Isherwood

Art in its most crystalline form, an eccentric romp, or the author's black-humored trap for the audience? Perhaps a bit of each because capturing the basic human need for the beginning and end of the digestive cycle has some significance. Yet in the quick inter-cutting of five static shots, the idea of the film somehow escapes the average viewer and the whole short becomes just a boldly directed pose against the standard limits of taste and conventions of the film image.

A compelling sci-fi whodunit on the edge of the noir genre. Kathryn Bigelow has a way with L.A. at night and never once leaves the seedy alleys of corrupt life on all sides of the law. Ralph Fiennes, another very unpredictable protagonist, is very much at home and gives another of his excellent performances. James Cameron's screenplay is a superior work until the very end, which is an unpleasant concentration of all the genre clichés, including the final denouement, which could have broken down the fact that the killer is a gardener even better. Still, thanks to the strange mood of the Y2K scare (by the way, probably one of the most realistic variations on this haunting theme in its time), Strange Days is as impressive as it can be, despite the exorbitant runtime, and much can be forgiven in terms of the film’s negatives.

This comic adaptation lacks logic and the plot is too simple. It tries in vain to hide behind the cool visual coat of a long music video, which loses its impact after only a few minutes due to confusing editing and routine camerawork. A big budget doesn't make a good film, and the polished city of 2415 feels too cold and the costumes seem to have fallen out of a more extravagant boutique of contemporary fashion rather than reflecting the times. It's unfortunate that Charlize Theron successfully reaches for the title of the silver screen's sexiest comic book heroine and that Marton Csokas will one day be more than just "the guy who fought Matt Damon in The Bourne Supremacy" if more directors become interested in him, simply because neither of them raises the quality of the film any higher. However, the ending that paraphrases one of the first chapters of the Bible really is quite funny.

With big glasses, a mismatched jacket, running shoes, a guitar on his back, and a katana in his hand, the lone warrior wanders the post-nuclear wasteland to Lost Vegas to become the king of rock 'n' roll when Elvis calls it quits after 40 years. Fans of Tarantino's samurai epic should rethink their perspective because Buddy's journey in the company of a mute little man is an odyssey worthy of a Greek hero. You'll tend to forgive the inspiration it takes from Mad Max and the few scripting and logical flaws because they are amply made up for by the ultra-cool facade of not only the main character but the film as a whole. The cameraman doesn't skimp on the views from below, the fight choreography is great even without blood splatter, and the dry vision of the post-apocalyptic world is so evocative that you'll also feel like you're standing in an endless desert. The costume designers obviously went through a lot of looks from both rock ‘n’ roll and metal bands to find the right pieces to fit the protagonists. And when you add in the excellent musical score with its clear message that Elvis is alive, this is one of the most original spectacles that has somewhat incomprehensibly remained hidden from the eyes of the wider viewing public.

Vladimír Morávek has taken up the standard trend of Czech cinema, i.e., the tragicomic dissection of human fates, for the second time. While Boredom in Brno had a good theme (loss of virginity), in this film, together with co-writer Jan Budař, they cruelly overdid it. For the first twenty minutes, the relationship between two mentally simple individuals using humorous lines like "You're a dick!" more or less works, but halfway through the film, the reality show criticism falls apart for Morávek. The plot then stagnates, and those individuals who can endure the boredom are treated to an impressive ending in a Prague crematorium, but even that is somewhat insufficient. There are no further breakthroughs in the history of film, but rather a sad confirmation of the established rule that nothing other than films like this can be made in the Czech Republic at the moment. The crisis of Czech cinema in full swing!

Carpenter lays down some pretty solid arcs here in his unmistakable style, making Prince of Darkness into another great serving of what horror has to offer. The suffocating atmosphere created by the simple masks, the artful work with the unknown evil descending on the earth, and the brilliant horror music can be felt throughout. In addition, the more than solid script, interestingly working with the "clichés" of the Satan cult, works alongside this, which makes me almost give it the best possible review. However, in the end, it's still standard Carpenter, with no proper innovation in the formal procedures, and the sense he occasionally steals from his past works is very evident to more knowledgeable viewers, and some things can be predicted ahead of time (such as the kill list). Despite this, the most important thing (the viewer's emotions) remains, and so I give it four stars with a clear conscience.

Ed Wood feat. Uwe Boll Once upon a time, Pterodactyls appeared in Turkey. No one knows how they got there, but it is certain that somewhere in those forests (which, by pure coincidence, look exactly like Czech forests, particularly the picturesque village with the little church on the hill is a real mystery in a Muslim country) there was also a group of about ten rebels, which the Turkish army couldn't handle, so they had to be subdued by "black-op" American troops, and they were helped by a bunch of enthusiastic pundits in the field whose idiotic behavior and bullshit are only the beginning. The direction is tiresome, the cinematography messy, the music is terrible, the effects are lame, there’s no logic, and this film is definitely the biggest piece of shit in the last however many years. But you definitely have to see it!

Aja shows audiences an exhibition of bloody violence in the most stylish form currently available. With a perfect rendering of the psychological attachments to the individual characters (a very uncertain order on the death certificate!) and the utmost sense of craftsmanship in handling the tension, the horror, and the viewer's disgust, the director really does work miracles. The excellent soundtrack often does much more than the standard "jump-scare" and the endless desert environment is also quite unpleasant. However, it somewhat falters due to the poorly chosen script, but it is one in which a good dose of cynical detachment kicks in, meaning that the overly pathetic ending so many people talk about is more so funny, and I mean that in a good way. This is because the American national anthem sung by the mutant, or the entrance of one of the protagonists with a shotgun in hand to the accompaniment of an ultra-heroic musical score clearly proves that Aja has his head screwed on straight in addition to his talent. And if the plot of his next film is less predictable, it's clearer than ever that things will still happen in Hollywood thanks to this young Frenchman.

Besson's screenplay is the standard bullshit about saving a city, honor, and one babe. The extra political agitprop is more or less laughable, but director Pierre Morel works wonders to turn the film into a non-stop action affair, where the longest spoken intermezzo is ten seconds long so that the protagonists can spout some ultra-cool catchphrase and then launch into another parkour inferno. They’ll be climbing on balconies, and jumping on hoods, and there is also some shooting. Viewers won't even bother to count after a while. In terms of an audience of disposable consumers of contemporary French exports, it’s the ultimate hit. I admit it, I had a great time too!

Kevin Smith threw away the traditional methods of romantic comedies and built his own distinctive version of love on the skeleton of sexual differences and sins of youth. Apart from a certain amount of "cultivated vulgarity," the film is also witty and insightful, but at the same time so straightforwardly true that most mature (?) viewers will bite their lips while watching it. The cast seems oblivious to the camera and they just spew out gut-wrenching dialogue worthy of a genius that all disappointed lovers should write in their diaries. If you’re not searching for your own Amy, you can safely avoid this.