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A gallery of life failures and a parade of regular participants in pileups from the unsolvable intersections of adulthood. Although Jan Prušinovský's narrative is once again revealed to be one in which men are more easily forgiven and women occasionally get punished simply for being women, it is difficult to tear your gaze away from what's happening. The slightly wooden but all the more believable cast cannot be underestimated, with Pavla Gajdošíková proudly standing out, delivering one of the most natural and impressive performances in contemporary Czech cinema, without any tricks or mannerisms. Yes, I have quite a few criticisms of the final act, which at times happens just for the sake of happening, so that we can have catharsis along with the main duo. However, as a whole, Mistakes is so unique and sharply drawn that its usual domestic counterparts pale in comparison.

Although the Westview chapter may seem insignificant to the overall development of the universe, it is precisely an excursion into the overseas history of television comedy that definitively surpasses genre boundaries for the first time. Yes, in crucial moments, it is once again a Marvel movie that must have action or a battle, but complaining about that quality is the same as criticizing an episode of a series for focusing on a specific theme rather than foreign characters or plots. I am fascinated by how precisely the individual subgenres are captured, how quickly I am able to tune in to each new game, and how quickly it can freeze even disturbing images. Elizabeth Olsen deserved to steal the show for herself in Avengers: Age of Ultron or Avengers: Infinity War, and I am very glad that the leadership of the MCU took this desire to heart.

The most surprising comic book movie, at least within the MCU. Not only because of the whole range of stimulating themes it addresses, but unfortunately also because of how polarizing it is. Personally, I appreciate it for the amount of audacity and alluring elements it contains. I have seen the silent, contemplative, and in a way, adorable Eternals twice already, and each time the seemingly modest duration felt painfully too short for me. No joke, I would like a four-hour film or a slow-paced series because I am so drawn to this world, and it saddens me that due to obscure marketing it remained a mystery to the fan base before and after the premiere. Every time, after watching, I ponder for hours and days about the choices of the powerful, about predestination for great things, about fate and its variability, about the beauty of ordinary life, about love that can last a few days or centuries, and last but not least, about the inevitability of gaining and losing your closest friends. Only after all of that comes the pleasant wink in the form of the transmission of cultural values across eras, and I was okay even with those, but I still shake my head as to why this very small detail is such a red rag to the public. Such a peaceful film with a perfectly understandable and necessary message, and still it provokes such absurdly strong negative passions.

It is difficult to maintain the pace for more than one scene and except for the surprisingly grandiose and repeatedly escalating difficulties in Malta, it is impossible to immerse yourself in the plot. Every beautiful shot is accompanied by a stupid line or an exaggerated stretch of logic. It can only be understood as a genre retreat to certainty. Colin Trevorrow once again churns out a variation on his own Jurassic World and the original park and navigates the classical waters of adventurous chases with a megalomaniac human antagonist on the side. Perhaps that's why I liked the over-the-top, controversial, but perfectly different Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom. The powers that be are returning to the model of an attraction that fulfills its purpose, showing exactly the dinosaurs that the audience expects, linking the fates of characters we want to see intertwined – and surprisingly, even this time it is enough by a hair's breadth. Once it reaches its almost hour-long finish, everything is finally in its place and I get a sense of closure of the new trilogy and the complete hexalogy. And that is ultimately what I came for in the first place and the last place. 70%

Will Arnett, just the way I like him. With a hint of talent, a larger portion of clumsiness, and an immense amount of self-confidence. Even though Terry Seattle reminds me of other roles in his career, there is no need to change what works perfectly. In Murderville, it depends on the specific guest and their ability to tune into the main character's dark humor, but whenever it comes to the running joke of "repeat exactly what I say", I bust out laughing every time.

An inexplicable phenomenon in the form of a film that does not advance the genre forward, does not stand out in terms of acting, repeats itself like a song, and visually quotes a decades-old original scene by scene – and yet critics, viewers, children, and grandparents all nod their heads in agreement and struggle to admit that they just saw the film of the year. Honest action, where screws visibly fly off fighter planes and oil drips, a cliché seen a hundred times, which quakes with every emotion, and the essence of the 80s, extracted to the core, still works a couple levels better at every moment than it did in 1986. Top Gun: Maverick is the opposite of fan service because it brings us back to a fandom that most people only halfheartedly like, and not many would include it among their favorites. And yet it crushes us with nostalgia for times we didn't experience, forcing us to melancholically ponder fates we didn't know for three decades, and we honestly go in any direction it shows us, wondering why we never became pilots.

A Series of Happy Accidents. Thanks to the new location, the spectacle is even more optimistic, which may not surpass the first film in terms of scale, but somehow miraculously manages to piece together episodes of many, many characters into two separate, functional bittersweet storylines, bridging (viewer) generations, and in a more British spirit than the British themselves, most likely definitively concluding the fates of this now legendary clan. Despite the tears, I did not take my eyes off the screen, and the smile never faded from my face.

A combination of everything that mountaineering films should do well and, in this case, do. It grabs you with suspense, forces the viewer to freeze in horror at the endless drops, and yet fascinates you with a view that is unmatched. The Summit of the Gods, thanks to a unique intercultural cooperation, works in all the mentioned aspects. However, the focus is still on introspective and retrospective values, which makes it worth seeing not only for me, who came to visit the pensive animation, but also for someone who has encountered the genre many times. The only thing I still (fortunately) don't understand is the power of that lure, which can willingly bring a grown man to the outer edge of life and make him willing to step beyond it.

I wanted to lament the strictly educational way the key scenes are narrated. But when I read in the other reviews that viewers perceive Eliška Křenková as a hypochondriac or a psychopath, I swallow hard and, willing or not, I praise the film at least for the still urgently needed enlightenment it attempts to provide. However, the form is a huge struggle for me. I understand the way Martin E. Kyšperský is making an attempt at self-psychotherapy, but the fact that he himself plays the role of the main character is the biggest disaster. I couldn't get rid of the feeling the whole time that he never fully immersed himself in the role, that he only caressed the emotions and mechanically recited the rest, without breaking through with fear or sadness in his own body. The journey of the two ships in the shared space lacks credibility because next to the closed and convincing Eliška he looks like a wooden puppet. The tension between the main couple is half-hearted, because we fall into their story just when they are already interested in each other. But why we see specific flashes from their beginnings, happiness, and problems is never clear to me, and instead of a reconciling point, we are thrown a meaningless dialogue about Pluto. I understand the metaphor, but why are they in that specific place at that moment? Even though the journey to Norway and back to domestic conditions is pleasantly modest and intimate, it founders on the same thing as every other film, namely the technical quality. The sound is an absolute tragedy, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that within ten minutes I had added subtitles so I would understand more than just every other sentence.

At first glance, still close enough to the original packed and con films, but at second there's only the desire to step in the same river for a third time. It's great that new things are getting entangled in the gangsters with a bunch of angry men, whether it's bigger complications or more surprising twists. Unfortunately, there is such a flash of strange misogyny and aggression all throughout (confirmed many years later in The Gentlemen), which I simply cannot get past. It's a shame, because otherwise Guy Ritchie is still a hero in moments of pure adrenaline, but at other points it's just the opposite.