Marigold

A truly excellent thriller, which pleasantly surprised me by keeping the action in the background and pulling out the perfect direction, which, with few exceptions, is sufficient without brutality and wild shootings and works only with hints and "independent" blurring of the narrative line into a seemingly incoherent stream of cuts and space-time jumps. The exposition part may be "shattered" too much and it takes a long time for the viewer to get oriented in the tangle of retrospectives and details, but then the perfectly balanced story of two double agents (each on a different side of the barricade) gets going wonderfully. The central duo is probably best captured by the environment in which they live - Inspector Lau in a well-furnished household with a pretty girlfriend, the heron Yan always on the run, from which he finds escape only on the roofs of houses and in the chair of his psychologist. The perfect atmosphere is ensured by a very specific and modern camera, as well as excellent acting and the musical undertone. Infernal Affairs is not a straightforward thriller. It plays with decent hints, it does not lead to a linear ending, but it questions good and evil and it can even surprise us with a quality twist. Although it is no colossus of thought or a particularly thoughtful labyrinth, it works exactly like a watch and is able to engulf via its special civil tone.

From one point of view, I'm quite sad that the script of On the Beach was only made as a TV film, but from the other I'm happy about it. Paradoxically, Mulcahy could afford to shoot a spectacularly lyrical disaster film, in which the viewer waits in vain for a fierce reversal into the traditional scheme of "the hope of salvation exists and a handful of the brave will turn it into reality". Much more than an action film about saving the world, this is about character relationships, a decently executed love storyline, moralizing and truly epic peace propaganda, which is therefore tolerable given that it does not look at the borders of the great powers. On the Beach is an impressive film because it cannot afford to show mass scenes of ruin like the Hollywood disaster spectacles. "Highlander" Rusell Mulcahy is surprisingly strong in terms of his hints that very impressively map the end of human society (a dead family lying peacefully on a bed, looting in Melbourne). I would almost expect a superficial clinging to effect from a director of his caliber, but adversely, in On the Beach he tries to work honestly with the characters and utilizes the maximum from the more effective scenes. Unfortunately, the limits of all of the components (visual, acting, directing, etc.) are sometimes too obvious and the film tends to be a bit tense and awkwardly emotional. Tremors of dilettantism and TV averageness are common and otherwise affect the excellent story more than they should. But even so, On the Beach is a hundred times more impressive statement about the apocalypse than 99% of large productions merged into one. If you are expecting a high-paced film with spectacular effects in which the hero saves the world, hugs a woman, kisses a child and emotionally blows his nose into a flag, stay away from this. However, if you are expecting an essentially conservative and lyrical story about several characters facing the end of the world, try to stay On the Beach. I am convinced that the creators succeeded, albeit with small reservations.

An almost perfect thriller that combines the lightness and complexity of independent American cinema with the flawless visual pomp of Hollywood movies. Michael Mann has found an absolutely perfect tone of narration, which is closely connected to a great soundtrack – here he pensively analyzes the insides of the characters, there he dynamically develops action sequences. For a while it’s a clip and for a while a very sensitive and distinctive study of two completely different characters. It is the Cruise-Foxx duo that is the flawless engine of this spectacle - a cynical and Machiavellian killer versus the idealist and the average dreamer. Their mutual chemistry holds the film together even when the spark of the story seems to fade for a while, and their relationship skillfully balances on the black edge of comedy and personal drama. After a more or less calm (perhaps a little too calm) start and a well-paced middle, there comes a dazzling final gradation, which is disrupted only by an overly ostentatious signaled twist. Unfortunately, it can be sensed in the first minutes, but it does not slow down the catharsis of Collateral. The brilliant work of the camera and brilliantly written dialogues and imaginary characters keep this spectacle at an incredible balance, where the delicate psychological game is precisely balanced by adrenaline. Michael Mann has produced a daring work - a captivating thriller with irresistible cynicism, great characters, an overlap to the dehumanized reality of today and the unmistakable atmosphere of a sleeping and non-participating megalopolis. Hats off!

I like Dave Fincher for his talent to "create" a great atmosphere and imprint a specific style on each film. Nevertheless, he has a problem with The Game, because this screenwriting mystification seems to me to be a disposable film. It’s not that I didn't enjoy watching the way the whole game with the viewer played out, and it’s not that Fincher didn't give the film his typical directing style. It's just that it’s missing that the vague, sparkling thing that, for example, Seven has. On the other hand, this is a pure and very straightforward thriller, so blaming it for the lack of depth is unfair. It’s good enough film material to entertain.

Perhaps the story framework, which is too transparent in this case, is not all that bad, or even the fact that the weakness of the point is unsuccessfully awkwardly masked by the script with considerable holes in the logic. But let’s be honest, this is literally joyful kleptomania and a praise of expediency - the creators need "something" into which they can pack dozens of stolen but excellent functioning scenes and a few very successful and very black gags. Both alternate initially on a comforting frequency, and Dead End certainly doesn't drive into a dead end. Great interplay of characters, situational humor and of course the aforementioned horror clichés. The atmosphere is chilling and bizarrely ridiculous. It is necessary to praise both the work of the actors and the skilled hand of the screenwriter, who, however simply, skillfully tied it all together. It's too bad that in the end it runs out of steam and that it starts devouring itself. It's also a pity that the two directors didn't give the film anything more than a touch of solid B-movie craftsmanship. The disparaging spirit of the script almost needed greater invention, but even though it didn't get it, Dead End is a very enjoyable film. Definitely one of the better efforts in terms of murderous films...

He played one president, and he’s happy to scold another. That is Harrison Ford. He’s a scout with a calm family, he is a star at work (he even visits his terminally ill boss), he’s a patriot like a crystal, and when ugly people undermine America's foreign interests in Colombia and endanger American citizens (armed with submachine guns and grenades!) our Harrison grabs his gun and goes and deals with them on his own. Clear and Present Danger is typical Clancy, teeming with instructions for good patriotism and pathos par excellence. At the same time, it is full of interesting realities and shoots into its own ranks a bit, because not everyone who salutes under the American flag is necessarily good. If you take away the patriotic bluntness and propaganda melodrama, it's an absolutely standard thriller with a disinterested Ford and a charismatic Defoe. Director Noyce hardly does anything captivating, the action sequences are barren, the conversations wooden and the overall concept is just conservative. Despite this, or maybe because of it, you can have a lot of fun with it. You just need a little perspective and the scout Ford is suddenly a good clown...

Good Night, and Good Luck showed me George Clooney in a light I had not seen him in before. The directing star was able to capture the extremely serious, dry and transpersonal substance in a very sovereign way - the chosen film completely denies high audience attractiveness, but it is handled with incredible prowess. The dry documentary flow of scenes from the CBS studio, where a battle is raging against Senator McCarthy's blunt American patriotism, might seem to lull the viewer, but the clever Clooney brilliantly creates dynamism, urgency and inner tension with minimalist means. Natural acting, interweaving of the film with period materials, and rhythmic jazz inserts, which also comment on what is happening on the screen. The perfect atmosphere of immediacy is exemplary and comparable, for example, to the legendary 12 Angry Men. The film's clear magnet is the captivating and charismatic David Strathairn in the role of the main face of CBS news, Edward R. Murrow. His frugal, yet impressively expressive acting expression and perfect intonation carry the message of the film with incredible targeting and relentlessness. Although the subject of Clooney's film is 50 years old, it has not lost its relevance. The question of the function of television, the question of the role of the individual in the struggle for freedom, and the question of morality, which has to be more than stupid patriotism. All of this is not presented by Clooney as a provocative question mark, but rather as a precise and captivating exclamation mark that irritates the "neo-McCarthy people", and good on him for doing so. I only deduct one star for the occasional imbalance (I really didn't much like the level with the Shirley-Jesse married couple), and also for the fact that the idea had to defeat emotions. Still, hats off to Clooney for the way he handled this incredible filmmaking task.

I could perhaps forgive the incredibly poor tricks, Michael Caine's fairground performance, and I could also forgive the script that is deepened by some kind of would-be Freudian and ethical-moral attempts. However, I really can't forgive the film for the complete loss of the proper Verne atmosphere, enjoyment of the unknown and chilling tension from submarine rebellion against everyone, led by the mighty Captain Nobody. Rod Hardy tried something and this thing is not entirely tragic, but for fans of Jules Verne it is hardly more than a bad-looking TV B-movie... And likely not just for them.

It's not bad... In my opinion, Mathieu Kassovitz has managed to very decently dilute the classic action style of decent American editing and the classic French conversational detective story, whilst also not feeling as primly funny as the director of the second film, Olivier Dahan, when trying to evoke a dark atmosphere. Jean Reno and his partner Vincent Cassel get enough space, and Vincent only disappointed me with one thing... he is not as sympathetic as his book counterpart. And that is actually the problem of The Crimson Rivers. Compared to the book, they don't have even half the tension and secrets, the trick with murders comes too soon, and the characters spew the entire deduction at us in confusion in the middle of a car chase. Well, a film is not a book, we all know that, but the adaptation to the script just has a lot of issues... and the "spectacular" and amateurish finale is proof of that. In the book, the awkwardness is somehow lost, but here it hits us over the head mainly thanks to the absolute overacting by Nadia Fares... If you haven’t read the book, you will like The Crimson Rivers a lot, and if you have, you will be somewhat disappointed. But formally, everything is completely fine.

A great mystical joke on the topic of the ultimate end of the world, which tries unsuccessfully to copy all sorts of self-flagellating thrillers, of which there are many in today's pre-apocalyptic epoch. There is a bit of atmosphere at the start, but when the pseudo-biblical colossus gets into motion, it becomes inadvertently ridiculous. Very ethereal angels of the apocalypse, reminiscent of stoned Shaolin monks, a confused expert on symbols who is obviously better versed in cosmetics, the hopelessly uninteresting Jean Reno and the action mannequin Magimel... that's a lot to take in. A sparse plot about a bunch of plugs playing apostles and a bunch of plugs who, for shady reasons, intended to stage the Revelation of St. John. Of course, the manly presentation of Christopher Lee, whose character does not have much motivation, must be present. Some effects by Olivier Dahan’s directing are also hopelessly blurred in the confusing whole and the Dadaist fragmentary dialogues that the screenwriter had to recite from an absinthe bath. Anyway, it's paradoxically quite fun, and at times you might even believe the film’s dark atmosphere. Unfortunately, in the end, you only believe in the unspoken nonsense, which is the only thing that is unfeigned. The main thing is that the film steals the best of Hollywood provenance, but unfortunately with the shaky hands. Dear Frenchmen, America simply will not happen for you. St. John, do you see that?