Lima

Visually and musically captivating it’s captivating, with the image is in perfect symbiosis with Smetana's (and other composers') music. At the same time, I sense a strong authorial imprint, an effort to make it not just another dry documentary with an impassive commentary. So I welcomed all those refreshing touches, such as the short mini-movies with Jitka Molavcova pulling period props in a cart somewhere on a dirt road, which interestingly introduced individual periods of Smetana's life. The performances of Molavcova, as well as the pleasant accompanying voice of her and Ladislav Mrkvička, give this documentary an interesting touch.

The film may push the despot-pupil relationship a little too much, but there’s no better demonstration in recent years that talent alone is not enough; that talent, not nourished by daily grind, immeasurable diligence, focus and a desire for maximalism, regardless of the obstacles, is actually useless. Because as J.K. Simmons says “There are no two words in the English language more harmful than ‘good job’.” Fuck "good job", geniuses must want more. The last time I experienced similar feelings was with the 1961 film The Hustler, with Paul Newman, which says the same thing about talent, though in a completely different industry. The message of this film is more or less clear and it doesn't matter if it is about drummers, violinists, billiard players or tennis players, its insight about Talent is universal.

I know of better films about the plight of acting while paying homage to the work of the theatre. This is nothing but an attempt at an artsy film of the European kind, but by an established Hollywood filmmaker, where the supposedly uninterrupted narrative (achieved, of course, by flawless digital effects) is only a mannerism, like Edward Norton's repeatedly discussed hardened penis. It didn't touch me, not at all, neither mentally nor emotionally. The only exception is the scene of the emotionally strained conversation with a theatre critic about the nature of professional criticism and then Birdman's words about the vapid taste of the average dimwitted viewer, which I would chisel in stone. Of course, I would wish the Oscar to the phenomenal Michael Keaton with all my heart, if only because he is such a likeable guy and his life's fate is a bit like Riggan's.

It is rare to see such dirty, unkempt action in an A-budget film, where in the heat of battle, opponents are beaten into a freshly stitched wound and eliminated 95% of the time in the surest way, i.e. by headshot, where cars don't explode upon impact and women fight like women (i.e. not through strength, but by subterfuge), so you don't see them punch and kick hard, which they wouldn't be able to do given their physiognomy, as the vast majority of films in Hollywood today do in terms of gender pseudo-balance. What's more, there's a humorous twist on action movie clichés – the assassins have their own hotel with its own rules, and the unquestionable reason for the carnage is a dead dog. I can understand that, if someone touched my hamster, even John Wick with his arsenal would be in trouble.

Poor Peter Jackson, if this film had come out 10 or 13 years ago, everyone would have been gushing over an unparalleled foray into the fantasy genre, but today's audiences are already spoiled by the cinematic attractions of recent years (and rightly so) and CGI effects, however sophisticated, can no longer impress anyone. But I can still feel that playful Peter in there, the 14 year-old kid who would get cyclops moving and trow a spear with photo-montage. I can still see the overgrown kid in who likes to show off, like in his movie beginnings. And I like that. Moreover, as with the Ring Trilogy, the visuals were handled by Tolkien's illustrators John Howe and Alan Lee, so I have nothing to complain about in that respect either. The Hobbit doesn't match the previous trilogy emotionally, but nobody could have expected that with the source material, which is an easygoing fairytale that doesn't solve anything, and I appreciate all the more that Jackson did manage to squeeze some of those fateful emotions into it. Still, unlike the previous two parts, I’m not giving it 5 stars. While the Hobbit's quest was entertaining and engaging thanks to the frequent changes of scenery and encounters with creatures of all sorts, here we basically don't move from where we are, there is more empty filler than necessary and you can also see how the narrative has been brutally chopped up. This policy of the studios (release a shorter cut in cinemas and a half-hour longer one on Blu-ray and make more money out of it) really annoys me. However, when I sum it up and count the pros and cons, I can safely say that although the Hobbit trilogy is not equal to the Ring trilogy in my eyes, it’s still a few thousand Smaug’s Tails ahead of the rest of the fantasy competition.

Sitting at the bar with a shorter haircut telling her story, Sarah Snook looks like a young DiCaprio in the 'pre-Titanic' era, and not only does she look it, she gives a similarly fantastic performance. The entire first hour, its narrative, offers one of the most interesting passages the film world has delivered in the last year. Unfortunately, though, when the cards are laid on the table, the only thing left to play with are the temporal paradoxes so beautifully parodied in the Back to the Future trilogy. It's a great shame because a lot of potential was wasted.

I quite enjoy the general mockery of Ben Affleck's acting among film fans (along the lines of "the mob bitches, so I will bitch too"), but he's straight up Shakespearean elite against Tom Hardy, with a rich arsenal of facial expressions. I'm really sorry, but Tom Hardy with his permanent scowl is like the Chuck Norris of A-movies and his acting doesn't impress me at all. Looking at the permanent wrinkles on his forehead, I can think of a distant quote from one of the kleopatra reviews here: "If he had Botox injected into his forehead, he would be finished with acting."

It's remarkable that something like this was made at a time of already solidifying normalisation, when many of the new wave filmmakers were already banned. This is a difficult film to grasp, unclassifiable by genre, something between horror and dark fairytale, a poetic narrative that can't be taken with reason, rather just felt. But even more than Jireš's bold approach to the viewer (a kind of "here you have it and deal with it as you wish"), I appreciate the work of the artist Ester Krumbachová, who did a great job and many of her visual compositions are unforgettable. For many viewers, the result is a hard-to-digest cinematic experiment, which I quite enjoyed for its otherness, but which was a tough nut to crack in places. Of course, it's good to know that pedophiles wear a necklace made of animal teeth :o)

It's always been like that. Always. For every film that has (re)defined the sci-fi genre, there have been widely conflicting responses; only time, the fairest judge, has helped resolve the dilemma of a work' immortality. This applied even to Kubrick's Odyssey, which was loved in its time by hippie circles but reviled by critics and mainstream audiences. But Nolan is like expensive wine, if you like it and you know that it makes you feel good, you will forgive it a little bit of tartness and you will be happy to come back to it. He’s not the cheap swill that delight the bums at the train station, but a proper vintage Bordeaux. Cheap swill are most of today’s movies, especially the innumerable comic book adaptations that have already bored the gourmands. Nolan can still surprise, and as he gets older, his films become more epic, more narratively sweeping, in short, more cinematically ambitious, while focusing more on the visceral feelings of individuals, bringing the simple human dimension to the fore in a Spielbergian way (see the third Batman). But I still wasn't prepared for what was coming. Interstellar is so ambitious and bold in its message, in its rarely seen narrative structure, that it will either hit you like a ton of bricks or, on the contrary, make you feel uplifted. It depends on your nature. And I could go on with superlatives, such as the original and unprecedented concept of the gradual destruction of our ecosystem, all from the point of view of one family (similar to Spielberg's War of the Worlds or Close Encounters of the Third Kind), breathtaking space compositions, while maintaining a serious scientific dimension and the laws of physics (though this is for a longer discussion), and all that while keeping the narrative intimate and thought-provoking. Nolan is a man with a big heart, and those who are afraid of honestly conveyed emotions, thoughts revolving around the fate of the family and the weight of the responsibility to bring a child into the world, may not appreciate this. But would it be presumptuous of me to say that at least half of the positive impression of the film in my eyes was made by Matthew McConaughey himself? An actor so malleable, with such a breadth of emotions, it's breathtaking. Matthew, if I see you one more time showing your six-pack in the company of some second rate bird like in one of those forgotten comedies you (thankfully) have left behind, I’ll smack you in the head with one of your surf boards.

Loud, overwrought, overdigitised bullshit in the rhythm of nigga gangsta rap. Just classic Liebesman and Bay who, as always, know no measure. The only thing I missed was Eminem high-fiving Rafael during the turtle talk.