Stanislaus

I haven't seen the original film from the 1930s, but it certainly doesn't has as many bizarre characters as this early millennium adaptation. Mr. Deeds both stands and falls on those characters and the situations they get themselves into. Most of the inhabitants of Deeds's little town – except perhaps for Conchata Ferrell's spunky and buxom pizzeria helper – were more or less out of place; the New York cast wasn't much better – though I enjoyed John Turturro's "master of appearing and disappearing" Emilio. The main character's good-naturedness with the universally tolerable Adam Sandler seemed shoddy in places, perhaps similar to Winona Ryder's confused meanness, but their relationship felt quite endearing nonetheless. Either way, this obscure vibe that Brill's film is brimming with is the main reason I return to Mr. Deeds every once in a while.

Perhaps the most damaging aspect Wish is the label "Disney centennial film", both from the side of the audience's expectations and from the side of the filmmakers, who have unwittingly tried to put the centennial history of this famous studio into a film. As for the visuals, I liked the blending of 3D animation with cartoon elements. I also praise the locations (the forest scenes evoked films from the 1930s to the 1950s). While I enjoy pop culture references in some films, in the case of Wish I found them too forcefully and artlessly incorporated (e.g. Bambi or Peter Pan), though I liked the final peek at Sleeping Beauty. The story itself wasn't bad, but it didn't have any downright memorable or powerful scenes. Aside from that, I was bothered at times by the excessive goofiness of the main characters, detracting from the experience of the film. The songs were generally good and unlike the film itself, I will certainly return to them. Average three stars!

Adam Sandler, who co-wrote the screenplay, plays the lead role of the cantankerous prickly lizard and (surely) contributed to the casting of his two daughters, certainly has nothing to be ashamed of in this enjoyable animated film. After the considerably wacky Hotel Transylvania films, Leo is a refreshing change of pace, captivating both in its animation and its story, which will appeal to young and adult audiences alike. Leo – a therapeutic counsellor for children's problems – thinks his life is coming to an end and, although he would like to escape to freedom, he decides to capitalise on his years of experience and pass it on. Although the film deals with more or less serious problems in the lives of children and adults alike, it does not forget to entertain with its unforgivingly sweet lessons, and has many humorous scenes, especially provided by Leo and his equally funny turtle friend from the terrarium. A pleasant surprise from Netflix!

For the first time in more than two decades, Ridley Scott and (one Oscar heavier) Joaquin Phoenix meet behind and in front of the camera to take us from the year 180 to the early 1800s to tell the story of one of the most famous warlords and rulers in European history. The fact that a shorter, but still solidly expansive, version of nearly two hours went into theaters was most noticeable in the film's opening ten minutes, which felt a little too cut up for me. Napoleon's relationship with Josephine was – apart from the animalistic, disappointing sounds – portrayed believably; from the tentative beginning to the bittersweet end. As for the action, I'm at a loss for words: on this field, Scott did not disappoint, offering spectacularly shot and raw (but not overly raw) scenes from famous battles, of which Austerlitz was clearly the one that most captivated me in the cinema. Although two and a half hours long and there is a lot of talking, I was not bored at all and I thoroughly enjoyed the screening – which was certainly due to the fact that I am not an outright historical nitpicker.

As Miyazaki's (surely this time?) last animated feature, The Boy and the Heron combines the artistic stylization of his previous films and proves that the master's imagination and skill are not yet past their prime. Although the opening is more gradual, from the first confrontation with the heron and especially after the entry into the tower, it is a visually captivating and plotfully sophisticated spectacle that – although depicting serious themes – can be humorously light-hearted – whether it was the cigarette-smoking maid, the army of totoro parrots or the heron itself. I appreciated that the theme of certain fatality in connection with other realities was handled in a subtle and not weepy way. Last but not least, I also praise Hisaishi's spare but very nice musical score. A fine end to a career spanning fifty years!

The life of Andrea Absolonova, a promising diver *slash* famous porn actress, whose existence I had no idea about before watching this film, offers a rather interesting subject and it is a bit of a pity that Her Body didn't use its full potential. Natálie Císařovská's feature directorial debut doesn't really break out of the genre of biographical drama, although it does contain some interesting motifs and shots. For me, the film's biggest weakness was the sharp (or flinty) transition between the main character's two very different careers and the superficially portrayed attitude of Andrea's family towards her post-accident life. P. S. The censored scenes didn't even need to be there!

Like The Owners, She Came at Night relies on a fairly mundane theme, but one that the makers take their own way and serve up an unusual humorous piece that gives you chills, all the more so because it can relate to many of us. The film stands above all on the phenomenal, playfully theatrical performance of Simona Peková, who almost steals the whole thing for herself, and surely many a viewer recognised in her the mother of her dearly beloved half – although it is true that the film is a lethal cocktail of the most toxic qualities cumulated in one person. I was a little puzzled by why I think it’s an unfinished ending. I must not forget to praise the distinctive score.

The Ritual is certainly not beyond comparison with the cult-classic The Blair Witch Project (which I personally found quite mediocre). Here, instead of a trio of students searching for the supernatural in the woods on purpose, we have four friends who got into the woods and the supernatural found them by chance. (Spoiler alert!) On the one hand, Bruckner's film is a decently atmospheric one-off about confronting demons – both inner and ancient ones – but on the other hand, it limps because of the characters (who, thank God, die according to descending likeability) and the mythological evil, which, while having breathtaking and original visuals, has a blandly sketched background. I have mixed feelings about the film's conclusion.

I welcomed the return to the world of The Hunger Games after eight years, although it is true that the ending of the original trilogy (or tetralogy) suffered to some extent from the third book being split into two films. I hadn’t read the book this time, so I was curious to see what kind of story I would be dealing with. I liked that the plot focused on the birth or formation of the character of Snow, and I commend the casting of Tom Blyth, who managed this transition from relatively innocent to rather psychopathic one in a believable way. Rachel Zegler cut a similar figure to her role in the previous year's West Side Story and I quite enjoyed (not only) her musical numbers. The development of the relationship between Snow and Lucy Grey had a really strong charge, initially sweet, then chilling. The diabolical Viola Davis and the ambiguous Peter Dinklage only confirmed their acting qualities, and I was delighted with the smaller role of Fionnula Flanagan. Throughout the film, you can't help but compare it to Nazi Germany (I liked the scenes from the "remade" Battle of the Nations Memorial in Leipzig), and it was interesting to see how The Hunger Games was conceived in its early days – in the "humble" bowels of a reinforced concrete monster - P.S. "It's the things we love most, that destroy us."

The Firemen’s Ball is my favourite of Forman's Czech films from the 1960s, and from time to time I like returning to it, with its exceptionally curious choice of a beauty queen (well - actually just a selection of candidates) and the bizarre prizes of the raffle slowly disappearing, while a feeling of boundless (but very desirable) awkwardness grows to unprecedented proportions during the screening. The ubiquitous humorous touch is transformed into a dense, even poignant feeling at the end – during the cottage fire I felt an unpleasant chill down my spine. Now a cult classic of its genre, it has an exquisitely timeless atmosphere.