POMO

Don’t expect a typical thriller. The German Doctor uses Argentinian film optics, i.e. silent and “empty”, without suspense or twists. Rather than a thriller, it’s a drama without a single tragedy that satisfies itself with mere suggestions. It’s not chilling and Mengele’s character is not scary: he looks like a more mysterious and attractive version of Franco Nero. Viewers will feel unsettled and experience some mild anger (caused by powerlessness and unfairness), but only after the film ends and they process it. Anyway, I’m glad that this unique subject has finally been made into a film and I am curious about the (very likely) American remake. I know I keep repeating myself, but once again, I’d like to see David Fincher making this, in a nice old school-way à la Se7en.

If all Czech TV series looked like this and all the Czech film productions at least came close to it, even the French would bow down before us. And I’d buy my first TV. Dating, loneliness, needs, complexes and situations both happy and sad, presented with unprecedented grace in terms of both acting and direction. Colorful characters and feelings and uniquely beautiful Prague locations. And the best lesbian massage in the history of cinema! Is Jan Hřebejk really this good? I’d like to give this five stars, but only after watching the other ten episodes.

The courtroom and the incident handled there serve only as a cover for the family drama in which city boy Robert Downey Jr. re-establishes his relationship with his small-town family, led by Robert Duvall. As such, it can’t be compared to courtroom dramas like A Time to Kill or The Rainmaker. The Judge is halfway between them and the sentimental Marvin's Room. Both Roberts play great. Downey’s character seems to be written just for him, and Duvall excels in his role. However, some supporting characters (the sexy daughter played by Vera Farmiga and Dax Shepard’s inexperienced lawyer) slow the film down unnecessarily. They are not relevant enough for the story and merely disrupt the development of the complicated father/son relationship, which is of key importance for the film. On the other hand, the interesting lawyer played by Billy Bob Thornton could have been given more space. The once innovative and majestic music by Thomas Newman (used in Frank Darabont’s and Sam Mendes’s movies) has become a synonym for straightforward sentimental “music for the soul” of the consumer viewer, which is unfortunately what The Judge turns out to be. It’s not a bad movie, but its creators could have aspired to more.

“What we are is the sum of everything we've ever said, done and felt all wrapped up in one unique thread, which is constantly being revised and remembered. To be yourself, you have to constantly remember yourself.” Trance is a sophisticated game with the audience that doesn’t make much sense (it has put too much on its shoulders), but is unpredictable from start to finish and damn entertaining, mysterious and sexy. Danny Boyle is having fun here with a kaleidoscopically varied perception of events and confused character motivations, and reveals his weakness for Brian De Palma’s fast-paced thrillers.

With the second instalment of his Human Centipede, the extremist Tom Six fills a gap in the history of cinema. He breaks taboos (pregnant woman, child) and develops the remarkable idea of the first film to such an extreme that only an ignoramus (that is, someone who is ignorant of the “splatter” subgenre) will fail to appreciate his ability to mold the fusion of horror and ultimate violence and disgust into such a surrealistically comical shape, without any traces of humor. True, he lacks the detached perspective of a young Peter Jackson. But his product is too professional to fulfil the parameters of trash and the deviance and anger of the realistically portrayed main character seem plausible and will unsettle some sensitive and hitherto untouched areas of your mind. But of course you have to be the right target audience. In my teenage years, I curiously searched the minds of the creators of films such as Cannibal Holocaust, Pink Flamingos and NEKROmantik – why and how they made such movies. And in a constant flood of Hollywood production, I enjoyed their otherness. I also enjoyed the second Human Centipede, which is more cinematic and dramatic than the first instalment, without a single boring moment and full of ideas that hold together and nicely escalate into a “grand finale”.

How could a movie that tries to feed the audience such outrageous theories attempt to look so serious? And what was Luc Besson smoking when he wrote this? Scarlett Johansson made my eyes happy, but my brain got the medieval treatment.

The Chimney is a cute portrait of the life of country kids and what they do in their free time. We observe them goofing around in non-contiguous still images without music, from which they run out and return to as if these hyperactive little creatures were just a break from postcards of rural still-lifes. Interesting camera stylization. Adults appear only rarely, so they do not interfere with the playful simplicity of the children’s world blending harmoniously with the sound of the wind in the garden or the rain outside the window. A film that doesn’t really say much about anything, but has a very unique and pleasant poetic tone.

Monologues of two elderly pill addicts. They’re totally out of it from dusk to dawn. They’re irritated, roaming the streets or wandering around their houses, thinking only about the next pill. Whether they’re talking to each other or to themselves, the conversation is pointless and lacks logic. For 80 minutes, we watch them in various situations, while the director doesn’t ask them anything, doesn’t analyze their past, doesn’t portray them as victims but rather as stray zombies. The movie does not go anywhere and offers no resolution. In the discussion after the screening, the director said that one of the old men from the movie was his father, which explains why he made the movie in the first place. What I personally don’t get, however, is why he is forcing his “work of art” on viewers. And why doesn’t he - together with the whole documentarist community - make documentaries about successful people who stand on their own two feet, have inspirational life stories and encourage positive thinking. Argh!

Stanley is the kind of trash horror movie that just can’t be watched from beginning to end. At least a few times, you will have to avert your gaze to look at, for example, your tablet for a minute to make sure that you have not missed something of even the slightest interest during those wasted 100 minutes. The film has guilty-pleasure potential, which could have been higher had the pace of its narration been faster. The performances of the supporting actors and the camerawork + editing in some scenes are must-see hell.

One hundred minutes of watching drug addicts, alcoholics and other half-wits, half of whom don’t know why they are voluntarily in a place where they’re offered a helping hand, and a priest who started to help them after surviving a climbing accident (and who interpreted this accident as a sign from God that he should start helping these people). An exhausting experience.