JFL

In this music video, Olivia Wilde seems to reference Jonas Åkerlund’s visual style with its bold interiors and sharply lighted, fatigued bodies (e.g. in the videos for Robbie Williams’s “Come Undone” and Roxette’s “Wish I Could Fly”), which she supplements with a likable girl-power motif with female skateboarders portrayed by stuntwomen.

I spent the whole time wondering why something so well shot and acted was so intellectually one-dimensional and naïve, until it turned out that it wasn’t an original short, but a plain and simple PR spot by means of which an electronics manufacturer attempts to give the impression that it cares not only about customers, but also people generally. Margaret Qualley doesn’t go all out this time in comparison with her other expressive-dance collaboration with Olivia Wilde, “Love Me Like You Hate Me”, and Jonez’s famous Kenzo World commercial.

Spike Jonze recycles his older concept from Fatboy Slim’s grandiose “Weapon of Choice” video, though only for the needs of commissioned advertising. However, the casting and choreography bring forth such a fundamental shift that it creates a stunningly captivating result that rather evokes associations with Sia’s “Chandelier” video. The part previously played by the charming Christopher Walken is taken over by Margaret Qualley, who glows with energy. I very much hope that this emerging talented actress will finally get a proper role in a feature film, where she will be able to show the same degree of expressiveness that Jonze and Olivia Wilde have allowed her in the small space of their short works.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s embodies Hollywood at its most classic and at its worst. On the one hand, we have here the magnificently stellar Audrey Hepburn, a narrative with bittersweet tones and precision craftsmanship. On the other hand, there is the absolutely horribly kitschy ending that utterly negates everything that has gone before. All of the potential depth and ambiguity of not only the central character, but also of the whole depiction of the emptiness and artificiality of the American Cinderella story is bluntly trampled underfoot. At its core, or rather in the book on which it’s based, Breakfast at Tiffany’s is actually a precursor to Soderbergh’s The Girlfriend Experience, which the film version could also have been, up until that off-key climax. Only instead of the sense of detachment and cynicism of modern cinema, the bitterness and self-pity of consumer fairy tales shine through the cracks in the superficial carefreeness and the distracted life of the endless party. With a bit of tolerance and a great deal of sympathy, mainly for the iconic Audrey Hepburn, it’s possible to squint at the film and excuse its betrayal of the viewer in the same way that Mickey Rooney’s much-criticised part deservedly did, which unfortunately was the normal or rather dominant way of going about things at that time. Hollywood was overtly racist then, grinding down the edges of everything that stood out, returning distinctive and headstrong female characters, who were largely ground down themselves, into the arms of the masculine hero and delivering false illusions instead of inspiring catharsis.

Max Cloud is typical trash of the VoD era. Whereas in the age of VHS, trashy films were sold through packaging that clearly targeted one specific group of viewers, today some genre productions conversely suffer from trying to chase too many rabbits in the interest of reaching as many people as possible in the algorithmic recommendations. So, here we have a bizarre combination of Jumanji, 1990s retro, nostalgia for 8-bit video games, cardboard science fiction and a few Scott Adkins flicks. Adkins himself comes out best by far from the whole mishmash, and not just because he was given space in maybe two scenes, where he pulled off some very fine choreography despite the obviously rushed production. Furthermore, it’s good for once to see the likable Adkins in a lighter role where he has room to show off his charisma and sense of humour and exaggeration, as opposed to his usual brooding and angry parts. The rest of the film, however, is a desperate tragedy that collapses under the weight of its unfinished script, where individual sequences exist only because the filmmakers came up with a joke and didn’t want to abandon it or polish it in any way. All of the funding went into the costumes and retro sets, so it’s that much more regrettable that the filmmakers couldn’t sell them with better shot composition. In the interest of squeezing the shooting schedule, a significant number of the scenes are done with one shot and a static camera and thus lack dynamism, resulting in boredom. For Scott Adkins, this is another one of the invigorating acting departures on which he has been focusing a lot in recent years, but it is a rather miserable experience for viewers. Ultimately, the film is engaging as another odd entry in the slowly growing category of early-’90s retro along with, for example, Psycho Goreman, which did an incomparably better job of capturing the phantasmagorical nature of the era.

Bad Luck Banging is a more intellectual, craftier and, in its work with form and concept, more anarchic How To with John Wilson, but instead of freewheeling New York storytelling, the depraved decadence of Bucharest stands out in a blend of documentary, theatrical and narrative approaches as if Radu Jude materialised not only his corona browsing history ranging from inessential facts and thought-provoking trivia through the weeds of autistic discussion-forum rants to porn.

The Conformist is a visually gluttonous portrait of a man who escapes viewers as well as himself in a fragmented mosaic of distorted memories, from which he tries to piece together an answer to how he got into his current situation, when for the first time he clearly finds himself at a moral crossroads between his own desires and his voluntary collaboration with the regime. With its non-linear narrative and symbolist images, The Conformist confronts viewers with a complicated labyrinth that is, however, an eloquent depiction of the title character and his inner turmoil, as he tries to conceal his trauma with an absurd effort to be normal.

In recent years, we have become accustomed to the fact that only a handful of stalwart though unfortunately aging stars led by Tom Cruise, Keanu Reeves and Scot Adkins consistently bring us awe-inspiring, pure-blooded action spectacles across all budget categories. Fortunately, the franchise core of blockbuster production lies in their escapades and, mainly, in the financial results tied to them. After a pause caused by the fascination with the possibilities of computer animation, the action genre regained its appreciation for the artificially inimitable dimension of physical attractions and began to employ the main talents of the stunt trade. Thanks to that, a group of stuntmen and choreographers associated under the name 87Eleven were able, after years of contract work, to develop into an independent production company, 87North Productions, and start implementing their own projects, while also drawing in other significant creative talents. Directed by Ilya Naishuller, who stunned fans of the genre with his debut feature Hardcore Henry five years earlier, Nobody is the first film to leave the 87North nest, while ten other projects in various stages of development are set to follow it. Though the film is based on 87Eleven’s concept of craftsmanship, built on the hard training of actors and the perfect symbiosis of choreography with its formalistic transference into film, which has become the basis of the group’s flagship foreign productions (the John Wick and Atomic Blonde franchises), it also shows that it can be applied to different forms of the genre, new stories and different actors. Though corresponding to John Wick, the core of the premise involving a former expert in killing being called back into action by a disruption in his orderly civilian life and the principle of gradual worldbuilding are given a completely original treatment thanks to the involvement of the outstanding character actor Bob Odenkirk. His personality is based on the amusingly conceived contrast between his civilian facade and his wild past, or rather the skills that he acquired then. The essential motif is midlife or rather later-life crisis, when men are not only emasculated by monotonous work and marriages mired in the mundane, but mainly cease to be heroes for their children. Nobody develops this motif into a sort of mix of the less exaggerated True Lies and the purely fantastical, i.e. a non-subversive and safely staid Fight Club for aging dads. In the context of both Atomic Blonde and the aforementioned True Lies, it's regrettable that the filmmakers decided to strictly adhere to the worn-out macho storyline instead of involving the protagonist’s wife in the action (which, incidentally, was unintentionally promised by one of the dialogue scenes). Nevertheless, the film puts the omission of exaggeration and choice of an egocentric narrative line to good use in the style of action and its connection to the character of the protagonist, who becomes a psychotically hedonistic antithesis to John Wick’s refinement. Related to this is the fact that an essential role is played not only by how he delivers blows, but also by how many he dishes out and takes himself. Nobody is definitely not the best contribution to the action genre, but it is certainly flawless and, mainly, raises high hopes for the genre’s future.

Without the rosy turbidity of nostalgia, the last adventure of the classic Duck Tales turns out to be a less radiant spectacle than one remembers it from childhood. Though in its time the series, in the context of television productions, was considered to be top-notch in terms of the quality of animation and the finale even premiered in cinemas, the animation is actually at a rather disappointing level due to a combination of technology and budget, because at the time it was the last television project to be made the old-fashioned way, using ultra-fans (cel animation), where the limited production resources become most apparent. The characteristic amoeba-like nature of the characters’ movements is thus a rather unintended side effect of the rapid drawing of the interphases. However, Disney’s indoctrination of children with respect to gender stereotypes at the time is even harder on the eyes. It's not so much that Daisy wears a big pink bow, while Huey, Dewey and Louie wear caps, but that she is portrayed as accommodating and passive. When she does somehow express herself, as here specifically with her wishes that the genie is supposed to grant to her, she comes off as a complete fool. Fortunately, at least at the level of the mix of shenanigans and fantastical adventures, Duck Tales retains some qualities, though those in this particular special are largely derived from the acknowledged inspirations in Indiana Jones’s escapades. It's only right that after 37 years, the Disney Channel decided to update Duck Tales for today in a new reboot.

Thanks to the generational cult status of his films and their significance in the context of the development of coming-of-age movies, John Hughes is surrounded by an aura of a timeless classic, which, in turn can leave today’s viewers unpleasantly surprised at the problematic aspects of his films. On the other hand, that also highlights the fact that each of his films is a product of its time and in a different era we will inevitably perceive it outside of its context and, conversely, through a thoroughly modern lens. Today, therefore, the insularity of white suburbia, the clichéd motivational elements of the main characters and, in particular, the gender conservatism and extremely disturbing behaviour of young men towards girls can elicit deserved outrage. Despite the audience’s occasional discomfort, Hughes’s films retain their charm, energy and, primarily, empathy for their characters, thanks to which they remain entertaining and hugely rewarding for viewers, something that certainly cannot be said for most of the teen movies that came before, at the same time as and after Hughes’s film. Sixteen Candles was Hughes’s first screenplay on the subject of adolescence to be made, and it obviously follows the trend of teen comedies at that time, such as Porky's, which were based on puerile adolescent optics, frat-house jokes, sexual innuendo and the fetishisation of female bodies. Hughes’s directorial debut represented a revolution in the genre, as he retained the structure of episodic gags and the framework of an out-of-control party, but instead of the usual exuberant and self-confident guys, he constructed the entire narrative around an adolescent girl and her world concurrently composed of school and family. Primarily, however, this film stands on the foundations on which all of Hughes’s subsequent work was built, which are empathy for all of the characters and, above all, revealing the personalities behind the formulaic façade of a pigeonhole on the social ladder. Though the hierarchy of the group and its individual castes may, in the better case, be disappearing today, or rather male and female students care more about at least outwardly fitting in with the uniform mass and thus standing out less in public, in past decades this dynamic was the be-all and end-all of growing up. Unlike other films, which pigeonholed characters as the asocial geek, the handsome jock, the prom queen and the athletic amazon and reinforced the lines of demarcation between them, Hughes conversely showed the inner lives of the characters beyond their superficial surface. Sixteen Candles does not delve as deeply as the later genre milestone The Breakfast Club into revealing human characters hiding their true emotions, personalities and private lives behind the armour of the roles that they assume. However, that’s not even possible because, in contrast to the intimate minimalism and constricted melodramatic framework of the later film in which seven characters completely sufficed, in his debut feature, Hughes composes a complex Altmanesque mosaic of nearly twenty characters, most of whom he allows to show themselves in a different light than that in which we see them at the beginning (which is a dramaturgical principle that the best modern coming-of-age films, including Whip It! and Booksmart, have borrowed from Hughes). The same applies also for most of film’s problematic elements and the statements of some of the characters. --- SPOILER START --- Though Long Duk Dong initially comes across as a frighteningly stereotypical character, over the course of the film he is given fundamentally larger space and broader characterisation than such characters in most other films and even becomes a proto-McLovin. For Caroline, Farmer Ted and Jake, the development of the evening and the morning after also receives an empathetic resolution in their final settling of accounts, even though it is at times terrifying in its treatment of the girl as an object and her abuse. --- SPOILER END --- High-school movies inevitably age, but the best of them at their core resist the ravages of time and can thus be a wonderful portrait of modern civilisation, which will never be flawless but is gradually learning to be better. In the case of John Hughes, the sad fact that even the most sensitive among us can sometimes do incredibly shitty things and be very insensitive, especially when we are still finding ourselves (even though we think we are already tremendously mature), becomes that much more obvious. Though it would be nice not to do such things at all, that's not how humans work, so it is mainly a matter of whether we learn from those mistakes as a civilization and as individuals. Hughes laid the groundwork for more timely and even more sensitive portraits of adolescence and composed a variation on Sixteen Candles himself with Pretty in Pink.