Lima

In the world of South Park, they'd probably say: “They killed Witcher, you bastards!” More specifically, Lauren Schimdt ground Sapkowski into disposable paper and wiped her ass with it. I found the first season excellent, event though it’s been criticized as confusing. Its interweaving of storylines was easy to navigate, and although it visibly suffered from a small budget, it did a good job of promoting the fantasy genre. The budget obviously swelled in season 2 – Kaer Morhen looked beautiful, all honour – but the writers from season 1 must have been eaten by some brux during the filming and they messed it up as much as they could. When Lauren's pros were outdone in terms of the script's engagingness and narrative richness by the CD Projekt enthusiasts in the excellent third The Witcher game, I don't think the girl could put it past her. And a little side note: sorry, but proud elven warriors can't be played by black boys with boyz-n-the-hood haircuts, just not really. This forcefully pushed political correctness is turning the world upside down.

Although I really like some of his directorial work, I generally have a problem with Henri Verneuil, I usually find his films quite naive with a logic that often takes a holiday. This is the case here, too, unfortunately, and I found the much-praised scientific experiment naive; and the lure of Morricone was absolutely untapped. My attention in this cold, verbose procedural was held only by my favourite Yves Montand, who was never a Belmondo or Delon type star, but his charisma and acting skills were unquestionable (e.g. he was absolutely riveting in The Confession). And the final twist? Well... it didn’t knock me down, but that ending IS impressive.

I enjoyed the first half more, balancing nicely on the edge of nostalgia, where it was still bearable. But then the digital crap kicked in (there's no substitute for practical 80s effects), and Finn Wolfhard made me feel like I was watching a weaker episode of Stranger Things. And as much as I love the old crew from the 80's classic, they unfortunately – and surprisingly to me – weren't the element that lifted the film up at the end. A brief reminiscence is not enough for me. And when the post-credit scene is the only fun thing in a film, there’s something wrong.

Having been a uncle for 35 years and a great-uncle for about 4, the character of Ben Affleck resonated with me and was terribly likeable, both in the way he behaves and how Ben plays him. Welcoming, easy-going, wise, like the whole movie, it totally stroked my troubled soul. Moreover, the beautiful friendly community of regulars in the bar is something we can only envy in today's unfortunate covid era. And if anyone keeps telling me that Ben Affleck is a bad actor, they're a moron, and I’d suggest they buy some drops for the fog in their eyes.

It's easy to see why Leonardo DiCaprio, an environmental activist who chooses his films carefully, gave his nod to this one – substitute a deadly comet for current and worsening climate change in the coming years and you get the picture. On the one hand his character, Dr Randall Mindy, and on the other – in real life – deniers like Klaus, Trump and similar idiots who, despite clear scientific and factual evidence, deny the human effect on climate change, just as McKay's film shows. And the people who, just like in this story, generally don't give a shit, they'd rather superficially like an article about how some pseudo-celebrity broke up with her boyfriend and completely ignore something that will be in a few years, or is slowly coming, because celebrities and other such superficialities in commercial media (and now, unfortunately, in public media as well), which focus primarily on entertainment, are pulling their weight these days. You can't be surprised, then, that Ariana Grande's breakup is hilariously taking precedence on TV over information about impending danger from outer space. Unfortunately, after an energetic first half, when McKay, in addition to the aforementioned, aptly addresses the unfortunate influence of social networks, the superficial and short-term thinking of politicians and the herd mentality of the population, the film loses its grip and its momentum and reaches the end at an idle. It just goes from a biting satire to an overly activist thing with no insight. But overall, the 4 stars are well deserved for the message that we're sitting on a barrel of dynamite while laughing like idiots.

I know, I know, most of you probably took a good nap, counted your fingers, or watched the cockroaches crawling under the TV, but I enjoyed Matt's quasi-detective "Lost in Translation" quite a bit. Even in slow-moving films, there's plenty to find interesting and here, despite the respectable runtime, only the essentials are told. It would be a shame to cut out the family relationship ballast around it, because it would only harm this sober narrative. The story has a very realistic esprit, with a moral dilemma at the end – as in real life, nothing is just black and white. And I liked Matt Damon's subdued performance very much, exactly what a dyed-in-the-wool praying Republican would look like.

I love Elizabeth Taylor in her "pre-Virginia Woolf" years, because she combined fragility and beauty with exquisite acting. Here she’s the one keeping things afloat, unlike her namesake, who is as soulfully flat as a ply board. I love 50s movies, but this has one aged a lot. It doesn't even impress with its decent production design (it doesn't bear the slightest comparison with the seven years younger Ben Hur) and the choreography of the battles is rather ridiculous, with extras running around in confusion and being tickled by the tangle of arrows like toothpicks bouncing off them. Even Miklós Rózsa is going about half throttle.

Some like cupcakes, some like wild girls, but it's a fact that this one is too wild – headshots are not spared, nor are pierced eyeballs and larynxes. Again, it's probably just my problem, but somehow I don't give a shit about those skinny girls who have ten armed men for dinner, especially when they're in the last stages of being a Litvinenko in the ICU. Anyway, another template strong female checked off, Netflix at half throttle again. But I send Mary Elizabeth Winstead a kiss on the forehead, she's a cutie.

I would give I don't know what to be a part of a Ridley Scott shoot and get a glimpse of his art, his films look so real. One long camera shot captures the mood of the entire Middle Ages – a cathedral under construction, a stone bridge with a dirt road, huts by the river with boats floating on it, a peasant with an ox team, and behind him a cohort of soldiers on horseback, cattle behind a fence, dirty pigs wallowing in the mud, mangy dogs running around, and all that brown-tinted medieval gloom; beautiful. And then there's the story, which could be cheaply flushed down the drain as a politically correct me-too tale, but it's not. It is a powerful story about the strength of a woman who fights for her honour despite the threat of cruel death by burning. And at the end, it cuts to what is probably the best jousting I've seen in the cinema, even considering they so rarely appear in films. Jodie Comer is superb, and the guys are overshadowed by Adam Driver, he's a stud. And Ridley, once it's over, it's gonna hurt.

Look, let's say you don't need to see most films today in the cinema. Their visuals aren't interesting or sophisticated enough, they lack something that would give you that pleasant tingle in the back of your neck, they don’t motivate you to see them on the big screen, or it's just a dull colouring book for teenagers (oops, anyone heard of Marvel?), so you can get a big TV at home, or a monitor if you're a really undemanding viewer. But Villeneuve's Dune? My God! That's in a whole different league, that's the kind of film big halls and big screens are built for. There hasn't been a visual epic like this since ...... well, maybe since Nolan's Interstellar, and as for capturing the sheer genius loci of the desert, its magical dunes and scorching sand, there hasn't been anything like it for 60 years, when – as Steven Spielberg declared "the miracle of cinema" – Lean's Lawrence of Arabia premiered. And everything else in Dune is a triumph of cinematic design, a non-tactile architecture of spectacular proportions, an interior design that illustrates the fantastic visual compositions. Add to that the incredibly good cast – I was most excited about Chalamet, which is exactly how I imagined Paul Atreides. Other reasons why this is a film for the cinema: Zimmer's powerful, droning score (a quality audio set is a must) and then the simple fact that Villeneuve likes to shoot in the dark, at night, and much of the film is dark, with Villeneuve playing with light and shadows and ominous gloom. At home on the computer you’ll see fuck all. So I'll conclude with a nice little friendly jab at you – if you are judging a visual epic like this based on the aforementioned fuck all, you are an idiot (no smiley face).