Marigold

A dangerous explosive pokes around under the chicken coop of film criticism, elitism, and contemporary demand for declines of all kinds. While all the slams of the satirical whip sound soft and leave ice-like superficial scars, Denmark's main comedy can intelligently entertain, mock with perspective, and not take itself seriously. Which is becoming a rare phenomenon.

The aftertaste of an otherwise cultured film is bitter. With emotions, question marks and twists, the theme sounds lost in the chilly atmosphere of the film. The viewer is not allowed access to the heart of the action, but at the same time he is not even saturated with a cold analytical analysis of evil in man. On the scale between Lars von Trier's emotional manipulation and Michael Haneke's scientific analysis, Levring has strayed somewhere into the grey area, where the gripping motifs lose their sharp edges and the characters wander the expressive landscape of the Danish countryside. Although he successfully avoided self-purpose and insubstantiality, the filmmaker remained trapped behind the polished glass of his film.

The film Children is being affected by the same disease as many other similarly constructed films – the effort to find a powerful moment of catharsis in a loosely branched plot that will reverse everything. And to the great detriment of Bragason's film, his efforts are aimed at a positive culmination. What may look witty on paper, however, sounds improbable and even comically untrustworthy in the film. Where openness would clearly benefit Children, there is a well-worked and scarcely believable point that unnecessarily undermines the film's pillar – the characters. If they have so far seemed ambivalent and unschematic, the climax makes them insensitively passive pawns in a calculated screenwriter's play. The adults become incompetent children at the worst moment.

The harmony between the actors and the creator, decent irony and absurdity are ultimately decisive for a positive impression. It cannot be said that Parents is close to the qualities of its inspirational resources – Godard, Bergman or Leigh. There is still a certain fixation on the surface of the story, but compared to Children, one can see with increasing pleasure how Ragnar Bragason leaves the scheme and enters the nonlinear inner world of his protagonists. From film "storytelling" it moves to the very essence of social drama.

Ásgeirsson's film works so well in its ordinariness that it is sufficient even without trying to artificially escalate the situation with tragic pathos. Its main strength lies precisely and only in perfectly observed situations, and also in the fact that it forces the viewer to interpret and read the faces and actions of the characters. Sobriety and filmmaking moderation can border on indignity for some. There is no question, however, that the intention to make an intimate, believable, and through-and-through ordinary family drama worked out almost perfectly for Árni Ásgeirsson – including the finale, which leaves behind the aftertaste of an inseparable rift after the apparent happy ending. It's like life itself is writing it.

I'm honestly glad for that light doubter prickle I went to see the film with. The beginning is undoubtedly a great, complex and ambitious work, but from my point of view it did not overcome Nolan's two previous masterpieces. Unlike The Prestige, it is strictly linear and lacks the great narrative finesse that will make me feel good even after watching it many times, and unlike The Dark Knight, it lacks that monumental fatefulness. The idea is brilliant, but the script says everything important from the very beginning, explains too much, and surprises too little. Jonathan would definitely help. And the other thing - DiCaprio plays exactly the same character as in Scorsese's Shutter Island. In exactly the same way. Regardless, these two things pulled me out of the sweet dizziness that so many people had succumbed to.

A film that lacks creative discipline and, above all, order that would reconcile "Chinese" theatricality and lyrical openness with a modern (and very uneven) form. Chan really tries, but his pacifist idiot with the soul of a country poet ends up dying under the hooves of the schematic ideology of a "united and great China," which is already an indispensable prayer for all the historical large-scale productions under which the state apparatus is signed as a benefactor. They say you won't differentiate a phoenix from a sparrow in a Wok pan. On screen, luckily, you can.

I've started reading the book, the film was first... despite the fact that in its complexity it cannot and does not want to match Larsson's juggernaut, it belongs in the top league given its atmosphere and processing. Oplev is an excellent stylist who films in a simplified form, but with a sense of logic and pace. I really, really like how the script cleverly shifted Mikael from a confident seducer to a closed weirdo – the Rapace/Nyqvist duet is absolutely excellent for the film's purposes. By the way, Noomi is extraordinarily charismatic and played Lisbeth perfectly. The film has very high quality equivalent for everything that it lacks from the book. The result is a contagious and catchy detective story... although it lacks the socially critical dimension of the original, it moves in its genre quite sovereignly. It's a very difficult challenge for Fincher...

It is too bad about the overly raw form, because that is what sometimes unnecessarily takes the viewer out of the plot (instead of pulling him in). Otherwise, this parallel Albanian-Serbian journey to freedom represents an engaged current political drama in an optimal form. There's context, creative perspective, very plastic characters and critical urgency. Paskaljević has capitalized on years of experience and is steadfast with honor in an extremely difficult genre – he does not push the viewer anywhere, and yet affects emotions without much awkwardness. At this year's Karlovy Vary festival, a pleasant revelation amongst the politically themed films. [IFF KV 2010]

An attentive probe into the routine of a Danish crew in Afghanistan. Director Janus Metz uses a modern form, looks into the intimacy of his protagonists, listens to their dialogues, reconstructs motivations and adds superbly edited footage of combat deployment as the icing on the cake. Metz is not looking for context, but rather ordinariness, war through the eyes of an individual (this is similar to Maoz's film). Thanks to its excellent technical design, Armadillo is a modern and uncompromising documentary.