Matty

Sully is an ingeniously constructed portrait of a disciplined professional who is haunted by doubts about whether he did the best job he could do. Eastwood composes the image of the central “miracle” and the portrait of the protagonist from several flashbacks, each of which accentuates a different level of the event and are then collectively mirrored in Sully’s final speech highlighting the merits of the crew. Though, thanks to Hanks, Sullenberger is a more charismatic personality than he seems to be from the way he describes himself in the book on which the film is based, he is still a rather ordinary working man of firm principles and unchanging rituals, not a hero who humorously comments on every difficulty and effortlessly overcomes every obstacle. Thanks to that, Eastwood is able to see the concept of heroism in a different light. Anyone can become a hero regardless of the brilliance of their character traits, if they “just” do what they do best. 80%

Blood Father is a pleasantly straightforward revenge thriller. It will serve the purpose for a Saturday evening on basic cable, but for fans of B-movies that don’t deal in a large amount of profanity and a high body count, it probably won’t offer the same satisfaction as movies that are even more uncompromising and lay claim to the trash tradition with greater pride (such as Gibson’s Payback). Richet manages to limit the theatrical dimension of the father and daughter reuniting and bonding by treating the central duo’s relationship a bit like a buddy movie, but despite all the cynicism and dark humour (see the opening joke about buying bullets, which of course fundamentally conflicts with how uncomplicatedly guns are dealt with in the rest of the film), it is still apparent that family and forgiveness comprise the theme of the film. Due to the short runtime, there is fortunately not much time for didactic dialogue and, furthermore, Gibson’s father character brushes off most of his daughter’s sins with the word “fuck” delivered with various intonations. Richet knows when to crank up the narrative with an action scene and, despite the predictability of the plot, he manages to surprise us a few times with an unexpected cut (to what is happening in the film projected in the cinema) and the agitation with which casual conversations are shot and edited (so that we are constantly aware that the characters are under time pressure). ___ If some roles are said to have been written directly on the actor’s body, in this case that is undoubtedly true (although the film is based on a book) and I find the autobiographical aspect to be the most inspiring part of the whole film. Gibson plays a recovering alcoholic, a former member of a biker gang who has had so much trouble with the law that he risks violating parole with even the slightest offense and going back to prison. He hides out in a western no-man’s land near the Mexican border, staying away from a society in which he has lost faith. Only his daughter in distress compels him to dust off his soldier mentality and lethal skills, which in the end are not something he should be ashamed of, but a useful insurance policy in case of emergency and a reminder of a time when he actually lived (not just survived). You never know when a group of angry Mexicans (it must be said that, to the film’s credit, neo-Nazis are also a threat here) will come to shoot up your camping trailer and you will have to take justice into your own hands. Your problematic past will come in handy in such a situation. As long as you help your family, it doesn’t matter how much damage you do or how many bodies you leave behind. In other words, if – like Mel –you were once a bad guy, that doesn't mean that you should suffer for the rest of your life because of it. It’s unlikely that Blood Father will be the film that saves Gibson’s career, but it offers a lot more (guilty) fun than other projects that are basically just psychotherapy for the actor or filmmaker. 65%

“You turn disasters into victories.” Bridget Jones’s Baby is a mostly successful attempt at making a tasteful romantic comedy for adult viewers that will make you forget the dreadful second Bridget Jones film while remembering the best of Working Title’s genre productions. However, the filmmakers try too hard to fulfil high expectations, which becomes apparent in the excessive runtime (and the resulting problems with pacing), and to play it safe (e.g. impressive but not very effective slow-motion shots and the autotelic inclusion of catchy pop songs). What we see is basically the third variation of the same story template, which is very predictable from start to finish despite the addition of a new unknown feature (the unborn child). Nevertheless, the film offers some surprises at least with small things like the generally believable behaviour of all of the main characters (Bridget finally acts in accordance with her age), who are able to reflect on their idiotic conduct (Jack apologises for lying to Mark). The incomprehension of today’s world of internet dating, photos of cats resembling Hitler, hipsters and Pussy Riot may not be as striking as in Marie Poledňáková’s films, but in places it is still painfully obvious that the filmmakers are stuck in a different era and are trying in vain to catch up with the times. What works best are the universal jokes on the topic of “men vs. women”, most of which co-screenwriter Emma Thompson stole for herself (a great line involving childbirth and a burning pub), that you will remember days after the screening. But you probably won’t remember much else. 70%

This documentary essay (rather than a traditional expository documentary) focuses on certain aspects of horror used in film (i.e. not a recounting of the history of the horror genre) from the perspective of viewers (the materialisation of our dark fantasies) and filmmakers (Hitchcock’s distinction between surprise and suspense). The film works outstandingly with associative editing, especially during several brilliantly built-up montage sequences (the best of which ends with an exploding head). The basic building blocks comprise horror movies and thrillers from the 1970s and ’80s (including several that are so obscure that you can test how big a horror fan you really are by guessing their titles), though older works, starting with horror movies from Universal (silent films have unfortunately been ignored), are also included. The filmmakers do not in any way go into great depth, but they touch on so many thought-provoking themes that remain valid today (women as the most frequent victims of psychopaths, the close relationship between violence and sexuality) that open-minded viewers are guaranteed to have something to think about and discuss after watching Terror in the Aisles. 75%

Chronic is a film about dying that doesn’t know when it should give up the ghost itself. Franco directs his portrait of a man who lives the lives of others with the same methodical approach that Roth’s nurse takes in caring for his dying patients. The big picture and partial details are presented, but only rarely are there any actual details. The film is made up of long, mostly static shots in which time has stopped. Its flow (and any other movement) has been replaced with coming to terms with the inevitability of death. Our deeper sympathy with the unusually kind-hearted and patient protagonist is hindered by the uncommunicative narrative, which conveys mere fragments of his past and present life. While he is an invaluable pillar of support for the people he cares for, he is far from being well-balanced in his private life. He tries to overcome his own existence through physical activity (running) and by accepting full responsibility for others, who give him the strength to live despite the tragedy he has experienced (which is somewhat paradoxical due to the fact that they are not strong enough to satisfy even their own basic needs). The distance from the indecipherable protagonist to which Franco leads us is partially justified in the conclusion, which offers a highly contradictory yet generally understandable solution to David’s problem consisting in fear of taking responsibility for his own life. Not only the final seconds, but the entire final third of the film, which is entirely more conventional and less focused that what came before, make Chronic an uneven affair. Tim Roth, however, is great from start to finish. 75%

“We’re all going to die.” Todd Solondz has made another one of his heart-warming comedies about depression, loneliness and cancer. This time, the characters try in vain to conform to the norm of having a positive approach to life and achieving the American Dream despite paralysing doubts about their own existence. As evidence of how little he cares for the film’s characters, he makes the story’s protagonist a dachshund who is a “motherfucker” to one owner, “Doo Dee” (“like shit”) or ”Cancer” to another (but, unlike actual cancer, not indestructible). The director doesn’t really care much for the bitch either. Like the donkey in Bresson’s Au Hasard Balthazar, the animal serves as a means of reflection on the human (in)capacity for empathy. On the one hand, there are characters whose emotional attachment to the dachshund causes them pain and, on the other hand, people who are emotionally numb. For both groups, the animal is a catalyst that prompts them to express their pent-up frustration with married life, fear of their own mortality and their attitude toward society. The personal happiness that everyone should achieve in the spirit of a bright and boisterous commercial (and many other debilitating products of pop culture) is fleeting and every moment of joy is followed by punishment, for example in the form of life-threatening diarrhoea that devalues the parquet floor. Thanks to the different ages of the characters, we also see that the situation does not improve as the years go by. As we grow older, we have – in Solondz’s view – only more health problems and regrets about the decisions we have made, whose consequences cannot be reversed. What diminishes is our understanding for others. For example, for ambitious young filmmakers with a need to express themselves even though they have nothing to say. Other than the relay narrative, which, besides Bresson, has also been used before (and with a different effect) by Richard Linklater (Slacker) and Steven Spielberg (War Horse), and is therefore not a radical departure from classic narrative conventions as we saw in Palindromes, this is a classic Solondz film with long static shots, ironic use of classical music and strikingly pointed dialogue (“What's in Ohio? – Crystal meth”). The rules governing what can be said and shown in an American comedy with respect to the overly sensitive viewers who love dogs and other animals more than people are still broken in the same way, but not so predictably that the film doesn’t manage to throw you off balance a few times (for example, by going into detail with a story about an aggressive dog of a certain name that raped squirrels). 80%

The anti-LEGO Movie. The protagonists have been brainwashed by a (corporate) ideology according to which the point of existence is to wait for one of the “Gods” to choose you and take you to the Promised Land, where a Jewish bagel and a Muslim lavash will find peace and quiet, otherwise leading to an endless dispute over who is entitled to occupy the “western shelves” of the supermarket. They are unaware that instead of 77 bottles of virgin olive oil and other pleasures, what awaits them is a painful death in a pot of boiling water or in a meat grinder. Every workday begins with a collective sing-along of an idiotic feel-good song in the mould of “Everything is Awesome”, which the characters want to continue singing even after coming to the realisation that maybe everything isn’t so wonderful. It’s just more comfortable for them to keep believing in the illusion that they have created for themselves, which offers them solace instead of existential angst. Unfortunate historical experience discourages dogmatically clinging to optimism, so let’s pretend that the past doesn’t exist and continue to live a lie. It seems that hedonism is the only satisfactory alternative to faith in salvation, which requires, among other things, the renunciation of physical pleasures. We are all going to die eventually anyway (with the exception of non-perishable foods), so why not at least lick a bun or smoke a beet before we do and make our joyless existence a little more pleasant. Of course, the anti-consumerist message of a film produced by a giant media corporation cannot be taken too seriously, and Sausage Party deserves credit for not wanting anything of the sort from the viewer. On the other hand, it is perhaps a pity that behind the veil of ultra-simple jokes, it’s a bit hard to see how clever and subversive a film Rogen’s crew came up with this time. After all, the biggest monster is not the talking can of deodorant, but the character of a random human consumer, living in the belief that there will always be something to eat. If nothing else, the mere fact that you feel compelled to root for a talking sausage, desiccated chewing gum and a busty bun in their struggle against people like you (i.e. people who are guilty of consumerism) can be considered a win for the filmmakers. 85%

This self-laudatory story of the rise and fall of the PolyGram film studio is based on a book by the former head of the company, Michael Kuhn. It is thus no wonder that right from the start we hear from all sides how creative the atmosphere was in the company and how nice it was to collaborate with PolyGram’s management. The testimonies of talking heads, including producers and Jodie Foster (who sued PolyGram for breach of contract in 1996, which is unsurprisingly not mentioned in the film), are interspersed with clips from films such as Wild at Heart, Fargo and Trainspotting, whose creation is supposed to serve as proof of the courage to support unusual projects. The measure of success, however, is revenues, the number of Oscars won and screenings at Cannes (preferably during the opening of the festival). Dozens of other titles that would not fit the image of PolyGram as a progressive company (such as Barb Wire, Kazaam and Spice World) were thus preferably omitted. The story of PolyGram indisputably contains a number of interesting sub-themes (the age-old endeavour of European film producers to compete with Hollywood, the concept of “Cool Britannia”, the importance of film production for large media conglomerates), but these are lost in the repetitive enumeration of successes, motivated particularly by the attempt to convince us that the company’s downfall was an enormous loss for the European film industry and bold independent filmmakers. Formalistic embellishments in the form of animated backgrounds and playful transitions between settings don’t help much. Stories like the one about the necessity of coming up with a different title for the German release of a Michael Winterbottom film so that posters with the word “Jude” on them wouldn’t be plastered up everywhere (again) do actually help, but not many of them are told here, unfortunately.

For some viewers, The Handmaiden will be a lesbian romance in which the path to discovering one’s own identity and overcoming the patriarchy leads through an encounter with a giant octopus. Others may see the film as a reflection on artistic representations of the female body and the pleasure of looking at them or simply as an erotic thriller with a clear and cohesive narrative in the manner of Hitchcock. Beneath the beautiful surface, however, there are enough other layers with which Park seems to be so fascinated that you'll want to see The Handmaiden several times despite its extraordinary length and slowly rising pace.

I can’t say that a witch out of a 1980s fantasy B-movie is what I've been missing from current comic-book flicks. In fact, she is a completely interchangeable DC villain who wants to destroy the world simply because she can. Not even the (unintended) creation of the evil Enchantress by those who are supposed to protect the world is innovative by today’s standards (which immediately gives away the point of the film, which is that working with villains can backfire on you). Most of the film’s other elements are also interchangeable, as Ayer mixes them together willy-nilly, albeit with a certain sense of rhythm. The first hour comes across as a condensed recapitulation of a ten-part series – all exposition, no development. In terms of time and space, the second hour is a slightly more cohesive super-villain variation on war movies in the mould of The Dirty Dozen and westerns like The Wild Bunch (including fatalistic dialogue before the final conflict, but without any significant development of the relationships between the characters or their ability to work together). Though the prologue indicates that Deadshot and Harley will be the protagonists of the narrative, their private dramas (their relationship to the daughter/Joker) do not drive the narrative, but rather slow it down, as they have minimal impact on the direction of the plot. The Joker, who looks like a goth who’s off his meds and inspires more sympathy than unease, always just shows up, does a little damage and disappears, like the returning bosses in some computer games, which seemed to be a source of inspiration for Ayer when he was slapping the plot together on the fly (or at least it seems so). Nothing would change if the Joker wasn’t here. The whole film is still needless and half-assed and unpolished, and while it manages to get and hold your attention with its witty characters, driving soundtrack and slightly psychedelic visual stylisation, the end result is merely two hours of loud, colourful distractions without any serious points of interest. 55%