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It fascinates me in absolutely everything. First of all, in the fact that the animation has leapt forward as significantly as it did between Toy Story and Toy Story 2 movies, and you can see almost every molecule. Secondly, the natural sequence of events, where the new emotions realistically edge out the ones that used to be in charge, where everything feels more "lifelike" than if it were a more thought-out existential drama. And last but not least, of course, how everything emotionally comes together in the end, so that the last ten to fifteen minutes have literally drained my tear ducts. It's a particular relief and a ray of hope that this journey has been so beloved of critics, viewers, and the entire world. We are all a thirteen-year-old girl.

The one time I proudly set off to admire a Czech national treasure, I have ended up helplessly staring at an empty text field where my review should be, because I can't think how to lie my way out of such disappointment. There's little as truly Czech, nationalistic, and suitable for international boasting as Jiří Trnka and the Czech painter Mikoláš Aleš. The reality, however, is that most of the film is spent with a brave children's choir singing robustly which is a bit unbearable when combined with endless celebrations and holidays of the ensemble and the musicians, and above all, isn't even worth listening to. It's enough to make you forget the beautiful puppets and bunches of ideas, which Trnka later brings almost to perfection, because of all the noise. And so the legend of Saint Procopius stands out conspicuously with its richness and atmosphere, while something like the Spring interlude just seems endless. There is nothing for it but to shake my head and turn to literally anything else from one of the giants of Czech cinema.

A journey into famous waters that I never really wanted to take. I never believed Fede Alvarez had it in him to take on a legend of these dimensions, I didn't believe in the much-trumpeted genre setting of thoroughbred gore, but when critics, viewers, and box offices scoffed at Ridley Scott's misunderstood Alien: Covenant years ago, there was probably no other path left to go. And yet it works – and the combination of modern editing with dirty and oily technique is aggressive and beautiful from the very first minute. The aggressive creature is given enough space, the human crew makes mistakes that are understandable yet still manage clever and logical decisions at key moments. There is so much winking at the past that I was daydreaming, knowing that with a bit of exaggeration I could imagine I was watching Alien 1.5. Not to mention that finally, after years of waiting, the lines drawn from the classic tetralogy and the mythology of Prometheus have finally been combined, which is a gift that I never expected to receive. Thanks to this enrichment, Alien: Romulus is truly more than just a fun horror film, nor is it merely a side chapter the series could have done without. It's a reward for those who never completely gave up on Alien (and who can see beyond the first twist and don't mind that the script plays a bit subversively with them with iconic lines). I understand the arguments about the polarizing final chapter; without it, I would be happier than I am with it now. On the other hand, I must applaud the courage that even the brave and visually deconstructed genre film Alien: Resurrection was lacking almost thirty years ago. The fact that the result of such an experiment did not meet my expectations is my problem. Everyone who sees the saga as a whole and not just as a space for the eternal (and nowadays really endlessly tiresome) argument about which of the first two installments is better should also give it a try.

The dilemmas of dying men in a pleasant spirit and at a brisk pace, which paradoxically undercut almost all genre comic book efforts. I was liking this project for quite a long time, until everything went wrong. All the events take place in an unpleasant twilight, the effects are of varying quality at best, the main hero flies in front of a subway train, everything has to be commented on by an incapable, gruff, and fantastically inappropriately cast duo of detectives, I don't believe in the love story for a second, I cringe awkwardly at the lines – and the worst comes at the very end. Subtitle scenes, trying to situate the whole story in a spider's world. At that moment, not a single event or word makes sense and the script descends into clever mockery of any viewer who tried to take the development of the titular character at least a bit seriously.

As Harold Zidler says in Moulin Rouge: A magnificent, opulent, tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan, bedazzlement, a sensual ravishment. It will be: Spectacular Spectacular. He was right, that visionary.

Your crazy matches my crazy. I love Deadpool, but I love Wolverine even more, and if someone had told me a few years ago that they would meet in a movie, I would never have believed it. Logan was the final chapter in every way, and even though I never truly accepted his canonical end, at the same time, I didn't need any comebacks. Because nothing could have been better. But it could have been different. The necessary events remain in their timelines and with more breaking of the fourth wall, anything, anyone, and anytime can happen. In the first half of scenes, lines, and twists, it's unbridled fun that successfully makes my thirteen-year-old self laugh to tears; the second half throws references and characters from movies I still love, but to my huge surprise, also from directions that have long been forgotten. And just by the way, it also moves me to tears. It is a monument to one universe and one giant brand, it is an obligation for all who know Wolverine's comic history and didn't believe they would ever see some of his faces on screen, and it is an amazing film with breathtaking action full of ideas and literal low blows. But for me personally, it is also one of Hugh Jackman's peak performances, often performed with face muscles alone, and almost subconsciously. I wanted an entertaining movie, I got first-class entertainment that is hardly imitable – and it's worth its weight in gold.

An unrepentant dreamer at the end of his film journey. Francois Truffaut had only a few shots and years left, but no subsequent chapter would be forthcoming because none was needed. Love on the Run returns to all previous installments, giving surprisingly equal attention to Christine and Colette and providing everyone involved with the desired resolution. It accomplishes this using overused flashbacks, but in so doing it also connects situations that are almost incompatible, and the feeling of catharsis of the main troublemaker is absolute. While the main romantic anti-hero Antoine Doinel continues to make the same mistakes, he believes that with the next/previous one it could finally be the right one, in the last minutes you can't wish him anything else but for it to work out. So that happiness lasts not just a few minutes, but possibly a lifetime. The feeling that knocks you to the wall is just as intoxicating at thirteen as it is at thirty, but if you're lucky, the cause is always something different.

Antoine and his troubles for the fourth time, in a version that could have been the best. In the first hour, he carefully works on outlining the family situation through credible everyday episodes, the main characters are scattered in the middle of a setting seen a million times already, and then, at the moment when he should capitalize on this effort, he does exactly the opposite. The inevitable split trivializes everything, the reactions of the individual actors border on caricature, and The Family Hearth is needlessly knocked down a peg. And I don't understand it, because Francois Truffaut was never lacking in detachment, I like that about him, but I like the sense of urgency even more. And yet he lost it here, which means that only the first and last installments of the Doinel series remain sufficiently serious. The three middle ones always suffer for being told in the structure of a genre joke, where the form, despite the strength of the material, outweighs the content.

Whoever says that Star Wars: The Acolyte brings nothing new or good can't see past their nose. Lightsaber battles reach twists and turns I would never even have dared dream of and, when combined with ambiguous characters like Sola, Qimir, or Jeck, it represents the essence of Star Wars that I have come to crave in the current era. Still, at the same time, it seeks to offer a fateful mystical journey of two dreadfully uninteresting characters, which takes up unnecessarily large amounts of time instead of showing more of the principles of that famous period. Sometimes it runs aground on logic, when many twists sound confused or pointless, wasting time in endless flashback events and repeatedly losing pace before the otherwise top-notch, emotionally charged episodes Night and The Acolyte. I definitely wanted to see more, because there were plenty of layers, but I will have to settle for things only hinted at.

A critique of the chauvinist-saturated entertainment industry? One third of the running time went unseen because I can't watch trailers on the screen? The feeling that Coralie Fargeat is openly making fun of me, but doesn't want to laugh at me, but with me? If You Want More You'll Get Nothing: The Movie? It's all here. Some long to find lost beauty, some long to see a film that has not yet been made. And both should be careful what they wish for.