DaViD´82

The Tolkeinite inside me is surprised to find where the Hobbits disappeared to when Isengard was flooded. The believer inside me is incensed over disrespect to the Word of our Lord and the unbeliever in me just shakes his head in disbelief over that really current “love Gaia" message... In any case, the movie has its own style and is interesting in the best meaning of the word; however much incongruous and slightly (really) slap-dash. Two thirds is a post apocalyptic vegan version of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers which perilously frequently topples on the brink unintentional ludicrousness, but doesn’t fall over it, thanks mainly to the charisma of Russell Crowe. The last third, however, suddenly becomes a heavy, existential intimate psycho-thriller with classic (although unfaithful to the Book) Old Testament dilemmas. And that is utterly outstanding. It just doesn’t have any connection with the preceding catastrophic epic fantasy.

I can't shake the feeling that it would have been better suited to the form of a two-hour film rather than a three-hour miniseries divided into four episodes, but it's still highly topical and, in its "it could happen in your neighborhood" realism, disturbingly chilling.

A female True Detective. Or isn’t True Detective a male version of Top of the Lake? It’s not just that it has the same cameraman and therefore has the same film-like and really darkly gritting appearance (the presentation of the beauties of New Zealand do not remind one of Lord of the Rings; apart from the fact that it’s all rain and fog and if you get lost you can toss a coin to find out if you’ll die of hunger or exposure). In both it applies that the case itself is of secondary importance (and here this applies a little more, since “who and how" becomes clear in the middle of the first episode). Both play more with symbolism, reading between the lines and the omni-present subliminal tension. In both it applies that when, on occasion, it lowers itself to be literal, it immediately loses a lot of its magic. Both have ambiguous characters, excellently written and played. Both play on a disconcerting string. Both are primarily about the characters, about life and all that... and both are perfect.

I may not speak Hungarian, but I am fluent in "Andersonian" and so once again his distinctive visual poetics suited me like few things. If nothing else, it can at least be taken as an example of what an adaptation of “I Served the King of England” by Karel Zeman would look like.

Does it go into depth and is it unbiased? It doesn’t, it isn’t, plus it’s decidedly melodramatic. The power of the documentary about years of protest in Tahrira lies in something else. It is direct. It gives the impression that it arose as a spontaneous event “come and film us protesting". It is direct in the moderate introduction “hand in hand, Muslim or Christian, let’s topple Mubarak’s regime", it is direct during “let’s topple the military regime and begin to get into politics" and direct during the passage “let us, brother against brother, topple Mursi and the Muslim Brotherhood clique". And the gradual harsh disillusionment with revolutionary fervor for better tomorrows which to the letter reflect the old adage “from the frying pan into the fire" is the saddest and also the most fascinating thing about this.

It has little (if anything) to do with reality, and it's stylised to the point of being over-stylized in places, but what the hell, it's actually better than most regular Bond films.

Plot away, plot away, maybe the plot will work someday... The events occurring over just a few days before the vote for a successor to a deceased mafia boss, when everybody tried to gain the greatest possible influence. Interested parties include the police and various factions within the mafia. Although it heads inexorably toward the expected conclusion, it’s about the journey taken to get there. And here it luckily strides along a stylish and nicely twisted path that knows no compromises or pity.

Gibney filmed an excellent, many-layered documentary, the weakness of which lies paradoxically in Gibney himself. If as a documentary maker he summarizes and puts into context Armstrong’s rich (in controversy) career and behind the scenes of professional cycling, he excels and looks at everything from various angles. But he fails in the one-to-one passages, when he had unprecedented access to Lance before (2009/2010) and after (2013) and got nothing from it. Before he was taken in by the powerful comeback story and after he avoided confrontation and difficult questions. He does try to make up for this with “thought settling" commentary, but the horse had already bolted; he should have stood up with that on set. But maybe this is a woeful consequence of the fact that this was released barely six months after Lance’s confession. In any case, Armstrong and cycling (fascinating how all convicted former cyclists point their finger, but never assume any responsibility) extraordinarily rewarding, colorful subjects for a documentary filmmaker and the end result reflects that.

A touching film with a heart, where everything is tailored to the awards season and to the audience's "oohs and ahhs". Take it as it is or cynically leave it alone.

A glimpse behind the scenes of the biggest ice hockey show in the world. It doesn’t fully use the potential, but it’s pretty interesting anyhow. You just have to get over the markedly melodramatic tone of the thing; the player expecting his daughter to be born on the day of the match, Canadian players on the day of their nomination for the Olympics, Broeder’s first match in his birth city after his father’s death, etc.