Marigold

Remarkable in its details, but terribly unbalanced in its entirety. Bilal's film convinced me through certain parts of the artistic solution - in particular the visual stylization of the environment of a depressive cyberpunk agglomeration is top-notch. On the other hand, the animation of people falters and the film is especially unable to express the subtler emotions at all. Fortunately, live actors are a different breed, such as Nikopol played by the traditionally great Thomas Kretschmann and the fragile mysterious Jill Lindy Hardy. The script is very uneven, which was created according to an obviously much more complex comic book template, but from which, only a confused list of names and fates leading nowhere arise for the uninitiated. This means that for a long period in the film, a supporting story is created, and its visuality cannot replace a certain uprooting of dialogues and destinies in the middle of an inhospitable fictional world. There is no denying that everything is different for people who know comic books... However, since I am not one of them, I must necessarily consider Immortal to be confused and sometimes boring attempt of the new generation, which is only able to evoke a readable atmosphere and generate a certain emotional charge at the end. Enki Bilal took on more than he could handle, overflowing it with symbols and images, thus resigning himself to not grabbing the attention of the uninitiated. In addition, as a filmmaker he was unable to keep his work in a coherent whole, which is a mistake that is difficult to blame on the original comic book...

It's appropriately shallow and self-serving, but I'm amazed that I more or less enjoyed it. The script was well-suited for colloquial Czech and neologisms, Janák managed to glue the film together in a modern way, the acting of the main actors was quite relaxed, and they manage the fight with the silver screen matadors with a shield. Chyška's soundtrack is also decent quality, and of course the men will appreciate certain scenes in which they can admire the delicate aesthetics of the body of Barbora Seidlová and Martina Klírová... Does it seem adolescent to you? Well, that's why I gave it three stars.

It’s only half a comedy, and especially the second half is a fairly apt and bitter drama, which surprisingly holds up when compared to the happier aspects of the film. The excellent atmosphere, the well-spoken style of speech (most of today's films can only wish they had it) and the excellent acting of the teenagers are worthy of praise. I feel like the older I get, the less I laugh at this movie... and that’s not a complaint.

A very high-quality documentary about a man who, like few others, has influenced our time with his humor – it's amazing what Svěrák is actually involved in and how much of what we say comes from his head. Screenwriter Jan Svěrák did everything in a fun way, and he is not afraid to also bring to the surface the tense atmosphere between him and his father (but also a little between Svěrák and Smoljak). He complemented everything well with music from "dad's" movies and refreshed it with demonstrations. It's all kind of fun and funny... but also sad, as is the case in human life.

The film debut of the screenwriter duo Svěrák-Smoljak is marked by quality crazy comedy and also an awkward effort to make a joke at all costs. Joachim, Put It in the Machine tries to be full of gags, but one gets lost in the flood of unfinished attempts. Yet Donald, Chocholoušek and STS Chvojkovice Brod are now inherently part of the Czech cultural canon, and although Joachim, Put It in the Machine does not achieve the quality of many later tastes of the Cimrmanological second film, it can still be watched with a smile and without feeling awkward. And a visionary caricature of a car service shop where employees are watched through industrial cameras and supervised by a caring psychologist... yes, that applies to today.

A fairy tale that I could hardly appreciate as a child, but as time went by it turned out to be an extraordinarily poetic and timely thing that one can watch again at any time. Zdeněk Svěrák opened Werich's fairytale-modernist theme brilliantly through catchphrases, and it was embodied by the central phenomenal acting trio with the assistance of a plethora of great side roles. If we add the unforgettable title song and the kind playfulness left behind from the book, The Three Veterans is definitely part of the golden fund of Czech cinema. And don't forget the Slovaks... with camels!

Tod Browning's version of Dracula leaves behind two essentials characteristic of Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau's previous version: the expressionist mastery of the form and vision of Dracula as an inhuman monster. The first diversion is clearly detrimental, as the film feels visually quite unconvincing, and a certain artificiality, unlike expressionist backdrops, breaks down the genius loci of the film. More than two-thirds of the film takes place in a boring parlor setting in England, with the script sharply reducing Romania's exposure and the finale at Whitby Abbey. The middle part gets tangled up in repetitions of similar dialogues and scenes, and I can't help but think if Dracula isn't on screen, it's all a bit boring. Browning seems cumbersome as a filmmaker - the editing is very messy, and unlike James Whale (who shot Frankenstein that same year), he doesn't have the same gift for composition of the image. But the second diversion makes up for almost everything. Bela Lugosi gave Dracula the aristocratic dimension that Max Schreck denied him, and amplified the demonicness and charisma that is part of the Transylvanian count. His "I am... Dracula" is a unique testimony of how deep Lugosi immersed himself in the character and how much he enjoyed every word. The details on his face with expressionist-accented eyes do not look ridiculous at best, even in times of splatter and slime. It is his work that has made this version of Dracula a cult classic, albeit, for example, in the 1960s. Coppola's version is much more perfect in terms of filmmaking.

Even after more than seven decades, the unique testament of old Hollywood, dominated by mystery, fantasy, fragile beauties, fearless heroes, and terrifying monsters, has not lost any of its power. The visual aspect in particular is shockingly timeless, and a certain hallmark of naivety has already become a solid part of the film's poetics. But it's not just the effects that make King Kong live – it's also the excellent scenes on the ship that fuel the feverish anticipation of events in a masterful way, in the light of day (especially Ann Darrow's camera attempts). Kong himself has a much more brutal and animated feel than previous versions, and the beauty in distress does not conceive the slightest dose of sentiment about his fate. Her constant hysterical screams, accompanied by the roar of a monster, are unbearably affective, but they simply belong to this version. Sympathy for the giant monkey is primarily a secondary product of viewers who fell in love with the furry giant and made it feel more human than its creators. A taste of the old-style film craft in its most solid form, this is King Kong. A film full of great atmosphere and grazing for the eye, which finds its popularity in the black and white aesthetic of the 1930s.

There's one place in 1933's King Kong... Ann stands in front of the camera and Carl Denham tells her what to do. The scene culminates with the famous "scream Ann, scream for your life" and the phrase "what's the thing she's really going to see". Jackson's remake couldn't get close to the power and atmosphere of this scene, but you can't blame him for it. Rather than a terrifying monster, who has raised viewers' hair with horror, his Kong is a humanized and playful gorilla attacking completely other areas. He's a monster created the way every child wanted to see him, a monster protector. And along with him, the archetypal forms of the main actors are altered – Ann is not a fragile and defenseless beauty who screams hysterically for half of the film, Carl is not an enthusiastic adventurer with a camera... Naomi Watts is more emancipated, bolder, more active... and great. Jack Black is self-centered, selfish, crooked... and great. It is he who will destroy the mighty Kong, his desire for profit, his desire to sell secrets for the price of one ticket. A big and, in my opinion, successful update of King Kong. Paradoxically, the fact that the monster is transformed from scary to sympathetic does not take away it’s strength. The film's strength is lessened by a major lack of self-criticism and a willingness to omit unnecessary multi-talk and superfluous scenes that kill both the pace and the emotion. The visual gluttony and repetition of some scenes does not pay off in the ending, which fades out into nothing. It’s too bad, because all Jackson and Co. had to do was get away from the love of the story and give it a firmer shape. Likewise, the director could have avoided unnecessary and overly sweet clichés that had nothing to do with the poetics of the original 1933 film. If there were fewer of them and if they were more moderate, everything would be in perfect order. Even so, King Kong is a royal spectacle and a film that has the magic of "lost worlds", the pathos of heroes, beauties and monsters. But the film lacks the cohesion and inner energy of The Lord of the Rings, it lacks really strong emotions... There was very little missing for everything to be fine, but in its current form King Kong only fulfilled my expectations and that is too little from Jackson.

This remarkable attempt to connect a thriller and psychological film fluctuates, just as Sean Penn's directorial certainty fluctuates. It alternates brilliant moments (an amazing scene where Jack informs the parents of the murdered and the viewer hears only the hysterical chorus of turkeys that are all around) with purely mediocre and dull moments. With a little relativization, one could argue that when a film works as a psychological study (a probe into the personality of a reclusive and strange retired detective Jack), it doesn't work as a detective story (searching for the mysterious killer of little girls) and vice versa. Fortunately, the two components are strongly connected by the motive of Jack's obsession, which stems from the level of a detective (a promise to the mother of the murdered person) and arises from Jack's problematic personality (the inability to admit that the old life is gone). The detective's movement between old and new life results in a bit of an opaque balancing act on the edge of love and cold-blooded use. At some moments, the film has an incredibly intense atmosphere, while sometimes it simply drowns in a subjective camera and stretched details. Nicholson's performance is convincing, once again proving to that he is a detail actor. Benicio Del Toro in the role of the retarded Indian pleases. Hans Zimmer's soundtrack also pleases (how many times is that now?)... It needs a little more self-criticism and, above all, a greater balance between the plane of the thriller and the psychological portrait. The fourth star is purely for an excellent ending that defies the "youth must acknowledge the infallibility of the old school" cliché.