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The rumors about this being the inspiration for Joss Whedon's Firefly weren't kidding, because the crew of Cowboy Bebop, even limited to four and a half members, appears perfectly mismatched and absurd in many ways. However, this space cowboy takes it a step further in its incomprehensibility, covering almost all genres, and – most importantly – excelling in all of them. Whether through the horror-themed Toys in the Attic, the hilariously funny Mushroom Samba, or the action-packed and thought-provoking Pierrot Le Fou, they take the best elements from cliché narrative techniques and transform them into a very savory result. And yet, paradoxically, this still isn't enough to earn the highest rating, precisely because of its episodic nature. While there are plenty of memorable lines, bullets fired, and Spike's deep looks, the main plot only gets about six episodes, which is a shameful waste considering the Syndicate's atmosphere and the charisma of Vicious himself.

Though the premise with a time machine from the end of the last century fell flat, it doesn't matter at all. What does matter is the approach of the mother station (in this case, more of an evil stepmother) NBC, which canceled the series just as it may have been reaching its peak. From an uncertain conversation with a few grins per episode, it had turned into a comedy where Sean Hayes delivers a wide range of grimaces, attitudes, and convoluted monologues, with increasingly polished guests (Craig Ferguson, Portia de Rossi, or the fabulous Guy Pearce) assisting him, and most importantly, the surprisingly flexible colleagues led by the comedically precise Megan Hilty and the hilariously stiff and hungry for fatherly love Thomas Lennon. It was an uncertain bet, but it should have paid off. Because the only season doesn't end with an exaggerated cliffhanger due to the halted filming, I'm crowning the main character with a fourth star. And I believe it will make him happy.

It's hard to say why exactly an enthusiastic and completely unserious musical can evoke so many negative emotions, but it happened. For me, the story of the Bourbon Room works as pleasant nostalgia, as a perfect showcase for Tom Cruise, and as a pleasant romance touring the most famous clichés. To the film itself, the fact that the modern era favors musical adaptations and I had already heard most of the songs performed elsewhere (see the series Glee, which Adam Shankman himself directed multiple times) could be seen as a bit of a drawback, but even that doesn't matter. When Alec Baldwin bravely starts singing, I completely lose interest in nitpicking. This is simply a feel-good movie that aims to entertain based on catchy familiar melodies, and accusing it of disrespecting some kind of rock spirit would be incredibly naive.

As long as Darren Aronofsky and Clint Mansell keep going back to the style of The Fountain, everything is in the best order, and I just marvel at how this well-known theme can be told purely through characters in epic settings. And it doesn't even matter that Darren turned the script into something like Transformers: Origins. But when Noah's escalating paranoia starts to explicitly infuriate, I start shaking my head at times, and at that point the dramatically mature Emma Watson has to salvage more than she should. Actually, even a day after viewing, I couldn't decipher the puzzle with incredible visuals and annoyance from constant dialogues about the Creator or what is right. But because I'm not sure about any potential second viewing, I won't climb any higher even with the best will in the world.

A cult show that succeeded significantly more in its home country than it did overseas. And it is hard to say what most stands in the way of its success among Czech viewers, whether it's the significantly failed translation for dubbing or a barrage of homophobic comments hidden behind the omnipresent "I don't mind gays, but..." And because the average Czech viewer still cannot get over certain boundaries, the show, where one of the main male characters openly flirts with one guy after another and twists and grimaces in various ways, is mostly met with misunderstanding or more or less forced tolerance. But because this character is Jack McFarland played by the irrepressible clown Sean Hayes, I had no defense, and ever since the pilot episode I have been giggling along with this group, and from the third season on, I was openly roaring with laughter. But it's not just Jack's doing, it's also the increasingly likable, lifelike, and genuine Will, the sharp-witted Karen, who can have any man for breakfast and still give an innocent smile, and last but not least, of course, the titular character Grace, who is the most similar to all of us due to her habits, transgressions, and peculiar life decisions. Will & Grace simply deserves to be ranked alongside the most beloved sitcoms because it works exactly as legendary comedies should. That is, you don't have to understand the circumstances (see the brilliant episode inspired by The Sound of Music) and yet you can't stop laughing. Or that you wish Grace happiness, no matter who she is currently trying to have a relationship with. Or that when Jack enters the room, you desperately want him to start singing or dancing. Those who are not afraid of literally rapid-fire dialogues in the original English should not hesitate and enjoy W&G from the beginning. This foursome is worth giving a chance, no matter what you may have thought after a fleeting glimpse during the afternoon TV lineup. The revival from 2017 is then only cautiously semi-canonical, as it denies some of the most important events of the second half of the series, but the basic eight seasons are an eternal legend. It's funny cause it's sad...

Seasons 1-3 – 85% – Almost over the line, potentially incomprehensible under greater viewer scrutiny, and increasingly original thanks to escalating plots and creative courage. Some, like myself, will fall in love with the pseudo-clever illusionist Gob, some with Lucille, the stiff neck of the family, and some perhaps with the perpetually uncertain George Michael. Nevertheless, it is a joy to watch a family where even the most ordinary member is extraordinary. Some of the scripted repartee of the Bluths are true diamonds (ongoing jokes, led by the chicken dance), and the only thing that spoils my pleasure are the entanglements with the imprisonment of George Sr. or Oscar and the related resolution of various family scams. However, these three unnecessarily short seasons are a true treasure for anyone looking for something previously unbeknownst to sitcoms. Season 4 – 70% – A long-awaited return that is definitely not for everyone. The concept of intertwining is pushed to the limit of viewer tolerance, some main characters seem more like secondary ones (which hurts my favorite Lindsay the most in later episodes), and Mitchell Hurwitz is setting up several tie-ins for future endeavors. The new season, therefore, lacks the coherence of the older episodes, but that doesn't mean there is no fun to be had with the Bluth family. It's just different and very, very specific – with the phenomenal Isla Fisher as a new, almost inseparable character. Season 5 – 60% – A swan song, where the funniest part was the anticipation and constant assurance that it would start filming soon. The same assurance that ultimately lasted several years. The way it was served in two parts turned out to be a somewhat cruel decision, but that's the least of its problems. The attempt to continuing the original poetics is full of cramps, largely owing to numerous problems behind the scenes in recent years, and cannot be completely filtered out even with the greatest effort (Jeffrey Tambor's behavior towards Jessica Walter, the racist David Cross, Will Arnett visibly more destroyed by alcohol). The long-term storylines are either too stretched (Fakeblock, the wall, Lucille Austero) or desperately boring, and I feel like fast-forwarding through them (unfortunately, mostly anything with Tobias). Fortunately, even this sad ordeal cannot kill the potential of good running jokes ("The Final Countdown" is perfect, even if it's used a hundred times) or the chemistry of the main ensemble. That's why I'm even more disappointed by the forced flashbacks or the absence of Lindsay and the glaring green screen. Arrested Development is saying goodbye in its definitely weakest period, but it cannot destroy the memories of the original concept – and it also makes the viewer mournfully reflect on how far the series could have grown if it had been given the chance it deserved at the beginning.

If you were expecting a carefree adventure with a pleasant mood from the last standalone episode of an era, which allows space for one last breath before jumping into the water, you couldn't have been further from the truth. The enemies are effectively moldering zombies and the expedition is hurtling toward an unpleasant end with every step. And the Doctor? He would tear open the heavens even for a forbidden rescue. During the most intense scenes, even the most loyal David Tennant-freaks get chills down their spines, and the wait for the End of Time suddenly becomes more demanding than ever before.

A special without the need to wrap the plot around a Christmas atmosphere promised a mindless adventure, and thanks to the very lovely Michelle Ryan and the mood reminiscent of Raiders of the Lost Ark, it also brought it to me. Likewise, the relaxing adrenaline rush of David Tennant fits perfectly after various farewells and moving moments (and before a proper dose of others) and leaves only the most pleasant memories of the flying bus.

Victorian London is always one of my greatest temptations and therefore it is a shame that the story with the second companion, calling "Allons-y!", remains the weakest Russell T. Davies special. I had already enjoyed the Cybermen enough by then and I didn't need to know any more details about their threads and circuits. Nevertheless, this journey eventually takes off at a good pace because instead of one David shooting with charisma, there are even two. David Morrissey supports David Tennant's usual melodramatics more than adequately, and when the winter atmosphere brings out the right family values, I start to get excited, I don't even know why.

The original, of course, remains a cut above, but despite the hesitant storyline, I must discreetly give Wendy's offspring a leg up in my rating. Even in the most bare, simplified variations, Neverland captivates perfectly for a place we've seen before, and moves with unbelievable force at the very end. Above all, it features one of the most famous villains of all time at its service: Captain Hook need only pleasantly smile and it would still be a fabulous spectacle.