POMO

Because it’s afraid of its own shadow, this little tearjearker is unable to rise above the level of a soap-operatic interpretation of the whole event. If it were fictional and without top-tier actors, it would be absolutely unappealing and never would have been screened in cinemas. There are a few sort-of powerful scenes and some emotion, but all of that was present in Ladder 49, which, though equally sentimental, is more sophisticated in terms of its screenplay. I'm not saying that the screenwriters should have adapted reality to the needs of the film, but they could have at least added one or two secondary storylines. It takes a lot of patience to spend two hours watching a couple of guys praying while they’re trapped in the rubble and their wives waiting for them at home.

The psychology that is such an integral part of Mann’s masterpiece Heat is unfortunately lacking in Miami Vice, though for understandable reasons. This is a summer movie, after all. With the exception of a few dialogue gems, the screenplay is just a run-of-the-mill crime thriller and the film’s dynamics don’t even come close to living up to the promise of the high-octane trailer. However, maestro Michael Mann managed to turn such shit into a flick with a few memorable highlights. For me, those are Colin Farrell and Li Gong’s first ride together in a speedboat with Moby providing the musical accompaniment, Mann’s traditional, inimitable tactical and realistic approach to action and the poetics of the ending, from which no one emerges as a clear winner.

Needless bombast and excessive length versus great sea monsters and a slimy (literally and to the letter!) villain played by Bill Nighy and his makeup/digital magicians. Johnny Depp is equally good, but he has nothing left to surprise us with. Throw out part of that storyline and cut the runtime down to 120 minutes, and this would be worthy of four stars.

Though its simple in terms of content, this is a very nicely shot Russian mini-film dripping with Russian theatricality. But because of its almost fairy-tale simplicity, that somehow doesn’t matter.

The Da Vinci Code is flat, tedious and visually unappealing. And for me, as an atheist who at most acknowledges faith in himself, the plot is also unappealing. With the exception of Ian McKellen, the actors are bland and the only thing above average here is Hans Zimmer’s dark music. I haven’t read the book, and now I definitely won’t read it. Typical Hollywood tripe sold through brilliant marketing.

Eight Below is a pleasant family movie that surprisingly isn’t about people being rescued by heroic dogs, as you would expect from the still photographs and Disney’s clichéd production. Frank Marshall again plays a fair game and, besides the children, the cute pups and one comedic character (Jason Biggs), the film doesn’t irritate the adult intellect or those allergic to sentimentality. There is a tolerable amount of that here and the actors turn in better-than-average performances in the context of the genre. The scenes with the solo dogs are handled superbly and the natural scenery is beautiful. Only the film’s runtime is a bit of a problem – it runs out of steam in the second third. But if your heart softens merely at the sight of the sad dog eyes, you'll give Eight Below four stars.

As Hollywood eye-candy entertainment for a young audience, The Last Stand is flawless. As a sequel to Singer’s X-Men 2, however, it’s just sad. Brett Ratner is an enthusiastic filmmaker, an aficionado of nice images, effects and movie heroes, but he’s too superficial and childish for the meaningfulness of the material that Bryan Singer outlined before him. The character of Juggernaut (Vinnie Jones) and the occasional lapses in logic seem to have fallen out of a game adaptation by Paul W.S. Anderson and the film has more in common with Fantastic Four than with its predecessors. At the age of seventeen, when I loved Commando because there was “always something happening” in it, I would have liked The Last Stand best out of all of the X-Men movies. P.S. If Singer had added “his own thing” to the high-octane screenplay and shot it himself with a straighter face and a more modest 120-minute runtime, this really could have been the best instalment of the franchise.

Alongside The Silence of the Lambs, this is the most powerful psycho-thriller ever. Seven is a gem of the genre in which every filmmaking component is stretched to the absolute limit, along with the viewer’s nerves, emotions and psyche. Darkness that will take your breath away and keep you up at night.

Poseidon could have run 130 minutes. The first 40 minutes would have traditionally been focused on the characters. But the screenplay takes a rather more popcorn approach, capsizing the ship after only ten minutes, during which it touches on each of the main characters for barely a minute in passing. We learn more, though still very little, about them continuously in the remaining 80 minutes, during the escape from the “bottom” of the ship to its “deck” – and by that point, we’re in Deep Blue Sea, but without the sharks. There is thus not much to the characters and the brief emotional tremors as they gradually die off are contrived. There is practically no story. However, I’m giving it a strong three stars for its absolutely shockingly unnerving, claustrophobic scenes. Though Poseidon is an empty and occasionally dumb movie, in technical terms it is a perfectly executed roller-coaster ride of thrills that is never boring for even a second. Still, it’s not as cool and unpredictable as Deep Blue Sea.

Nobody who knows what high-quality sex is would rate Paris Hilton as good or skilful in this porn flick.