Isherwood

Comparisons are sometimes made that put the [REC] series in parallel with Aliens. That’s wrong, my friends, because each time a different creator presented his vision. This isn't a distinctive contribution to the theme, but rather a release of infected blood down the throat of yet another episode where Plaza honors the series only in that he spares no blood. The rest is a collection of "dafuq?" questions over the plot, the behavior of the characters, and even the creative approach itself, where attempts at splatter comedy in the style of Jackson's early work utterly fail. I'm hoping Balagueró will give the Plaza at least three educational slaps with the fourth film.

I was probably the only one in my wide circle of friends who went to the movie theater not to see the new Bourne, but to see the new Gilroy film. Unfortunately, I got it exactly backward. I'm beginning to worry that Michael Clayton was a successful fluke because this is a poorly directed spectacle that doesn't know whether it wants to be a personal drama about two individuals facing the all-powerful tentacles of the government octopus or an action-packed sprint for freedom. It doesn't step into either for even a minute and thus from the moment of "Forrest Gump on drugs," it definitely breaks down into grey tedium. This hurts all the more when the viewer realizes that although Gilroy has sketched out a world of almost limitless possibilities, he takes the path of least resistance, i.e., he goes in the direction of a copied scheme that compresses the previous three films into one two-hour film. I understand that Frank Marshall knows what kind of money can be made from the brand, but next time he should at least put an impactful dramaturgist on the set. It's not just Moby who failed here. 2 and a ½.

When logic goes on a trip, preferably off its home planet, and leaves at home a full house of catchphrases, leaden lines, and memories of John Carpenter (and McLane), it's met with a cool cast of villains for whom oral hygiene is a dirty word. You'll forgive it in the end for the fact that it started with the most awful digital chase of the new millennium and that Luc Besson is simply doing drugs because something that dumb wouldn't come to us from the other side of the galaxy.

A celebration of the U.S. Navy, a tribute to its veterans, and ego-stroking of the stars and stripes that they are still the best. But it's also a genre in reverse, with Berg also making fun of it. He loads the cannons to the sound of AC/DC and lets the old guys mentor the digital-obsessed youth about how the analog days were a blast. So far, so good. But it's 130 minutes long and all the shenanigans, when it really starts to get fun, only start happening in the second half. Until then, it’s pure misery and the essence of what the film later makes fun of at the end. I wouldn't survive watching it a second time. 3 ½.

If I've criticized Laugier for a sloppy script in his previous works, but I have to turn that criticism into praise. That’s because here, the well-written characters draw you into the plot, and they are so lifelike and well-acted (Jessica Biel is not just a pretty face) that they can withstand plot twists that I have no problem defending logically, which is unprecedented in the genre. This is perhaps also because it's actually quite far away from being horror. [Btw: Stephen McHattie is the reincarnation of Lance Henriksen in the best sense. :)]

It was only after the second viewing that I fully understood and appreciated why Nolan turned the wheel after the acclaimed second film and once again rode the comic book waves, just like he did with the first one. More than anything else, the third film concludes the trilogy. I can understand the disappointed responses that were expecting something in the style of a funny anarchist madman Joker, but I don't buy the criticism about the poorly told story. The phrase "monstrous epic," used by many around here, suits this film better than anything else. The uncompromising Bane brings Gotham to its knees with brute force to make it suffer before giving it a taste of death. As well as its black-caped guardian. This isn't the Nolan brothers expressing their worldview, this is a critique of everyone for whom the idea of social justice is a political idol. Therefore, before the last atom completes the fission reaction, it is necessary to rise physically, but especially spiritually. This is the engine of the entire film, building Nolan's precise narrative that works both in the characters' dialogue and in the surprisingly spare but superbly raw action. All of this is then only perfectly complemented by Zimmer's thunderous music, without which the film would work a third less. If anyone wants to restart this at Warner Brothers, they should be thinking about changing careers by now. PS: Christopher Nolan is, along with David Fincher, the best cinematic storyteller of his generation. No question about it.

Sure, if I wanted to spit on it, I could go into any minute of runtime and pull out at least five things to criticize. However, the entire time Liebesman follows the rule "I’m not very good at this, but at least it will be noisy and fast," not letting down for even a brief moment. This can't be said of his predecessor, so no more long yawns or bleeding eyes. Worthington is fine, but the divine lineup is simply divine. PS: I would very much like to see some more serious stuff from this director.

Spoiler impressionology! It's been exactly ten years, give or take a few days, since I saw the first Alien, the film that piqued my interest in cinema as a whole, and the question of what came before has actually been gnawing at me for a decade. So from a purely subjective point of view, I have no reservations about it because the film answered my questions. First of all, it confirmed that the aliens are a biological weapon that probably cannot be controlled by anyone. So far, so good. But when I look at it with hindsight, aided by a brief post-film debate, I don't quite understand why the writers had to break the film into survival horror in the second half, endowing the characters with the logic of incompetent teenagers. Visually, including Streitenfeld's excellent audio, there's nothing to fault it for (well, except for Weyland's mask, that's horrible) but there's not a single climactic scene, something that would draw me to the movie theater for a second screening. This is actually a huge shame because, for the first hour, Scott was creating a more interesting world than James Cameron has recently. After leaving the theatre I was ready to give it four stars, given that the marketing campaign had gone beyond me, but I thought about the film a bit too much during the twenty-minute journey home.

Even a sleeping gangster is still a gangster. So when an old friend in arms owes money to the younger guys, not to mention a demanding new police commissioner, you have to pull out the guns from under your leather jacket and settle the score the French way, despite your wife's lamentations, i.e., without unnecessary bullshit, without the need for flashy gunplay, and with stone-faced protagonists who could easily substitute for nails in a coffin, which is what former police badge-wearer Olivier Marchal does best these days.

Jason Statham is becoming a bit of a genre unto himself. It's up to the director to decide how many villains he's going to let him carve up. In this film, it's the Chinese triad, the Russian mafia, and a few corrupt cops, which isn't entirely a bad thing from a moral standpoint, especially when Jason's beating them up in spectacular urban-combat style. However, if you're asking purely artistic questions about this kind of cinematic washout such as "What was the point of the safes?", you can be sure that you won't give it more than 3 ½ stars.