Marigold

The film is an adorable tale with a somewhat dull satirical edge and not entirely consistent metaphors. Sometimes, it is quite entertaining, but the simultaneous portrait of idolatry and "partisanship" gets lost somewhat, and in the end only a very friendly village atmosphere and a truly excellent "sixties" group of actors remain. Otherwise, when compared to the top films of the period, it is truly tame and does not cause conflict.

An incredibly smooth film trip. At the end I felt like I was falling into absolute emptiness. Although the 140 minutes are far from flawless and do leave you shaking your head in places, this mixture of hallucinogenic trips, porn and existential hangovers is simply one of the highlights of this year. I agree with those who would rather not see what happens when the first circle closes... but it doesn't change much about the mental crater.

Where is the taciturnity and momentum of the first film? Where is Stark's strong personal charm? The second film amounts to watery, scattered, and terribly lifeless blabbering of the star-studded characters, whose dialogues and jokes often feel like they were written by a five-year-old (I admit that the problem may be the dubbing, but unfortunately, that is hardly going to change my impression until I see the version with subtitles). I forgave Favreau’s routinism in the first film because Downey's character had an edge. In the second film, most of the beautiful things are gone, and all that remains is chatter, outdated humor, and surprisingly Downey, who seems to be so convinced about his own irresistibility that he completely ignores the emptiness of his dialogues. There is something wrong with a comic book film that does not get me out of my seat in two hours with even one ballbusting moment. I cannot give the dubbed version more than one star...

It wasn't that bad, even though the choice of wigs and the introductory diction of the characters really feel like a 2009 version of Mimikry (even Olda "I don't care anymore!!!" Vlach makes a cameo and does his thing). Then it is cleansed into a non-offensive average film, but it absolutely lacks any distinctiveness and impact – the scenery purposefully gets in the way and the individual vicissitudes are done so television-like that it is more reminiscent of cardboard concoctions like Czech TV show Vyprávěj. Nikolaev seems to have completely forgotten his raw whopper... and things are only going to get worse. Lonely Hearts Club fits into staged television poetics which, like it or not, inevitably paints the evil time period with unnatural softness and awkwardness in peoples’ actions. Unlike the real stories of big beat, this amounts to very diluted rum for young people.

A sensitive and adequate adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's short story, as much as it can be. The truth is that what in the original referred somewhat to the elusive heights of "divinity", "sympathy" and "humanity" logically clings to mud and dust in the film. In my opinion, it could not have been shot any better or in a more raw way. However, it could have been tighter.

The disgust at watching the trade union-big shot idiots from somewhere in Moravia is even greater than the North Korean absurdity of Stalinist proportions. An appalling testimony to the nature of Czechs, who tend to consciously bend over and present their assess to the concrete cocks of totalitarianism and admiringly accept ideological manipulation. It is sad that the only person who is able to show the greatest degree of distance is a tourist with a strong foreign accent. Instead, the film should have been titled Welcome amongst Czech Rednecks, because an ordinary redneck in a Potemkin village called the DPRK for tourists would grunt with bliss. Hopefully they also relocate there. The execution is average, but it does have a surprisingly relevant explanatory value.

A tired rebellion with a cause, but also with a porcelain cup in hand and a striped blanket on the lap. It’s a kind of middle-class idyll that irritates me with its sophistication and even the excellent actors don't change that.

This film is a flat lye of Hrubín's revolutionary dramatic text. Vávra wasn’t able to garner from it more than the harmonious artistic component of Josef Svoboda, strong acting and the idyllic atmosphere of South Bohemia. However, the film somehow bypasses the drama within the characters and particularly the multi-layered character of Morák through a somewhat homolka-like critique of petty bourgeoisie. In an overall sense, the soliloquy inconsistency of communication and the disillusioning view of interpersonal relationships, which contrasts sharply with natural harmony, disappear. Whilst in the theatrical version Hrubín managed to go deep into the contradictory nature of man as an intimate/public being and created a unique language somewhere between lyricism and drama, the film remake is in the spirit of contemporary schematism focused on optimistic ideological phrases...

An unadulterated hour and a half of beating up dealers, gays and pimps, charming of women with loose morals and intense Belmondian "man". Violent nonsense, the plot of which is entirely devoted to the fact that JP could have catapulted into the air on a trapeze or hit someone at the right moment. The durability and strength of Bud Spencer... and, of course, the right amount of none-sense.

We have already previously seen the tearing down of an idyllic mood in the last few minutes of a film, even regarding communism. Unlike Burnt by the Sun, Muntean's film lacks that absorbing atmosphere and theatrically profiled characters. Instead, it offers the rather sleepy panopticon of “the clever mountain lass" trying to outsmart the powers that be. Which can't end in anything other than trouble in the 1950s. The protracted pace and lifeless dialogues are further underlined by the resignedly static camera... but that does not mean that I think it has no atmosphere and that the final twist is not a welcome (albeit expected) refreshment. Despite the faults pointed out, Kino Caravan is a solid spectacle with the friendly atmosphere of a Romanian village... but the sleepy dramaturgy and overall flatness cannot be hidden behind the attractive backdrop of condemnation of communism.