Quint

A delectable rarity for lovers of weird lowbrow movies. Even the trailer kind of impresses with what all they can cram into one film (magic versus computers, zombies, samurai, trolls, dragons, mutant bikers, heavy metal bands, walking statues and... I'm sure I'm forgetting something else). It's probably not so surprising that the film is the product of seven (!) directors, none of whom (by some miraculous coincidence) had a shred of talent. The film was obviously born out of the enthusiasm of the computer games revolution of the time and the growing popularity of role-playing games. The evil wizard, who’s actually something of a dungeon master (hence the name The Dungeonmaster, I guess), creates various worlds for the main character (a computer nerd) that resemble levels in video games, where he has to defeat various opponents in order to get his kidnapped girlfriend back at the end. The result gives the impression that they had no script at all, but that's all the more reason to go crazy. Fortunately, for a low-budget film, there's a quite imaginative and stylish production design, teeming with rich colours that actually look like the posters, which is not very common in films like this.

In his techno-thrillers, Michael Crichton always puts a lot of emphasis on the very sophisticated technical side of the story, which practically overshadows everything else. Here, surprisingly, the technical side works least of all, mainly because of the unconvincing production design. The fact that all the people in the future (full of malfunctioning domestic robots) dress as they did in the year the film was made can be overlooked. A much bigger problem are the titular killer robots, who look more comical than dangerous, so any attempt at suspense sadly rings hollow.

Who would have expected that Oscar-winning screenwriter Alan Ball would decide to adapt a paranormal romance about the tumultuous adventures of telepathic waitress Sookie Stackhouse and her encounters with vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, fairies and witches. The series is gothic TV-fantasy, but it can also be seen to some extent as a psychological probe into the everyday lives of lonely outsiders. The vampires who come out into the open and try to integrate into society (after the Japanese invent synthetic blood) are an obvious sexual metaphor. Ball, however, stated that True Blood is such an antidote to the seriousness of his other series Six Feet Under, and that he basically treats this series as popcorn entertainment for smart people. At its core, then, it's a clever metaphor, but with each new season (where new creatures are introduced) it becomes increasingly eccentric and a guilty pleasure for those who want to unwind with a wild ride packed with sex, violence, pitch-black humour and wacky moments. In short, the kind of TV entertainment during which you prefer to change the channel as soon as an someone else enters the room, and switch back after they leave. Still, True Blood has become a huge pop culture phenomenon (credit for that goes to, among other things, a cleverly provocative ad campaign and savvy merchandising).

This series has a very promising premise that is sure to excite fans of the post-apocalyptic genre. But all that potential is walled off by the attempt to ride the wave of hugely successful teen movie series of recent times like Twilight or Hunger Games, and so it targets mainly teenage viewers (thematically it is closer to Hunger Games than the qualitatively unfortunate Twilight). Thus, the fate of humanity is not as important as which of the young and beautiful, shampooed heroes and heroines falls in love with whom. Too bad, there was more here. But as a guilty pleasure – why not?

After a four-year hiatus, Jack Bauer moved to London for a few hours, but even that didn't do much to counteract the ever-increasing monotony that 24 had become in recent seasons. After a couple of sneak peeks at the series you can predict most of the twists and turns, which still follow an established formula, but the brisk pace keeps it moving along nicely. Instead of 24 hours, this time we only spend 12 hours with Bauer. This makes the pace even faster, but it's as if there's no time for psychology in the big rush. The personal storylines are kept to a minimum and any relationships between the characters are only sketched out (Bauer himself surprisingly doesn't get much space), so the result is a slightly sterile action ride. A must for hardcore fans of 24 (like me). For others it probably won't say much.

The American spy series The Americans looks at the Cold War from an unusual perspective. The main characters are KGB agents operating under hidden identities in America, and their adversaries are FBI agents trying to expose the Russian spies. The series doesn't portray the main characters in black and white as heroes or villains, but purely as agents with conflicting interests who are loyal to their country and follow the orders of their superiors, even if they don't always agree with them. The tense relations between the two sides can easily escalate, and the main tension comes from the fact that all agents must act with great caution at all times. There are no Bond-like psychopaths out to destroy the world. None of the agents want a third world war, and both sides are concerned with maintaining the balance of power. The series is more grounded than, for example, another current series about spies, Homeland. In fact, one of its creators is a former CIA agent (Joseph Weisberg), and instead of tense action scenes, it focuses mainly on the normal routine of spies (recruiting agents, leading them, and the relationships between them). The series can also be seen as an unconventional marital drama. In fact, the main characters, two Russian agents, marry into a typical American family with two children living in a typical American suburb. So, in addition to carrying out their espionage missions, they also try to raise their children, maintain their secret identities, and not lose their Soviet discipline. In doing so, the series avoids any pathos, and rawly evokes the stuffy and cold atmosphere of the Cold War. The make-up artists, who constantly invent new disguises for the main characters (complete with fake hair and moustaches), certainly deserve an award.

We've seen the familiar characters from Victorian literature together before in the “League of Extraordinary Gentlemen” comics (I'm ignoring that awful movie), where they formed a strange but workable team. In Penny Dreadful, unfortunately, their union is a bit ham-fisted. In fact, the series suffers from the same problem as True Blood: overstuffing and disjointedness, in short, they try to cram as many horror icons into the story as possible without regard for coherence (and I'm a little worried that it's going to get worse with each successive season). But what works brilliantly here is the combination of the atmosphere of old-fashioned horror stories with the dirty realism we're used to in, for example, HBO's historical series (here too, the precise production design plays a big role, successfully drawing us into the world of the time). Moreover, I admit that I haven't seen such a gloomy and, on the whole, scary horror series on TV for a long time.

True Detective develops a multi-layered plot that jumps back and forth in time between flashbacks, in which two diametrically opposed detectives, who have a hard time getting along, investigate a ritualistic murder, and the present day, where these detectives are talking about a 17-year-old case to other detectives investigating a similar murder. The heart of the detective story, however, lies in the gradual revelation of the changing relationship of the two main characters, whose accounts differ at times, and the reason why both have changed so much over the years. In doing so, the series plays with the concept of the unreliable narrator. The precise performances of the two leads (which are among the best of their careers) make for a riveting watch. HBO series have always successfully portrayed the atmosphere of a given place and time, and this existential neo-noir delights in the way it manages to build a dark atmosphere in a sunny Louisiana landscape. All eight episodes had the same director (Cary Fukunaga) and were written by one writer (Nic Pizzolatto), which was unusual in television up to this point. It is therefore more of an eight-hour film divided into eight chapters. In fact, HBO plans to treat the entire series as an anthology (each season will have a different story, different characters, and a different director).

Dexter immediately captivates with its original premise of a “good” serial killer who works on the police, murdering evil serial killers while leading a normal family life, and entertains with its take on silly soap operas as the main character tries to balance his dual life as a killer and family man. Most of the ironic humor rests on Dexter's memorable internal monologues, which he uses to sarcastically crash any melodramatic situations. Personally, I'm not a fan of voiceovers, but I can't imagine Dexter without them. Without them, the inner contradiction of a character who has no emotions and tries to pretend he's just like everyone else could never work. Dexter also amusingly satirizes the usually serious forensic investigations of procedural crime shows like CSI. However, from about halfway through (after the departure of the original showrunner) it starts to suffer from what a lot of long-running shows suffer from: the proliferation of side plots from the lives of minor characters that nobody cares about, as well as the unintentionally comical pathetic moments that the series initially made such a mockery of. The story becomes less and less believable and, as a result, less and less suspenseful. In later episodes, Dexter doesn't adhere so strictly to the strict code that helped him not get caught. He's getting more and more lax, but he still gets away with it. Some major events don't even have the expected serious consequences and are brushed off too quickly. And if that wasn't enough, this is one of the worst endings of any series ever. I don't know anyone who wasn't upset by it. But don't let that put you off, the first four seasons are top-notch.

Pilot Review: Whedon's series follows the Avengers comic book juggernaut, but is essentially its antithesis. This time around, the focus is on ordinary people without superpowers trying to keep the superheroes in check. You could say it's a kind of superhero procedural drama (or dramedy, rather), with less action and more dialogue (there's practically constant talking). The sarcastic sense of humour and self-ironic tone of the Avengers remains, but unfortunately there's too much of it. The fanboy allusions, the constant wisecracks of the heroes and the constant banter between them are so over the top that it feels contrived at times. It's clear that the series is trying its best to please both Marvel fans and uninitiated viewers in its pilot, and that over time, the self-absorption and desire to be cool at all costs may wear off. Then it'll be fine.