Matty

From the outset, Custody is an uncomfortably cramped film that does not leave much room to breathe. It takes place almost exclusively in enclosed spaces (see only the numerous scenes with the father in a car), with the camera close to the actors. The characters have no way out. The narrative is highly concentrated thanks also to the focus on just a few days and a couple of events. As the story progresses, Legrand uses more and more stylistic elements of horror (the birthday party offers the first masterful lesson in creating suspense and the fear that something bad is about to happen, another follows) and an already intense drama subtly yet, with respect to the characterisation of the characters, rather naturally transforms into a regular work of psycho-terror, in the climax of which you forget that you have to breathe. Custody is an extremely unpleasant film, but then so is the situation of the children of divorcing parents and victims of domestic violence, which it navigates in an incredibly suggestive and empathetic manner. In the interest of preventing similar situations, it should be seen and experienced by as many people as possible. 90%

If Joe Wright could tell a story as effectively as he directs, Darkest Hour would be a much less painful viewing experience. Unfortunately, the ambitious British filmmaker again proves to be a great purveyor of kitsch, for whom the main thing is that every scene looks good and is not boring at all costs, not that it has meaningful content and is somehow helpful to the narrative. Visual gimmicks such as shots from a bird’s-eye perspective, slow-motion shots and close-ups of the second hand on a clock mainly give the impression of being manifestations of an almost panicky fear of being ordinary, which I would rather expect from a debut filmmaker trying to demonstrate what he learned at film school. The rather ordinary scenes, relying solely on well-chosen composition and Oldman’s acting (very solid, but you still can’t escape thinking that you are watching a thin actor under a fat mask) are much more impressive, because the ideas in them are not concealed by effects. Besides the occasional victory of form over content, the film is hindered by its unbalanced rhythm (after the brisk first hour, the pace slows significantly before Operation Dynamo), breaking history down to key decisions of great and infallible men, the desperate lack of sound judgment (even if the scene in the underground is based on reality, that does not change the fact that it is terribly unconvincingly constructed and written – I don’t remember seeing anything so dumb even in British interwar propaganda films, where it would be more at home) and insulting leading of the viewer. Through the supporting characters (especially the frightened secretary), the film constantly tells us how we should see Churchill, what to think about him, so that we don’t start to doubt his genius. There is a whiff of believability in the scenes of Churchill with his wife, which the screenplay does not prescribe, only for her to marvel at his penetrating intellect and laugh at his bon mots. Unfortunately, the better work of the actors and makeup artists (and costume and set designers) cannot save what the screenwriter (Anthony McCarten also wrote The Theory of Everything, which suffers from similar shortcomings) and the director neglected. Darkest Hour is an empty, naïve and fake lesson in patriotism, which for two hours laboriously tries to convey the same message that Christopher Nolan was able to put across with much greater impact in the last ten minutes of Dunkirk. 45%

In recent years, Alexander Payne has been filming the same story about aging white men who discover rather too late that they have wasted most of their lives and so they set out to find something that gives their empty lives meaning. Set in a world where people can be shrunk down to roughly six inches in order to improve their lives and save the planet, Downsizing is basically no exception; it just has a more ambitious scope and, in addition to the crisis of the individual, attempts to also address the crisis of western society, or rather the whole world, to which Payne adapted the genre and narrative structure. ___ At the beginning, the film switches from an individual point of view to a global perspective and subsequently applies the same technique to Damon’s physiotherapist character, who finds the solution to his problems by becoming more interested in the world around him so that he comes to the conclusion that it is necessary to start with smaller goals (i.e. local, not global). The core of the film comprising a bitter comedy that questions faith in the American dream and never-ending American prosperity is supplemented with a sci-fi satire and (melo)drama with a relatively explicit political-environmental message. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if a scene was supposed to come across as sardonic (because a character says something terribly kitschy and literal and Christoph Waltz smiles like a simpleton) or touching. ___ A bigger problem is the fact that Payne and co-writer Jim Taylor are at times unable to decide whether they are more interested in the characters or in the downsized world they invented for them and whose laws we are now discovering together with the protagonists. The whole idea of downsizing seemed to me like a gimmick serving more or less only as scathing commentary on what people are willing to go through to improve their social status. At its core, this is a variation of a well-known Payne story that could happen even in the real world. I see the sci-fi level mainly as a way to facilitate the work and to more quickly confront the characters with the dilemmas that the screenplay is intended to address. __ The resulting hybrid holds together primarily thanks to Matt Damon, who is just as convincing as a paunchy forty-something with mild depression as he is as secret agent with lethal skills. The genre transformations that the film undergoes partly reflect the development of his character, toward whom Payne is far too indulgent in comparison with his earlier films (often at the expense of stereotyped female characters). ___ In many respects, Downsizing is a rather problematic film and definitely not perfect, but it clearly made an impression on me. And perhaps the real reason I feel the need to defend it instead of maligning it is the laughing Christoph Waltz as a Serbian smuggler named Dusan Mirkovic, who is ably supported Udo Kier. 75%

Though Nolan’s previous films were more refined in terms of narrative and intellectually more ambitious, their ostentatious structure often overshadowed emotion. Dunkirk, which stays more grounded in a number of respects, is his most functional prototype of the epic movie that Hollywood currently needs, a major film that you will want to see not only in a technically well-equipped cinema (preferably IMAX), but also repeatedly. Thanks to Nolan’s focused direction, everything in the film is subordinated to the maximum sensory experience, the intensity of which rises with each viewing, as you become better oriented in the temporal relationships between the individual storylines and can experience more while working less on solving the narratological puzzle. Dunkirk is intoxicating, dizzying and unrelenting in its intensity from start to finish. (Viewed three times in the cinema, of which IMAX twice.) 90%

Visages, villages is a celebration of the French countryside, teamwork and street art. With her fifty-years-younger and thirty-centimetres-taller colleague, Agnès Varda visits places that tell stimulating stories (about people, unemployment, the transformation of the landscape and the demise of the countryside) and allows them to speak by means of large-format photographs. The people they encounter are both the objects and co-creators of their works. They are not primarily interested in isolation, devastation and industrialisation, but rather in the joy of life and the possibility of creative comprehension of reality. They do not want to criticise and do not seek systemic solutions to problems; as conceptual artists, they “only” change the optics through which we view the world around us. Although they are separated by two generations, both of them have their own unrelenting enthusiasm and desire to discover and create. They always respond to the particular environment and intersperse the stories of others with their own (an eye examination, a running gag with sunglasses, excerpts from Varda’s earlier films), which appealingly lends an improvisational and unpredictable character to the film, which could have turned out to be a monotonous series of site-specific stopovers. The film culminates with a “meeting” with Godard that takes the trajectory of the narrative in a completely unexpected direction, which, however, Varda is able to use to the film’s benefit. Her reaction is another expression of the central theme of the documentary – how we see things (people, walls, buildings, ports) is more important than what they actually are. Agnès Varda’s perspective is empathetic, playful and joyful and without a hint of falseness, which makes Visages, villages one of the best feel-good films of recent years. 90%

The problem with Fifty Shades Darker is not that it doesn’t know when to end, but that it never properly starts. An essential tenet of screenwriting is that without conflict, there is no drama. Niall Leonard is apparently unaware of this. The popular statement that “nothing happens in it” applies to such an extent to few other films. Any attempt at suspense or plot twists thus comes across as unintentional comedy because of its lack of substance. Both of the protagonists do basically the same things that they did in the first instalment, though one would think that this time it is a voluntary decision on Ana’s part (she didn't know before that sex doesn’t have to be painful), which is only half true (when, for example, she tells her partner what to do to her). Grey continues to act like a faithless, possessive emotional manipulator who again lays out the rules of the game and doesn’t give much choice to his ingenuous partner, who likes to be bought a big bouquet of roses, a set of Apple products and luxury lingerie. As a result, moments that should seem romantic are actually rather creepy, because we don’t see any sincere feelings behind them. It’s also quite difficult to sympathise with the female protagonist, who has Ben Wa balls inserted into her vagina and only then asks what they are for. The adjective “vanilla” applies less to the central couple’s relationship than to the film as a whole, in which the unfortunate lack of knowing winks at the viewer prevents it from being an expression of self-reflection or an act of subversion (which, I'm afraid, should not have been a scene like something out of Magic Mike). Though the narrative of the first instalment was marked by a similar ponderousness, I found it generally thought-provoking on a deeper level of meaning. The second film is just a sequence of pretty but completely hollow shots that barely hold together (on the other hand, it’s possible that I’m just too annoyed by the film to give it any further thought). It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a similarly arrogant wager on the certainty that the target audience, longing to see a bit of harmless “kinky fuckery”, will come to the cinema anyway. 30%

First Reformed is a return to Bresson not only by thematicising personal responsibility for the state of the world (the basic outline of the plot is essentially Diary of a Country Priest, while the ecological line is reminiscent of Bresson’s sceptical later films), but also in its rigorous minimalistic style. The academic format, almost monochromatic picture (Schrader originally wanted to shoot in black-and-white), restrained acting, repetitive editing techniques (each disturbance tells us something important or redirects our attention) and composition (transitioning from symmetrical, after the protagonist begins have doubts, to asymmetrical). Only the camera moves exceptionally. Though First Reformed is a serious and slow film of extraordinary formal rigidity, it does not come across as ponderous thanks to its thriller framework and the raising of questions that are relevant to the period (without having a critical tone along the lines of “Old Man Yells at Cloud”). Even though the film has an “old-fashioned” confessional nature, an inspiring tension arises between the diary-style voice-over and what we see. Toller is constantly waging a battle between his thoughts and that which he can express out loud in his position. While writing in his diary, he promises that he will not conceal or omit anything, but he soon rather prefers to destroy certain diary entries. The content of others (the last entries) is hidden from us for a change. As a priest, Toller has a certain social role. He serves others and as such feels responsible for the state of the world and slips into disillusionment and alcoholism because he is not able to change anything. He is roused from his passivity only by meeting a man who does not want to bring a child into the world because of environmental destruction. By presenting the dilemma between private thoughts and public actions, First Reformed differs from Taxi Driver, Schrader’s previous drama about the suffering of a man disgusted by society, from which he openly quotes at least during a drive at night. In a fascinating way, Schrader’s screenplay and Hawke's focused acting express Toller’s slow transformation, which is simultaneously a descent into darkness and an ascent into the higher realms of being (transcendence). At the beginning, he advises Michael to live for that which transcends man, but at the end he realises the inadequacy of the fact that the church deals with spiritual matters and the afterlife instead of the problems of the present. He finds inner peace only after taking a decision on how he will respond to global warming, a loss of interest in religion (his sermons are usually attended by approximately five people; the church serves rather as a souvenir shop) and the radicalisation of young people. For the first time, he does not spend the evening alone with a glass of whiskey, but in a restaurant, where he eats fish. At the same time, a conversation with Michael raises the central idea of life as a search for a balance between despair and hope. Michael at first embodies despair, Toller hope. Later, their positions become complicated. The ambiguous (or dual) ending offers both despair and hope. It shares enough for the film to be satisfactorily concluded, but not so much that you won’t spend a few days thinking about what exactly Schrader is saying in one of his best films, which can be viewed as the stylistic and thematic peak of his work to date. 90%

Without the participation of personalities such as Spielberg, del Toro and Streep (who reads the commentary), this look at the Second World War through the eyes of five famous Hollywood directors would easily fit in with the dozens of other war documentaries for military enthusiasts that some television channels put on their broadcast schedules with iron regularity. Bouzereau chose the most ordinary form of exposition – talking heads, archival footage, excerpts from scripted films, more talking heads, animated maps, and so on. Therefore, the content rather than the form is worthy of attention. Paradoxically, the series would have benefited if the filmmakers had adhered to a more factually dense book with greater regard for context as the source material and not tried to give the project greater prestige by attaching famous names to it (the directors involved in the documentary are connected with the directors being discussed only because they feel respect for them, not because, for example, they knew them personally – therefore, I would rather understand, for example, the presence of Peter Bogdanovich, who interviewed Ford). Though the gentlemen speak nicely about their filmmaking role models, they don’t say much of value in the end and their words of almost uncritical admiration only needlessly take up space that could have been given to something more revealing. Unsurprisingly, their colleagues who experienced the war at first hand get much more to the point in the earlier interviews. A fascinating aspect is, for example, the account of the formulation of the Why We Fight concept by Frank Capra himself, whose frustration stemming from the pinnacle of German propaganda (Triumph of the Will) led him to the idea of using that same sort of propaganda, but with a different intention. Unfortunately, Five Came Back wants to tell not only the story of how documentaries with artistic ambitions were made during the war (and subsequently used by the government for propaganda purposes), but also about the war itself, so it offers a very simple retelling of the history learned in school. The same “kitchen sink” approach characterises the whole series, which tries to cover a large number of topics, thus leaving no time to discuss at least some of them in greater depth. The view of film propaganda presented here is driven mainly by the effort to interest viewers and spur their admiration for the heroism of Capra, Ford, Huston, Stevens and Wyler, rather than to prompt them to ask more complicated questions (basically, we are led to the idea that German propaganda was bad and American propaganda, often working with similar racial and national stereotypes, was good). Though, thanks mainly to the unique footage from battlefields, Five Came Back is not a failure, it is certainly a missed opportunity. 75%

The first half Gerald’s Game plays out promisingly with just two well-matched actors and a dog (a similar setup as in The Mountain Between Us, which is currently in cinemas) in one room, an unpleasant situation and a few objects that could potentially resolve it. There are plenty of cuts and changes of perspective to hold our attention, the uncertainty of what is real and what is only imagined (in which the film is a more sophisticated variation on torture porn – it’s not just about physical pain, but also about holding on to one’s sanity). The presentation of the female protagonist’s train of thought is handled more elegantly than in, for example, 127 Hours with its affected flashbacks. I consider the flashbacks, which first appear after roughly fifty minutes, to be the film’s main stumbling block. The heretofore concentrated narrative, with its strictly limited number of ways to continue the game, loses traction and gets bogged down in pseudo-psychological explanations for Jessie’s difficulties with men. This is King’s favourite abusive cliché, with which he works in It, for example, and which is based on the rather questionable belief that in order for a woman to discover her inner strength, she must first suffer terribly. Cutting out the flashbacks and the very awkwardly appended emancipatory afterword could turn this into a brisk low-budget surprise that has no need to complicate a simple initial idea with lengthy explanations. At the same time, however, I understand that it is also a service to King’s fans, who will most likely appreciate this self-destructive fidelity to the source material. 65%

Good Time is a much grittier and sweatier bit of neo(n)-noir than Drive, in terms of both style and digressive narrative. Instead of a straightforward journey from point A to point B, it offers unnecessary detours and dead ends. Good Time comes close to being a pure genre movie only during the opening bank heist, after which everything goes downhill in a way that other heist movies don't prepare you for. Connie doesn’t have a plan. He improvises based on who/what gets in his way. One half-baked (and sometimes very funny due to its idiocy) decision is followed by another. The film also gives the impression that it was made “on the fly”, but it holds together thanks to good rhythmic structure (alternating between quiet scenes without music and dynamic passages) and recurring motifs (Connie is convinced that he was a dog in a previous life, which explains why he and a four-legged friend get along so well later). Furthermore, the protagonist’s efforts to save his brother from going to prison are used systematically to portray the life of the New York underclass, and this portrait of people with no money, no ambition and no hope for a better future, whose drinking and drug use are occasionally supplemented with police brutality, is thus as important as the melodramatic story of self-destructive brotherly love (which makes the film reminiscent of early-period Scorsese). Together with an edgy, highly visceral thriller (shot almost exclusively in close-ups without establishing shots), we get a social drama in neon colours and with electronic music (which, apart from arcade video games, reminded me of the first Terminator) in one surprisingly compact package. What is certain is that you will not experience a similarly unpredictable and comparably intense film in the cinema any time soon. 85%