Isherwood

(Volume I)… which settles down a bit in the second half, when the forced overlaps disappear, and the director returns to his favorite theme of "woman as evil incarnate." This makes the film less long-winded but then comes Bond, 3+5, and golden rain, and the awkward impressions are broken even more than in Melancholia; please shrink the Director's Cut to two hours and without the asexual sex, though that's not really the point here (unexpectedly, right?).

Trier listened to talk about how brilliant he was for so long that he finally believed it and tried to create the most complex film of all time. In it, he has it out with everyone and comments on absolutely everything, thereby serving up an incredible load of motifs, images, metaphors, and subliminal messages that is, at its core, cheaper than paid sex for one time... (Volume 2)

It’s a whole class better than the first film. Jackson tames mostly himself, puts together a somewhat coherent plot, albeit with a slight aftertaste of forced intermezzo, and above all gives credit to the winged lizard. The dragon has no equal in the ring of digital monsters and thus irons out, in the end, the embarrassing impressions of otherwise rather dull (Beorn) and completely useless (Tauriel) characters.

Rather than a genre revolt, it’s more so a surgically precise analysis that dilutes the classic detective story with a metaphysical overlay and skillfully leads the viewer by the nose. This works in 1995, whereas the events of the new millennium follow established principles. My true detectives continue to swim against the tide of The Wire.

This is bad. In every aspect, in every detail. It’s an absolutely admirable performance in its own way. Guys, take the money you obviously have and give it to charity. Then take the camera and ritually throw it into the river. And don't ever disrupt public space with anything like that again. It’s a party movie that will spoil your party more than the neighbor underneath you banging a broomstick on the heater.

The cardboard world of Anderson's childish fantasy hooked up with a script someone dug up in Alfred Hitchcock’s forgotten archives, and I’ve definitively succumbed to this fool whose films I both liked and loathed at the same time. While it doesn't really have human emotions, but rather forcefully screwed-on tremors based on the situation the characters are in at the time, this thriller ride is as tense as anything else. The elevator scene at the end and the subsequent shootout in the gallery are both scenes that few people can really film today. PS: Most directorial aces would sell their souls for this casting.

Breaking good. This is an academic film that doesn't put the adjective in the "swear word" column, and it may thus appeal to a mainstream audience that appreciates a lead star in physical metamorphosis and anti-capitalist agitprop in smart mode. 4 ½.

Fassbender's slave driver, one phenomenal scene, and a hunger for film awards that makes you want to shove them down the film's throat so it can choke on them.

The classic writer's evergreen about how a promising debutant from a remote corner of our planet came to Hollywood only to be scrapped by the very next film makes me want to sing along this time. But this is Blomkamp’s own fault. I would have also tolerated the leftist agitprop about an individual rebelling against a ruthless system this time if I hadn't had to ask so many questions during the screening, especially regarding elementary logic - How does Elysium work? Why does his defense work in such a stupid way? Why is the Minister being punished for defending him? And many others. It functions mostly because action-wise it's probably the best in years, and Blomkamp delivers the shots and moments in that central cut with such certainty that other directors would sell their mothers and their souls for it. Go back to the slums, Neill. And take those metamorphosis ideas with you. One day you will be a worthy successor to James Cameron.

Unlike the main character, the film occasionally raises its knees quite high. And it doesn’t really work the way it's supposed to. Mainly through its occasional abbreviation in the development of Anna and Tomáš's relationship (meeting on the tram?), it undermines the effect of several related scenes, thus unnecessarily undermining the well-constructed dramatic storyline, which is mainly about personal dramas and moral dilemmas. Fortunately, these work on other levels (the coach, the mother). Yes, it will be mentioned many times, the martyr's pedestal that the director puts someone else on every moment is at times too schematic. But fortunately, the strength of the film lies in the performances. Bareš's STB agent, Malý's club doctor and especially Judit Bárdos brings interesting acting charm from Slovakia after a long time. Aňa tries hard, but she is too young a mother in the role that was stamped on the director at Negativ, instead of the intended Ivana Chýlková. Anyway, the film's a pleasant surprise, if only because it wants to come to terms with the recent past and isn't afraid to go its own way.