Isherwood

A simple romantic story about the search for a girl randomly seen on the subway, wrapped in visual anarchy made by Tony Scott. It’s a visual treat for connoisseurs, proving that in his old age, the director is doing more than is expected. Bravo!

Here, the current trends of an indictment of crooked deals with ostentatious goals, preferably set in Africa's own blood-plagued landscape, is blended into a reasonably intelligent spectacle that doesn't have the heavy-handedness of Hotel Rwanda, nor is it as uncompromising as The Constant Gardener. Nonetheless, it is fantastically shot (the run through the streets, or the final purge, are among the action highlights of the year) and still sensitive to the subject matter despite its more mainstream conception, and the acting is also very vital. This relates to more than DiCaprio, from whom it's kind of expected, but from the phenomenal Djimon Hounsou, with whom the viewer shares a plethora of emotions ranging from sadness to laughter to fierce anger. It is he who carries the film and without him, this perfectly polished piece of work would be only half as good.

The film is great as a small psychological depiction of the relationship between a son and a despotic father, and especially in the acting parts, it is an absolutely brilliant clash of acting personalities of their generations. Unfortunately, it occasionally stumbles into trifles such as a more stylish portrayal of its time (it’s too artificial at times) and somewhat neglected supporting characters, yet who often strongly influence the protagonists, so they should have had more screen time. Caton-Jones is a solid craftsman who can make an impactful scene (the final fight), but the whole, including the idea of the film, escapes through his fingers. If it wasn’t for that, it would have been perfect.

A monstrous screenwriting construct that brings nothing new and unnecessarily (!) dissects the previous two films. The plot, if there is such a thing here, is uncontrollable chaos, culminating in dull direction that gives us one amazing trap design after another. The result is self-serving crap, which doesn't excite (most of the tasks in the first film) or disgust you with its cruelty (the syringes in the second film) and is thus very boring or annoying, e.g., the absolutely demented behavior of most of the characters. They need to come up with an original idea or the series may soon be cut short - although, I had this feeling at the end of the second film.

Against the backdrop of the shadowy side of modern Spanish history, Forman once again delivers his spectacular play. It is stunning with its sets, costumes, and, last but not least, an amazing atmosphere that breathes life into Goya's cruelly pessimistic paintings, worth experiencing for 120 minutes. The acting trio works perfectly with the director in their brilliantly acted parts. Stellan Skarsgård IS a Goya, Natalie is great like never before (and it's not just about getting naked here, as subliminal marketing everywhere proclaims), and Javier Bardem's mesmerizing demon literally destroys the screen with his performance. Forman is back in full force after seven years, once again mixing his genres properly, resulting in a stylish spectacle that may not grab you immediately, but resonates all the more when the credits roll.

De Palma (cinematically) rapes Hitchcock to the last drop - the hero's obsession with his beloved wife, the mysterious femme fatale, the shape-shifting - and wonderfully builds a paranoid atmosphere, which he concludes with a successful point (although you can smell the aftertaste of the copying quite clearly). Even though none of his later trademarks (the steady-cam, split-screen, and similar directorial tricks) appear here, his narrative is still catchy, even with its ordinary procedures. It’s unfortunate about the unnecessary lameness in the dialogues, which take up most of the film. Yet the fault lies more with Schrader's (surprising) screenwriting desperation, which, as a whole, doesn't resolve anything, and De Palma has never been one for romance (especially the serious-minded kind). The feel of the film is still compact though, as the lean epilogue and fine ending glue this otherwise rather disparate whole into a good watch.

Plenty of dead civilians as an inevitable part of a harsh life; men who only use the word "law" when it suits them; a woman as a symbol of a man's mere distraction... Sam Peckinpah had balls like no other director before or since, and the male superiority simply oozes out of his films. Yet it is a superiority that's honest, uncompromising, and harsh at the same time. This ensures that it can only be seen as an expression of an unmistakable creative genius, one that puts an almost mystical equivalence between the words violence and art and expands the film western to indescribable greatness.

Bruce Willis is quite decent as the ruined drunk, although at times he looks like he's not even acting. However, Donner's monotonous, unimaginative, and (in the end) heavily drawn-out direction drags this film down below the average rating, also thanks to the unremarkable screenplay, which serves up, instead of action, awkward life wisdom about how anyone can change. In the early 1990s this would have been forgotten next to the adrenaline rush of Speed, and today it will meet a similar fate as well because, amongst the current hi-tech action, any good old-school film has to turn all the aforementioned negatives into positives. Both the director and the lead should retire quietly as their efforts to stay ion the big leagues are as embarrassing and sad as the awkwardness of the drooling, infirm old men in the retirement home.

The leaky logic is excused by the fairy tale, which always has its clearly given rules, and which Shyamalan strictly sticks to all the time. The phenomenal Paul Giamatti and the ethereally beautiful mysterious look in Bryce Dallas Howard's eyes, along with the wonderful atmosphere, ensure that this film is a major win for the director (at least definitely for me)!

This decadent fairy tale-non-fairy tale, set against the dark backdrop of a mysterious forest and a black-humored story proves that as Terry Gilliam grew older, it was as if he was entering his filmmaking adolescence and his only goal was to provoke. However, the film provokes cleverly, boldly, and entertainingly all at the same time, so anyone who has even an ounce of flair for a slightly "different" narrative will certainly enjoy at least the divine Peter Stormare, and as a bonus will be given one little white kitten!