Marigold

Ceylan's spiritual patron Chekhov erupted on the surface of Anatolia, and the result is the reduced magic of passing time and, unfortunately, weakened power of film language. In partial moments it is captivatingly sleepy, frozen and earthy, but sometimes overly literal and staring into its own eloquence. For Chekhov, every word has weight, but for Ceylan, sometimes the words simply pour out. Even in places where the film can do without them.

Probably the most strongly structured film by the Dardenns, which is essentially a social thriller par excellence: the heroine has a clearly defined task (to persuade 9 employees to give up their bonuses so she can keep her job), a time limit and an opponent (master Jean-Marc, who allegedly affects colleagues over the phone). The Dardenn dynamics of movements elevated to a complex genre engine, which drives the film to an absolutely ingenious double twist at the end. I am repeating myself...but why not? No one makes films today which, in their simplicity, are able to perfectly reflect the complexity of the contemporary world - moral, personal and economic. No one is able to construct situations in such a way that the viewer is thrown into utter uncertainty, exposed to intense emotional terror without a single sign of manipulation. In the social drama genre, there are filmmakers who are close to Darden's verism, but the original is unmatched. An unpretentious monument to human tenacity, dignity, Marion Cotillard, and an urgent testimony about the state of contemporary society. Film-life. Without a single inkling of pathos. Besides that which evokes it in similarly unappealing attempts to achieve some sort of description.

Paradies: Schnee. An intense relationship avalanche that rolls around the peaks of Bergman, Trier, Seidl and Andersson and ends (typically for Östlund) with a large and seemingly superfluous thesis, which even in film form presents the role of hypocrisy and falsehood in the construction of reality. While I consider the first 2/3 of the film to be absolutely brilliant in observing details and working with a change of mood, the conclusion, as in the case of Play, feels like an intellectual construct without debates from an extremely clever creator. There are several places where Ruben could cut off the film as a chilling image of intimate collapse and uncertainty, but he prefers to go with the enigmatic metaphor of the collective. Force Majeure is the type of film that can shake confidence in love relationships and accurately capture the fragility and degree of manipulation with which we keep them going. It is also the exact naming of the thin crust under which the distinguished Nordic society locked instincts, which then wants to be heard, with surprising intensity, in an environment full of bizarre human rituals (in this aspect, Force Majeure reminds of Seidl's trilogy Paradise). Confirmation that Östlund belongs to the top echelons of art film. Maybe he just didn't have to emphasize it so much. [80%]

Who wouldn't want to open their wife's skull and see what's going on inside it? Best Fincher since 2007. Especially the first half is brilliant. The way in which Fincher managed to elegantly embody two unreliable book narrators into exciting cinematic speech is worthy of (un) academic admiration. Especially since the film does not achieve the stratification and urgency of the book, but it is able to balance it with predatory irony and scathing exaggeration. Criticism of the crises of a troubled society, which is oriented only by reflections and media images, is carried out with ease and without any lameness. I have problems more so with the second half, which is slightly camp, and, especially through the irresistibly psychopathic caricature of the main character, the film makes its work a little easier when it runs from subtle social criticism and attentive satire of a marital crisis to shocking twists. Moreover, in some of the "dark" scenes, it seems as if Ben Affleck (deprived of the opportunity to defend himself with his smile) reaches the limits of his acting. I can't say that Fincher convinces me indefinitely about the meaningfulness of all of the parts of his game, but I admit, without torture, that even taking into account the complexity of the original and all the pitfalls of the material, my initially slightly indifferent attitude transformed into deep recognition. I’d like to watch this Gone Bitch again after some time has passed.

Argentine bachelor's stories with a bloody coat of paint, sometimes insanely convulsive (the introductory Pasternak barely holds up as a TV sketch, even if the authors of Pečený sněhulák would tear off Szifron's hands), attacks on social criticism killed in shallow morals (jBombito and a story with a wreck), all character limits, structurally and ideologically defensible by the fact that they are "stories" and similar reductivity pertains to them. There is nothing to object to - I just claim that this is an unbalanced film, more for fun than really entertaining and it is explicitly shallow in its more ambitious moments. Only the final wedding is really "wild", but even then one’s smile is replaced by a slightly raised eyebrow. Purely filmed, audience-friendly, but otherwise absolutely amounting to consumer goods. It can be justified by the fact that the (un) ordinary absurdity of existence coincides with the films of Roy Andersson, but Szifron's film does not even come close to its penetration and vision. [60%]

The bones, tissue and blood of modernity born of madness and chaos. Impeccable direction, brilliantly set to Martinez's cool and contemporary ambient underscore. An uncompromising cut. If this keeps up, The Knick will be the clear season winner. [Pilot 95%]

I love these survival stories based on a real event, where the character declares that everyone has to save light, and then the three cavers light each other in the face with their halogens in one square meter of space. Only the appearance of giant man-eating olms that would eliminate the entire staff early on would help.

Guardians of the Galaxy take advantage of the fact that people love galactic soap operas and don’t worry about the rest, and it is given to them because they belong to the Marvel universe. In other words, one thing is not true of this film: it really is not subversive. The film always smirks slightly at the right time, but that doesn't change the fact that it takes full advantage of the potential of cosmic heroic sagas and Marvel hubs. Its humor is similarly superficial as the choice of 70's musical hits, but it works as a well-trodden galactic sitcom with excellent characters, and even in serious moments it seriously entices as a "superhero" spectacle (it got to me 2 times with the pure essence of heroic pathos, only to then laugh at myself along with the heroes). It's touchingly childish, yet very adult self-aware. And calculated to the last detail. When it comes to Marvel films, they simply know. Years ahead of the competition. [75%]

The first film was the work of an excellent choreographer, part two an excellent director. The first film is a test reel for this heavy stuff. Sure, it has a simpler structure and thus a seemingly stronger push, but where Evans hit the accelerator pedal to floor the after a few minutes (and monotonously hummed after a few minutes), he demonstrates in part two the precise revving of the machine. At the end it gets to a speed where I say quite responsibly: I have not seen anything better, more pampered, more of a catalyst and more brutal in an action film. Kinetic crap that only the third Bourne film can compete with. Evans also turns out to be a good narrator, if not a screenwriter - he works well with the acting material (the return of the man-macaque !!!), delicately pulls the atmosphere of corpse neon sets even in quiet passages and manages to squeeze more from the main character than an elbow harvester. Despite the rather murderous runtime and the very transparent plot, it holds tight and does not let go. The film has very simple but brutally effective emotions under an incredibly badass aesthetic surface. The film hooked me so much that I experienced the kitchen scene with Rama (together and deliciously) physically - for me, it's A Space Odyssey of fight scenes. The Raid 2 it is not just a level plaything, but rather a monstrous and enchanting world, something similar to what Refn tried to do in Only God Forgives. This is a major genre event for me, compared to which the competition is just shaking with digital and wired shame. [95%]

It if was the 90's / Morgan Freeman speaking all the monologues after inhaling helium, I would give it 100%; but in this form, I value it mainly as a very amusing loss of judgment. Not everyone can do it with such commitment and dynamics as Besson (the chase in Paris!). I get the feeling that this is what the movie version of the Ass that pissed would look like. Unfortunately / Thank god that at a time when blockbusters are figuring out how to best employ 10% of your brain, the Frenchman's uncontrolled swelling in the remaining ninety is rather a nice bit of bizarreness. BTW, Choi is sick and Scarlett tries quite playfully to play even the stupidest scenes, such as a drug-filled, sensitive phone call to her mother. I'm not actually mad at Lucy at all, because once in a while you need to flush out your synapses with someone else's madness... [50-70%]