novoten

Mocking all good comics, in whose light Elektra is a decent spectacle and Ghost Rider is a memorable masterpiece.

The heart does not choose. And my beloved genre of bittersweet romance offered me its gem at a time when references to The Notebook did not pop up in every other TV show and the viewer did not know what they were getting into. He was an honest, sympathetic guy from poor circumstances, she was a bit too mischievous but sincere beauty from rich circumstances. And in extremely unfavorable circumstances, a huge love was born. They are simply projections that are not forgotten, so even ten years after I first opened this notebook, I vividly remember how the film affected me. It was not about twists, punchlines, or surprises. The power was in the touching scenes, captivating cinematography, and passionately attractive main couple. And that's why I will always stand by the fact that for hopeless romantics, this is an absolute obligation.

Cinderella Man is, until now, the best film by Ron Howard and possibly the best boxing film of my life. Howard may not bring a fresh breeze to the well-known genre, but he skillfully manipulates the given formulas and squeezes out emotions from me like a poem. When Braddock suffers, tears well up in my eyes, and when he fights, I have inclinations to root for him. And a huge praise to Crowe, because what he delivers is simply unbelievable, and it's a shame that he didn't imitate a similar role in another contemporary genre film later on. Russell, this was your night.

Sometimes about nothing, sometimes lacking a point, the lines go over my head and two good stories simply aren't enough for me. The film as a whole lacks atmosphere and one man is to blame - Tim Roth. His sidekick is just a silly caricature trying to look like a mix of Rowan Atkinson and others like him, but instead it oozes awkwardness.

Commerce has defeated the classic. The extorted substance is truly more exciting and even better than the original Silence of the Lambs. A suggestive thriller with a fantastically depressing atmosphere, and unlike the previous (upcoming) installments, it features a likeable and believable investigator on the level of the unmistakable Hopkins and a perfectly chilling murderer in Fiennes. The final twist even brings a desire to immediately watch Demme's original. This is how the most fundamental essence of a well-known story should be expanded.

With bloody horror filled with family values, the bag burst at one point and it was precisely about The Hills that so much was spoken that, despite my dislike for this subgenre, I embarked on them. But the journey with the Carter family doesn't work, and neither does bloodthirsty Aja or unfortunately, beautiful Emilie. The praised attack on the caravan proved to be nothing more than a bloody massacre, and the rest was just skillfully directed routine. A stupid and trivial spectacle that only cleverly hit the cravings of its audience target.

Pacino has expanded his usual sufficient range of expressions "nervous, tired, sad" this time with "lightly in the mood" and later with "heavily on edge". However, not even his divine acting is enough to make a better impression, because the plot lacks coherence and interest for most of the time.

Holden's cynical bons mots about the factory of dreams had to become timeless. However, his solitary character also functions as an ideal guide to the dark noir with a black humor tinge. An unforgettable homage to Hollywood and its strong critique at the same time.

How far can we go in proving the truth? And what are we willing to lose in the fight for it, knowing that we have stronger enemies against us? Mann is almost unrecognizable and therefore failing this time. I expected a bomb from him on this topic, but instead got a journalistic drama with a murderous track, an atmospheric soundtrack, and unsurprisingly convincing performances by Crowe and the perfect Pacino. Perhaps if it had truly surprised me at least once, it could have been better.

A lot of stupid jokes and occasional good idea. If it wasn't for the extremely tiresome conclusion in the style of "I am not...", I would be much more reconciled.