus manage to salvage at least some kind of experience only occasionally.

It is hard to say whether it's because Neil Burger is obviously maturing into a top director, but he managed to take reasonably successful source material and turn it into the most surprising film of the year. Even the first installments of the genre-similar Hunger Games pale in direct comparison, despite their stronger literary foundation, as they lacked a greater connection and subtle explanations in the adaptation. Divergence does this perfectly. The transformation of the main heroine is emphasized until the last sentence, making Shailene Woodley probably the most attractive Hollywood commodity for those aged 20 and above. Maybe it was thanks to the room full of twelve-year-old girls who were leaping into each other's arms with joy that they had actually made it to the highly anticipated premiere, but the atmosphere of the five factions chewed me up much more forcefully than I expected. I don't want to be just one thing.

The environment and era are changing, forgetting any idealism in terms of genre, moving from a number of surprising twists – and yet it's still number one. In the lead role remains a dedicated heartthrob, who you can't help but root for, and if I had to jump into any war, let it be the one where this guy is standing by my side. He is capable of clarifying the shadows of the past, lighting up the thickening future, and, in collaboration with the amazing Black Widow and the lovable Falcon, delivering lines in one continuous sequence against the backdrop of perfect action. Many may find plenty of mistakes in this comic book world, but I will not join them. A sixth five-star Marvel film in a row is no coincidence.