Matty

The Wheel is truly an ALL-EVENING feature film and, at the same time, a textbook of French cinematic impressionism (from which not only other French filmmakers, but also Soviet and Japanese filmmakers would learn the language of film). Made over a period of five years, the monster project cost 30 million francs, its original length was more than eight hours, and its sweeping nature resembles that of a classic novel. Gance, a lover of romantic literature (he referred to himself as the Victor Hugo of the silver screen), shows himself to be a great romantic. He places emphasis on the intensity of dynamic storytelling in combination with the poetic impression of the scenes. He uses soft focus, details that yield meaning, visual symbolism (circles, roses), kaleidoscopic capturing of impressions (subjective shots, rapid montage, juxtaposition, repetition of shots), bold contrasts (unbearable speed x deceleration, city x countryside, dark train x light mountain part), moving cameras, exterior shooting (in, among other places, the Swiss Alps, which may have inspired German mountain films such as The Holy Mountain and The White Hell of Pitz Palu). Thanks to the large number of stylistic techniques, the interweaving of a sentimental narrative with thrilling action scenes (which Griffith usually saved until the end) and the careful steering of our attention, for example by means of various colour shading of scenes (but also thanks to the banality of the main plot and limited number of characters), the complexly structured narrative with a number of flashbacks is never chaotic or tedious. Nevertheless, some scenes of drawn-out agony, testifying to Gance’s sadistic pleasure in the characters’ pain (as a Buddhist, he was convinced that life was suffering), could be shorter. On the other hand, such excessiveness is an inherent part of the melodrama that The Wheel indisputably is, despite the utilised avant-garde techniques (the storytelling techniques are basically conventional due to their psychological motivation and the emphasis placed on emotions). 80%

Though Douglas is much funnier than Nanette (and most films and series that I have seen in recent years), it similarly defies the rules of stand-up comedy in an original way and offers an ironic commentary on those rules. In addition to her comedic craft, Gadsby makes fun of anti-vaxxers, the Ninja Turtles and the patriarchy, and through an unforgettable analysis of Renaissance paintings, she also takes a shot at people who complained that Nanette was reminiscent of a lecture (Gadsby’s attitude to criticism is not the slightest bit resentful – we have plenty of specialists among male comedians for that). Her perhaps best joke, on the topic of Louis CK, perfectly punctuates her performance ___ What is most important – the inventive structure of the whole performance is broken down in great detail by the comedian during the first fifteen minutes, which gives the rest of the show a remarkable meta-dimension, because in addition to the jokes, we are amused by how they (don’t) fit into the previously presented framework (which, incidentally, is partly derived from Gadsby’s autism, which adds another level of meaning to everything). The individual segments represent various types of stand-up comedy (observational, telling jokes, presentations with pictures) and their tone differs slightly, but they are so brilliantly interwoven with numerous inside jokes (arising in the course of the performance itself) that they work flawlessly as a whole. A stand-up gem.

Even though Romantic Comedy begins with a concise, sociocultural context allowing for a historical overview rather than a full-fledged documentary about romantic comedies in the broader context, it is a subjective audio-visual essay through which the director clarifies her own attitude to various Hollywood clichés and stereotypes that distort our ideas about love and relationships. Elizabeth Sankey does not strive for impartiality; the tension between a weakness for genre conventions and the pursuit of critical distance is reflected by the chosen form, where sardonic analyses of selected titles are interspersed with humorous or touching compilation sequences that remind us why it is so easy to be drawn in by these films. With a detached view, the (re)interpretations of romantic comedies from recent decades are more convincing than looking to the past, when a whole decade or cycle of films is characterised by a simple, brief phrase (emancipated heroines in the 1930s x subjugated women after the war, Marilyn Monroe’s sexuality x Doris Day’s asexuality). With a sober reading, the schmaltzy While You Were Sleeping becomes a horror movie about a woman obsessed with a stranger in a coma, Love Actually is a film in which Keira Knightley gives preference to her white stalker and the protagonist of The Last Kiss succeeds through aggressive manipulation and pressure. Even though the filmmaker frequently simplifies and picks details out of the whole to support her argument, she also succeeds in drawing attention to rather unhealthy repetitive patterns (emotional men tend to be fragile and cute, emotional women are hysterical, women devoted to their career instead of a relationship often seem awkward, love and easily attainable sex are mutually exclusive and the desire for mere satisfaction of physical needs makes a woman a whore, female characters often only reflect what a man is going through – with the exception of homosexual friends, who conversely only add more dimensions to the female protagonist…). As a result, you probably will not stop liking your favourite films, but you will watch them with a bit more scepticism, which is not a bad thing. 65%

The Girl Who Played with Fire...in the rhythm of reggaeton. Larraín has never been very particular about plots. In Ema, he more or less resigned himself to the story and development. Even Ema does not live for grand stories, but rather for the present moment. She is not interested in the consequences. Anything can happen, but nothing has to happen. In fact, nearly everything of significance plays out only in the parodically overwrought melodramatic conclusion, which especially fulfills our need for a satisfying end (rather than making sense in the context of the preceding minutes and the depiction of the characters). As she becomes independent from her partner, the heroine acts in the manner that the film’s narrative is related – completely freely and according to her own rules. Rather than with words that have a special theatrical artfulness (underscored by the frontal shooting of dialogue scenes), she communicates with her body. When she dances, when she makes love with someone, when she goes from place to place and the camera follows her everywhere... By means of various rhythms, movements and colour contrasts, Larraín enables us to connect with her, to experience with her the bliss of emancipation and the fear of parenthood. At the same time, her frequently strange and intolerable behavior is not excused, nor is she punished for it. He gives her the same freedom as the viewer, whom he leads to nothing and nowhere. Thanks to that, this is a film that will either impress and captivate you (as in my case), or will be incredibly irritating for you, because you will find yourself lost in it. 80%

A predictable coming-out story (transplant Call Me By Your Name to Georgia and you will get the plot), pushed forward by a pile of clichés, black-and-white oppositions (a flawless queer protagonist vs. homophobia and the obscurantism of men representing tradition), repetitive empty scenes (parties, trips with friends) and half-baked or unnecessary motifs (for example, the role of the protagonist’s parents, an injured leg). The dance scenes give the film a certain levity, but their charm is diminished significantly by the confusing cutting and frequent engagement of the actors in medium-long shots, when we do not see their whole bodies in motion. There is a lack of greater sensuality, excitement and tension in most of the film, which was shot almost completely in close-ups with a shallow depth of field so that the moments when something crucial occurs meld with others. Only during two several-minute shots of a party did it seem that the style of the film finally got in tune with the protagonist and, like him, began to communicate through movement. A bit late for that, which is a shame, as something more vital that reaches down deep without blending in with a dozen similar films could have been pulled out Levan Gelbakhiani’s dance performance and better portrayal of the characters. 65%

Rather more humorous than madcap, The Shop Around the Corner is a sophisticated comedy about crooged legs and the healing effects of capitalism. With leather on the market and getting on each other’s nerves, Margaret Sullavan and James Stewart are well supported by the titular shop. After the rib-tickling Ninotchka, I unreasonably expected another whirlwind of indecorous humour. Director Ernst Lubitsch slowed the pace and clogged the non-comedic parts of the film with sentiment. And therein lies the problem. It is difficult to sympathise with characters set in a world that serves well for a wacky comedy, but does succeed in providing a foundation for melodrama. The impression is enhanced by the final shot, which charmingly casts off all of the seriousness. 75%

“Money, money, money!” William Powell radiates charisma as an independent observer of high-society relationships. An uninterrupted flow of one-liners with multiple layers of meaning (– Oh, is this where you sleep? – That’s the general purpose) and the wonderfully thought-out choreography of the character’s movements (with almost theatrical entrances) accompany the exaggerated unmasking of crazed high society. Due to the fact that director Gregory La Cava (originally an animator) allowed himself – thoughtfully, boldly and within the intentions of the genre – to bite the hand that fed him, it is one of the best screwball comedies. 85%

A model escape thriller or a dark screwball comedy? Of Hitchcock’s early works, The 39 Steps is definitely the film that most obviously anticipates North by Northwest, compared with which we are better informed about the central crime/MacGuffin and, instead of grappling with unanswered questions, we can enjoy the smoothness with which the individual scenes follow each other, thus ensuring continuous forward motion. The environment changes constantly and new characters appear, differing in their nature and nationality (Canadian, English, Scottish). A significant slowdown occurs only due to several longer explanatory dialogues in the second half. Unlike Hitchcock’s later works, greater openness (or less sophistication, if you prefer) is evident in The 39 Steps. It is not necessary to read only between the lines to find Hitchcock's sense of humour (black) or his opinions of the fairer sex (treacherous monsters) and rural areas (backward hicks). Thanks to a parody of speeches whose emptiness masks their indolence, there is even a bit of political satire, which is not a common feature of the director’s work. 80%

The Girlfriend Experience is the first film with Sasha Gray that is worth watching until the end. And more than once. While only views of bodies are fragmented in porn, Soderbergh decided to break the whole narrative structure into fragments. He subsequently grouped the individual parts into discontinuous thematic clusters in a manner similar to that in which expository documentaries are organised. In its way, The Girlfriend Experience is actually a dual documentary portrait of people who are learning to sell themselves well. The static camera (with the exception of scenes from the plane, obviously shot with a mobile telephone) is placed atypically low, watching the characters from a distance or directly through the glass and only from a limited number of positions (instead of flexibly reacting to the actors’ movements). There is the illusion of shooting with an impersonal hidden camera, of not wanting to get under the characters’ skin and to express any empathy for their loneliness, but rather to merely give unbiased testimony about them. Distance and coolness in the colours, environment and camera work perfectly capture the nature of a world in which all relationships are profit-seeking and false, in which you even have to buy the feeling that someone cares about you and in which a person is perceived only through his or her “market” value, which can increase with the right contacts, luxury clothes or a positive web response (such as the number of "likes", which is not directly addressed here). Constantly increasing one’s own price is basically the sole purpose of the characters’ existence. Like the whole of The Girlfriend Experience, Christine’s life is a story without drama and without a point. Christine herself is logically unable to reflect on her existence beyond her limited mental horizons, i.e. beyond the empty, aimless description of the underwear that she wore, the bars that she visited and the stores where she shopped. Thanks to the drums in the soundtrack, shopping is what the main thing that enlivens the day, though it becomes apparent that this background music was not added to the action by the director (who would thus be uncharacteristically obliging toward the heroine, but by a drummer playing on the street. Soderbergh also inventively uses sound bridges, which shift the time-spatial orientation with respect to where we are (in time), whom we are watching and who is speaking, while concurrently bringing to the soundtrack the principle of many overlapping and disturbing visual layers, under which nothing of crucial importance is concealed. The Girlfriend Experience gives the impression of being a film without a clear concept. In reality, it is “nonconceptual” in a very well-thought-out way and, unlike the characters, who are unable to find greater meaning in their lives, it knows very well where it is going and why. You have to decide for yourself whether or not you will watch it, as the film itself will not compel you to do so. 80%

This post-MeToo reinterpretation of H.G. Wells's The Invisible Man transforms the subtext of numerous slasher films and paranoid thrillers (toxic masculinity is evil) into the main theme and, unlike the original story, factors in primarily the viewpoint of the victim rather than that of the attacker. The screenplay was written by a man (director Leigh Whannell), though on the basis of consultation with specialists and victims of stalkers and emotional manipulators. In order to take the feminine perspective into consideration as sensitively as possible, Elisabeth Moss was invited to refine the script. The most terrifying part of the film is its first half, which gives us a hint of the hell experienced by the partner of a person with personality disorder even after the (seeming) end of the relationship and patiently reveals the aggressor’s methods. From the ways that Cecilia’s ex-partner psychologically torments her, destroys her career prospects and isolates her from her family and friends in order to intensify her helplessness, the film is chilling in that it shows how easily such methods can be applied in a world where invisibility has yet to be invented. (Due to his ability to assign blame to the victim, the perpetrator of this form of violence often seems to be absent and invisible, someone who does not actually exist). Compared to other, similar films that keep us in a state of uncertainty until the end as to whether the main character is in fact losing touch with reality (in other words, we have the same doubt that a manipulator tries to induce in the victim through gaslighting), here we know from the beginning that Cecilia is in the right and her cognitive abilities are unimpaired, which together with Moss’s performance and the boldly subjective narration strengthens our affinity for her and the frustration arising from the fact that no one believes her, while someone else takes control of her life step by step with a chillingly premeditated plan. Though the second half of the film is closer in nature to a standard splatter film and the psychological persuasiveness more conspicuously gives way to genre conventions, it is still first and foremost about what the protagonist experiences. Thanks to the viewer’s interest in the main character, the film’s climax works superbly. It is satisfying to see who takes the lead in it and how, as well as in how simply and effectively it is directed (which is true of the whole film; instead of visual effects and scares, extremely inventive use is made of the most basic stylistic elements employed by horror filmmakers: silence and empty spaces, slow panoramic shots, well-timed point-of-view shots). It is a horror film that, in revealing some of the sources of today’s social anxieties, is equally as important as Get Out was a few years ago (as we live in a society that is more trusting of those who are good at pretending than it is of the victims of such pretending). 80%