Isherwood

Llewyn and I missed each other - not completely, but we just walked along the same sidewalk, and he talked and sang and I understood him, in every ironic gloss of his miserable self-centered life. Finally, he stopped, disappeared into a side alley, and then cried out that he didn't give a damn, that it suited him and he'd stay stuck there while I went on.

A heavy-toned hipster film that, with all the weird appearances and costumes, drove me to the point where instead of enjoying the emotional highlights, I wondered if the warning against loving your iPods too much was really the film's main idea.

Here the Lord's messenger appeared to him in a blazing fire from the middle of a thorn bush. Moses saw that the bush was on fire but was not consumed. [Exodus, 3.2] The masterful dramatization of events, the echoes of which still haunt us today. Štěpán Hulík chose the most difficult path, examining Palach's act from several angles. He seamlessly transitions from personal testimony to a conspiracy thriller and then to a legal drama, with each having its firmly anchored place in the plot. The way director Agnieszka Holland observes the whole situation is admirable because instead of serving a cheap epitaph of an extreme act, she offers an analytical probe into the era, which primarily calls the nation's conscience into question, a nation known for its very short memory. A multitude of excellent actors (I personally salute Jaroslava Pokorná), a multimillion-dollar budget squeezed to the last drop, and a cinematic event that reminds us that not all films are meant only to entertain us. I can't remember the last time something resonated so strongly within me.

The make-up and lighting make Gatsby look like a leaked Madame Tussaud model. Luhrmann's lust for the most effective imagery neuters the sketches of everyone else, making The Great Gatsby the most poorly narrated (and subjectively longest) blockbuster of the season; a good party ends without a hangover, but here you're dragged to the sidelines with a queasy stomach before its climax.

A trashy subject, a few film references, and a critical assessment of the current political situation do not make a good film - unless you go in with a fearless desire to step "over the edge" a few times. The idea gets full marks, but the execution is lacking, and many things are paradoxically saved by the very decent technical aspects.

Morgan is the man. He conceives the sleek façade of roaring engines and their tamers in fire-proof overalls as an epic drama, with passionate dialogue and a sense of fair play playing a central role. We get all this in the perfect coat of Ron Howard's directorial tricks, for whom the task of creating an atmospheric visual composition is as demanding as preparing breakfast in the morning. The editing camera orgy and the riveting acting (Daniel Brühl is eyeing the Oscars) are so sovereign for two hours that it smacks a little of (traditional) "Howardian calculus," which entertains you for two hours but, like gasoline vapor, wears off by the second day at the latest. That it leaves a very strong and specific odor, I do not deny. 4 ½.

I could argue that the very unresolved relationships between the characters, and thus the incoherent tangles of their motivations, are the director’s intent, but I doubt that Negativ would pump $80 million crowns into a technically courageous animated film whose target audience can only be found in art house movie theaters.

Objectively speaking, I could raise about a dozen objections against the film, meaning I could give it an average review, but what can you do? It's one of those films where you don't care about logical lapses and plot contrivances because you are enticed by the dialogue tapped from life and by the romantic storyline polished to perfection without flaw or blemish. After that, you're just left jumping for joy at personal highlights like a woman's choice of dress, and when it comes to the black-clad funeral procession, you raise your glasses to wipe away a tear without feeling bad about it; Richard Curtis creates experiences.

Variety show scenes from the backdrops of normalization, washed in the aesthetics of a 1990s show on TV, dated 2013, and signed by Graham Linehan... no thanks!

Find a good topic in a documentary and it (almost) works itself out. Bohdan Bláhovec serves you a portrait of a man whose business plan is certainly on the edge of ethics and definitely beyond the edge of good parental morals. The suffering of (not only) Czech show business is shown here in all its nakedness, which will be all the more annoying for you since it’s a bunch of girls at the start of puberty. If the director had made a second part with the caption "...ten years later," there can hardly be any doubt that his own daughter would hardly speak to Michal Mertl. Unless a miracle happens and 5Angels actually end up selling out Madison Square Garden. (This is highly doubtful because if such a person thinks that the documentary filmmakers at FAMU are going to turn out free self-PR, he has a lot to learn.)