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Breath-taking blockbuster and the final episode of a TV series. A story about how anyone of us can be a hero, even a misfit team member. A dusty western and a monumental sci-fi. Serenity elevates the legacy of the series to an even higher level, making Malcolm the captain whom we all want as our superior and turning the love for the ship into an undeniable mission. Firefly is unforgettable in its own right, but thanks to Serenity, it becomes immortal.

Season 1 – 90% – Everything in the supernatural genre has been said in recent years, and every newcomer must try an approach that will at least slightly differentiate them. And Toby Whithouse wrote his series from the world of darkness and blood and attempted it... in a completely ordinary, human, and civil way. At times, it really seems that Mitchell, George, and Annie will play out their stories purely through dialogue, small jokes, and interpersonal interactions with neighbors, acquaintances, friends, or lovers. But then there wouldn't be the gang around the slimeball Harrick, which frames their efforts with a clash with a group of (how else but completely elegantly) acting bloodsuckers. Because I expected mostly light entertainment from this haunted house, I remain shocked at how successful it was even in more serious aspects. A unique achievement that surprises with each subsequent storyline. Season 2 – 90% – More serious, bloodier, bigger. And damn more depressing. In the opening episode, the BBC gave me quite a few wrinkles because there was very little left of the original concept, perhaps only the main characters. The plot felt like a really bloody horror, and the motivations of the supporting characters felt unnecessarily rushed. But it was just a matter of getting used to it and accepting the fact that the life path on which a vampire, a werewolf, and a ghost are embarking has taken a significantly darker direction. A direction in which tears or a genuinely suffocating emotional atmosphere are not far away, but the viewer's reward is all the more substantial. In the end, I just sat there exhausted and nodded in admiration for the diversity of genres that can be squeezed into eight episodes. It is hard to say how long such a specific spectacle can continue, but at this moment (partly also for the incredible courage of putting this into prime time) Being Human lands the highest rating. Season 3 – 100% – From the initial trip to the other world to the devastating conclusion, it may be the most engaging thing the British TV world has ever offered me. The way the central gang, along with the episodic cast, has matured in their acting and the boundaries the uncompromising screenplay forces them to push constantly made me sit on the edge of my seat, frozen, and only occasionally wipe away beads of sweat. The price for humanity is sometimes unattainably high, and anxieties, crimes, and all the bad things from the past tend to appear just when vampires, ghosts, or werewolves need them the least. At the very end, I could only silently admire the perfect gradation and fear that now the entire supernatural coexistence can only go downhill. But the ending shouldn't have been a surprise. Season 4 – 100% – The more complex the situation facing main creator Toby Whithouse was, the more admirably he dealt with it. It was really a close shave and the whole concept collapsing in his hands at a critical moment, but he held it together, revived it, and brought it to a completely captivating chapter. With Hal comes a rough and hard-to-tame force, which, thanks to the contrast with Damien Molony's certain elegance, becomes the surprising highlight of the entire eight-episode season. And while I don't usually demand naturalistic moments from a series, they fit perfectly in the fight against an ancient prophetic prophecy. In a sense, this season is the end of an era. And I was just trembling, hoping the quality would remain this high even in the officially last season. Season 5 – 85% – The rating is weaker than in previous years, but that by no means makes it a poor relative. On the contrary, it is precisely the fact that this coda, with its surprisingly far-fetched plot based on a battle against absolute evil, brought the whole effort to a honest and mood-perfect ending, that cements Being Human as an unforgettable achievement, and ultimately one of my favorite supernatural TV worlds. The final airing is filled with painfully gained experiences or sad failures, but even more apparently than ever before, it exudes an effort to be more humane than humans themselves. While in the first seasons, it was more about trying just to live and handle your own skeletons in the closet; the last two seasons are about the burning desire to change something. And that is admirable, captivating, and incredibly moving – but above all, terribly difficult.

The beginning stumped me, when it is not clear who is on which side of the barricade and what brought them to the hotel, as did the unexpected reveal of the multiple red herring storylines of the individual characters, which intentionally bring no surprises. However, the last act does not fit in at all with the previous events and for something long awaited brings a damn shortage of entertainment. Not to mention that, considering all the tough talk from before, it pulls its punches several times, even shamefully. It's a pity, especially because the setting and the cast are spot on.

Unusually cleanest seriously and surprisingly also quite depressingly affecting story of one storm without the usual self-irony. But there is a lack of Woody in an acting position and Elaine Stritch's not-quite-convincing presence strongly hinders. The reason why I consider September to be among the director's least successful films is mainly because, in addition to Lane, the characters lack a bit more depth.

Season 1 – 85% – "There's a lot of sadness in this house." – "It's a funeral home." A perfectly honest drama with all the elements that best tell us that we don't choose our family, destined partners, and fate. Fortunately. The full load of mistakes is less than it might seem, and only characters like Gilardi or Gabriel Dimas can prevent it (although they are believable). However, I'm rooting for the entire Fisher family and their loved ones, hoping they can handle all the negativity they encounter on their funeral home journey. Season 2 – 90% – "We really are just biology, aren't we?" Dear Fishers, you are getting under my skin. While someone like Nate grew on me from the moment Peter Krause's face appeared on the screen, it took me a bit longer to warm up to the others, but now I love Claire and Ruth. I still struggle with the supporting characters, can't appreciate Keith's storyline, and often roll my eyes when Rico moralizes, but as a whole, Six Feet Under is getting better and better. I wish them all the best in rising above things they can't change (David), winning the battle with themselves (Billy), and sometimes I simply don't understand them (Brenda). Nevertheless, I slowly but irreversibly identify with this unspoken struggle for everyday happiness. Season 3 – 100% – "I wouldn't change anything. If you change one thing, that changes everything. And some things are the way they should be." About how life doesn't wait for anyone. About how you can love someone immensely but still struggle to find your place in a relationship. About happiness that hides in the most depressing situations. About how you can find yourself in college but also lose a lot of yourself. About life-changing moments when some feel hopeless and others see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. And finally, about how I finally understand all of this. Season 4 – 90% – "Maybe it's true what they say, we all pick the same person over and over again. There's something nice about that." We truly love someone when we stand by them, even if we don't understand them. And this time, I don't understand several of them. I don't understand the direction or rules of David and Keith's relationship, I can't empathize with Brenda as she tries to form a serious bond with Joe, and I can't grasp the points of Rico's escapades. But there are still countless positives, and the main one is an increasingly attractive redhead. Claire Fisher is becoming one of the best characters in a TV series, and her journey is currently the most intriguing. Moreover, the sad rule applies once again. If you fear something and constantly worry that it will haunt you, chances are you're right. Season 5 – 100% – "Time flies when you're having fun, huh?" – "No, time flies when you're pretending to have fun." Everything that can go wrong inevitably does, whether in the form of subtle cracks or unexpected twists of fate. But in every such moment, I feel a sense of the last breath of the series. Maybe I will never understand Keith's nature, maybe Rico is destined to be a strangely selfish ungrateful person till the end, but that doesn't matter. That's life, and not everyone in it is understandable to me. The final season keeps questioning my own identity, future, and unfortunately, mortality, and it shows even to the most blind that Six Feet Under is all-encompassing. Because everyone, at some point, wants or even fundamentally needs to capture that beautiful moment. However painfully futile such an effort may be. "You can't take a picture of this. It's already gone."

Surprisingly intimate atmosphere with an anonymous killer, whose identity is more amusingly fictionalized than it may seem at first glance. Cunningham set off this famous series quite freshly, but his ideas are not enough to sharply define his work above average. How this story managed to become a multi-part series remains a mystery to me.

Dance is good. Dance is the meaning of life for someone. Dance helps to find a path to happiness, relationship harmony, and mental balance with oneself. So far, everything is fine. But for everything to be fine, the sweaty (and later beautifully gilded) physical flutter should not be overshadowed by an unbearable family stereotype full of melodramatic contemplations and lengthy complications. And last but not least, the object of desire and, above all, the means to achieve all that comfort should not be a Hispanic flexible, but hard-to-work wood.

Whether you wake up alone in the morning, next to a steady partner, or with someone different every day, Shame attacks the core of each of us. Brandon's behavior may start out as just a casual walk with various sexual undertones, but the last half hour takes all the psychological weight and throws it into the viewer's lap. The mental pain, which increasingly radiates from Fassbender's eyes, didn't repel me, destroy me, but rather incredibly fascinated me. A film that only in the last seconds definitively proves how complex and deep it is.

A city that reluctantly welcomes back one of its own, a gruesome murder with plenty of crumbs that are jokingly referred to as clues, and last but not least, a peculiar dysfunctional family you would only go back to if there was no other choice. All three components – the setting, the case, and the personal situation – work well. Thanks to Jean-Marc Vallée's unpleasantly provocative direction, full of chilling shots, every unpleasant moment is effectively conveyed. It's just that they don't come together. The intersection of these two crucial elements justifies the previous gradual pace and leaves no one unaffected, but I can't shake the feeling of contrivance despite the overwhelming final impact. Which is a shame because those three stars in the rating alone would make me go bald like Amy Adams.

When I am really looking forward to going to a movie, in most cases I get an experience that can at least partially meet those expectations. That's why even two weeks after watching Shazam, I am still trying to convince myself that I actually liked Zachary Levi's first film hit, but here that doesn't help me. The humor works only when the titular superhero appears on the screen in his pubescent way, the mythology of the sins is unnecessarily brief, and although the action is appropriately light and imaginative, during the final carnival clash, I was shaking my head and cursing the editor for stretching a family-friendly film almost a quarter of an hour past three. I was thrilled with Wonder Woman and Aquaman, so the thought of how the last of the royal trio falls two steps behind its predecessors will bother me for a long time.