Lima

I’m not fond of carnivals from the first half of the 20th century, with their bizarreness, the way their tormented animals and boasted about the deformity of disabled people, but the setting in the late 1930s and early 1940s suits me. However, I feel that the story and its plot arc is not so substantial to justify the enormous runtime. I would have cut the beginning at the carnival by half, maybe more, and nothing would have happened, leaving Bradley and Rooney Mara's reunion and , for the final (very funny, by the way) twist, the important monologue of the the demonic Willem Dafoe about how they recruit human scum to play the role of renegades who are locked permanently in a cage and eat chickens alive. On the other hand, if I were Del Toro I'd focus more on the intrigue in the big city, its grimness and depravity, because Cate Blanchett is a great femme fatale and the sparks between her and Bradley are electrifying. Overall, I enjoyed it, but a pair of scissors for the editor would have been really nice. But it's hard when you consider how much del Toro loves the bizarreness of the old fairs and carnivals, he must have felt like a kid in a candy store in their backdrop.

Barefoot in the Park slightly dented his stellar start, Sundance Kid catapulted him to the acting Olympus, and in the meantime Redford, my idol, made this unremarkable tale of an arrogant man who comes to happiness. There’s no chance to build a positive relationship with his character, because he starts his story as a pretentious jerk and ends the same way, with no sign of any epiphany. Moreover, it's not even very well directed, not to mention the choppy narrative. The ending offers an unintended parallel to Ledecká's recent unexpected Olympic triumph in the downhill (here as a German downhill racer), but even here the filmmakers didn’t go off the expected track. It was interesting perhaps only for comparison and confirmation of what a huge technological and qualitative leap winter sports, and downhill skiing in particular, have made since then.

Fortunately, the big-studio system hasn't ground Robert Eggers down; despite the higher budget he has remained his own, uninhibited and original, although I think that of his three films so far this one is probably the least interesting. The narrative is not exactly flawless, especially in the middle part the story drags a lot, as if it doesn't know which way to go, but thank Odin it catches its breath again with the bloody climax and the final fight is an atmospheric blast. You will also enjoy the unusual insights into the life of the Old Norse, their customs and shamanic practices. The manly Skarsgård impresses with his animalism and muscularity, so his traditional puppy dog look doesn't matter. Nicole Kidman, on the other hand, is a horrible sight when the camera filter isn't mercifully working on her; facial liposuction is evil. Ageing also demands grace.

Tommy negotiated a 20% cut of every ticket sold, clever boy, and with himself as producer he serves us a fairytale that is beautifully filmed, but with a plot that is cliché as hell. Fighter jets have never been so sexy, in the cockpit shots you can totally see the effects of overload on the actors' faces, every extra mach – nostalgia is fine if you know how to work with it – but it all goes follows classic predictable Hollywood notes, you can guess exactly what will happen in the next scene, there is no moment of surprise, this film can only dream of some surprising twists. I was thoroughly bored for the first half, and in fact for the rest of the film. The only one who gave me the creeps was Val Kilmer, especially if you know about his health. The final praised action set-piece looked like a CGI cut scene from “Call of Duty”, the only thing missing was a gamepad in my hands. I think the current 92% here is nonsense.

Hipster bollocks by the Greek version of Charles Vachek. Had it been half an hour longer, I would’ve jumped out of the window myself.

The upside of a fast food movie like this for me, as a film collector, is that I save money. There really isn't the slightest reason to invest a single koruna in the Blu-ray of this; and its the same with most movie productions these days. I’ve never liked fast food, I prefer a hearty steak and this thing is like garlic bread. A tedious 120 minutes and the reassurance that the best film adaptation of a PC game is still the 27-year-old Mortal Kombat.

It says 1978 in the title, but in the 70s people knew how to make things spicier. It looks like a big gorefest at times, but at its core it's just another horror movie for kids, the kind Netflix is full of. Their derivative family friendly stuff to please everyone is like the plague.

At the beginning Branagh unnecessarily illuminates the reason for the moustache, he probably thinks we viewers are complete idiots, and then in artificial digital sets, coloured like gypsies' nails, he decides to desecrate an otherwise quite nice piece of literature. I wouldn't have expected this from him, someone with a theatre background.

Such a nice stylistic exercise, though P.T.A. won't put the script behind a frame. But I had fun and Anderson knows how to work with music as well as Tarantino. And Cooper Hoffman is an acting revelation, man.

With all due respect to Brian Johnson, he’s absolutely no match for AC/DC's original lead singer, the prematurely deceased Bon Scott. Johnson makes everything sound like a fistfight, whereas Scott's voice was incredibly colourful and variable, he had a bluesy feel and could glide smoothly across octaves with a husky voice that was a perfect match for the bombastic rock 'n' roll, and I fully agree with the opinion of renowned music critic Jiří Černý, who in his series in Rock and Pop magazine ranked Scott among the 7 greatest rock voices in history. The only really good album Brian Johnson recorded was “Back In Black”, because it has some great songs thanks to the writing input of Scott, who co-wrote it with Angus, but didn't get to do the vocals. And it was actually Bon Scott who was the leader of all previous major AC/DC albums, whether it was “Highway To Hell”, “Powerage”, “Dirty Deeds Done Don´t Cheap”, or “High Voltage”. I'm terribly sorry that Scott couldn't hold his liquor at a reasonable level and that inhaled vomit killed him in his sleep, and if I had the divine power to give life back to five prematurely deceased rock greats, it would be John Lennon, Janis Joplin, Jimmy Hendrix, the brilliant bassist and songwriter of early Metallica Cliff Burton, and Bon Scott. Let the heavens be easy for them.