Matty

SPOILERS AHEAD. I find it a bit paradoxical to blame Fallout for being so reminiscent of Rogue Nation. Isn’t a certain degree of similarity, the certainty that we more or less know what awaits us, the reason that we like movie franchises, whether it’s Bond films, Marvel movies or the Star Wars saga? Besides that, Fallout offers enough specific elements to keep it from being interchangeable with its predecessor and it continuously highlights a certain cyclical nature that Ethan Hunt encounters in his life. ___ Unlike the previous instalments, this one makes greater use of a subjective narrative (dreams, ideas) and more frequently brings up the protagonist’s past, which suddenly began to burden him (similar to Bond in Skyfall). His dilemma – whether to help one beloved person or to save millions – is manifested especially in the female characters (Julie, Ilsa, the French policewoman). The central conflict established by the first scene (including a copy of Homer’s Odyssey, in which the mission is given to Hunt) is based on a desire for harmony, accompanied by concerns that he will irreversibly disrupt it with his actions. In fact, he “only” seeks inner peace (similarly to Ilsa wanting to return home). ___ Two and a half hours of the movie are then filled with various complicated deferrals of this goal (toward which it is necessary to work through several constituent tasks), which at first seems to be within reach (trading in plutonium), but gradually becomes more distant the harder Hunt and his team try to achieve it (basically in accordance with one of the meanings of the subtitle, they fall ever deeper). Hunt unwittingly contributes to the implementation of the villain’s plan and thus to the realisation of his worst fear from the opening scene. ___ The constant uncovering of the identities of double and triple agents who plot against each other (of which we are sometimes aware and sometimes not) shows how difficult it is to recognise reality in an unstable postmodern world of simulacrums (see also the scene in which Benji guides Hunt through a 3D space according to a 2D map) and offers – above all – more and more pretexts for the spectacular action on which this franchise is based and to which the logic of everything else is subordinated. So, yeah, the villain has to leave London from the tower of the Tate Modern gallery, Hunt has to ride around the Arc de Triomphe at full speed in the wrong direction, and he has to skydive into Paris from seven kilometres up, because it looks fantastic and will boost your adrenaline level. Suspension of disbelief. Alfred Hitchcock. If you have a problem with that, you will find it excessive and improbable, any you will unfortunately not fully enjoy Fallout. ___ By giving us the dizzying feeling of straddling the boundary between life and death, Fallout is reminiscent of great grotesques like The General and Safety Last! (though Cruise bases his performances on speed and strength rather than physical acrobatics). With their rhythm, use of deadlines, inventive incorporation of Schifrin’s motif and the way everything smoothly fits together in the end, the action scenes are incredibly intoxicating, while also being sufficiently diverse in terms of vehicles, combat methods, multiple storylines running in parallel (in this regard, the final action scene is very Nolan-esque) and the extent of our awareness of what’s going on, which contributes to the fact that we often do not know with certainty whether we are seeing the fulfilment of a premeditated plan or improvisation. ___ Life supposedly flows in spirals and Fallout is structured accordingly, as it repeats situations that we saw in the first half of the film (a shootout in the London underworld is strikingly reminiscent of the handover in Berlin) or in previous instalments of the series with a slight alteration of forces, which the characters are aware of, knowingly winking at each other (and at us) and making fun of their (again) seemingly zero chance of success and survival. The episodic narrative, composed of several outstanding action sequences with their own patterns of development and breathtaking gradation, is again not only utilised, but also reflected. There is no way for anything to end except with a spectacular cliffhanger. ___ Sure, Fallout could have been shorter, less overloaded with plot twists and more focused on the action than on the characters, but in terms of the development of today's world and the Mission: Impossible franchise, I find its more pronounced melodramatic nature (which contributes significantly to the longer runtime) and greater prevalence of postmodern doubt about what is actually real to be a logical way to raise the stakes without resorting to excesses likes those put out by the creators of Fast & Furious. Of course, it can’t be ruled out that Hunt will race with tanks and submarines next time. He evidently still has the physique for that. 90%

Leigh’s method looks so simple. He comes up with several situations that could be encountered anywhere, casts actors who improvise with ease and starts filming. His approach to capturing the major dramas of ordinary people is actually much more conscientious, as it requires precise preparation and a lot of patience, as well as a bit of luck. In any case, it is not obvious from the result that it was long planned and thought out. It gives the impression of being very raw and very lively. Whenever the content of a scene allows it, Leigh lets the camera run without interruption and the actors do their work in one take. Particularly in scenes with multiple characters, however, I would not omit the visual composition, which serves for clarity and tells about the relationships between the characters. The dominant blue-grey hue corresponds to the “freezing” of feelings, the inability to openly communicate and fear of the truth and responsibility. These are solemn topics, but they are very close to the way we live. Despite that, the end of the film still offers a certain degree of hope. 85%

In today's world of computers… Forget about the internet: after watching Men, Women and Children, I am more afraid of people who inhaled this film, became convinced that it truthfully reflects reality and then disconnected from the internet as soon as the credits came to an end. Reitman’s atrocious directorial and screenwriting cockup is a prime example of a thesis picture (basic thesis: we all live in bubbles) that would very much like to be current and comment on the burning issue of the moment. (In case you didn’t already know, the problems of white middle-class Americans are the problems of the whole world.) However, its main problem is that he does not look for problems, but artificially creates and exaggerates them. This does not involve comedic exaggeration, but rather a dire warning about the harmfulness of modern technologies, which – in people who are clearly not entirely mentally well balanced, and are omitted from the narrative – cause addiction to porn and gaming, the breakdown of relationships, obsession with one’s own appearance, eating disorders, paranoid behaviour, loss of contact with the real world ... ___ With its exploitative shallowness and hysteria, the film piles up one negative effect of residing in virtual space after another and does not acknowledge that the internet, tablets and smartphones could have any positive benefits. Pertinent points and apt parallels (contemplation of one’s own nothingness vs. overestimation of one’s own importance) disappear in the torrent of half-baked, unconvincing and absolutely stupid ideas. ___ Reitman clearly did not consider using the network narrative beyond the framework of his conviction that it would suit a film about networks and the interconnected world. There is a needlessly large number of characters and we thus have to be satisfied with caricatures, while the donkey bridges between them are not convincingly constructed. Most of the episodes serve only to demonstrate a particular thesis, so they are not aimed at anything, just as the whole film gets bogged down and comes across as empty. ___ The attempt to add more meaning, seriousness and importance to the fragmented narrative with “cosmic” framing and the voice of the narrator (a sophisticated-sounding Emma Thompson) verges on parody and is a prime example of what not to do if you don’t want your film to be labelled as a midcult work. ___ I consider some of Reitman’s previous films to be well-aimed satires that managed to maintain lightness and insight. Men, Women and Children is just a terribly heavy-handed, biased and narratively clueless attempt to say something essential about modern society. Due to its carping tone and lack of detachment, it is most reminiscent of Patricia, the most frightening character in the film. 35%

Tully is a film at the midpoint between the best and the worst of which Jason Reitman is capable. Charlize Theron excels in the role of an exhausted mother of three children whose life has been reduced to mechanically repeated diaper changes and breastfeeding. Thanks to her performance, situations experienced and measured direction, we experience her fatigue, we understand her postpartum depression, and we feel tremendously relieved when Tully appears at the door. The magical nanny answers the (never-posed) question of what Mary Poppins would look like if she were a millennial and changes the film’s genre from a social tragicomedy that is clearly targeted in terms of narrative into an ambitious magical-realistic statement on losing faith in your sense of you are and what you are doing. As in the appalling satire Men, Women and Children, Reitman succumbed to the temptation to offer us grand, timeless ideas in addition to the minor dramas of ordinary people. In his concept, however, these are comically simplified and sugar-coated for easier digestibility (“A Spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down”) and their presence in the story is justified by a terribly shaky narrative structure, the overbearing revelation of a predictable plot twist to the satisfying resolution of all other problems (the heroine’s unfulfilled career ambitions, lack of funds, her son’s autism). The end of the film, whose creators got a bit lost on the way from point A to point B, then offers a resolution, albeit through something that has not been presented as a problem so far (the involvement of the husband in taking care of the household). With its utilitarian approach to the characters, Tully is actually a terribly cynical and insincere film, despite its authentic beginning. 55%

The first hour is full of life, physical pleasures, warm colours, and opulently furnished and spacious rooms, which give the protagonists a lot of freedom. Many characters, many micro-stories, the joy of discovery. After the father’s death comes a severe cooling, rigorous rules, austere interiors with minimal furniture, small closed rooms and more detail shots of faces. The family farce turns into a claustrophobic psychological horror film culminating in an extremely unpleasant scene in which Alexander is punished for letting his imagination run riot and taking the liberty of doing that of which Bergman’s autobiographical last will and testament is a celebration – telling a (fictional) story. There follows a magical scene of rescuing children, who at one moment appear to be in two places at the same time. Our willing to believe fiction (suspension of disbelief) is equally as important as fiction itself, those little worlds into which we can escape. The rules of the hitherto more or less realistic fictional world simply had to be broken in order for the children to escape the bishop and for the story to continue. Either accept it or let it be. Great art is born of great pain and the restriction of choice thus paradoxically stimulates Alexander’s imagination, which is his last refuge and on whose understanding and acceptance the third and most imaginative act of the film is focused. If Bergman truly excelled at anything, it was mise-en-scène direction. Few films prove this as convincingly as Fanny and Alexander, in which he captivatingly summed up the ideas and stylistic processes of his life’s work (even though the protagonists are children, the theme of aging and dying also emerges). The crowning work of a master at the peak of his powers. 90%

Soon after Lazzaro Felice comes another film, at the end of which I had the desire to escape into the wilderness and spend the rest of my life among wolves. Although these films are fundamentally different, Leave No Trace is, for example, far more intuitive, as events simply follow one another in a time-lapse documentary without being exposed in advance (conversely, the entire first half of Lazzaro Felice is preparation for the second half), the plot flows freely and undramatically, we are not made aware of some essential information, the narrative does not come back to many of the characters and situations (for example, the only thing that we learn about the mother is that she liked the colour yellow). The protagonists have to overcome obstacles mainly in order to get to know each other and themselves better, rather than to achieve a particular objective. Upon closer viewing, it is possible to uncover in Leave No Trace, like in Lazzaro Felice, a web of motifs connected with the theme of man’s relationship to his own nature. Both pictures turn our attention (back) to nature (and to that which is generally good and unspoiled), or rather it compels us to think about man’s relationship to nature. I think these films are more successful in this regard than are “pure” nature documentaries, to which it is more difficult to connect emotionally due to the absence of a human element. In Leave No Trace, this is aided by the fact that the film does not contain a single negative character. It is purely a clash between the system (towards which Granik is not explicitly critical) and people who want (need) to live outside of it. We understand their situation, but we are not didactically guided to accept the opinion that Walden’s way of existence is the only correct way. In a similarly ambivalent manner, the film addresses the issue of freedom. Though civilisation establishes binding norms (connected here with Christmas trees, which must all look perfect) and tries to somehow categorise everyone (as Tom places shirts in drawers in a new house), but the main female protagonist is in the forests under the ceaseless patronage of her father and cannot rely on basic life security. For better or worse, they are reminiscent of a pair of seahorses, brought to mind by a girl's pendant or an orange peel reminiscent of that animal, which mates for life and whose offspring develop in the abdominal sack of the male, rather than that of the female. Giving someone freedom can be the greatest expression of love. Though the film raises the visibility of certain issues through its story, it leaves it to us to decide what is better. Will provides similar freedom in raising his daughter. He does not lead her to accept a single dogmatic worldview (he responds with a smile rather than disapprovingly to her remark that God created frogs, as she had read in a leaflet distributed by the local Christian community), but he stimulates her curiosity. Thanks to this freedom that the film gives us, the opinion at which we arrive has even greater weight. Leave No Trace thus continues to reverberate after the disarming, maximally simple penultimate scene. 85%

From the outset, Custody is an uncomfortably cramped film that does not leave much room to breathe. It takes place almost exclusively in enclosed spaces (see only the numerous scenes with the father in a car), with the camera close to the actors. The characters have no way out. The narrative is highly concentrated thanks also to the focus on just a few days and a couple of events. As the story progresses, Legrand uses more and more stylistic elements of horror (the birthday party offers the first masterful lesson in creating suspense and the fear that something bad is about to happen, another follows) and an already intense drama subtly yet, with respect to the characterisation of the characters, rather naturally transforms into a regular work of psycho-terror, in the climax of which you forget that you have to breathe. Custody is an extremely unpleasant film, but then so is the situation of the children of divorcing parents and victims of domestic violence, which it navigates in an incredibly suggestive and empathetic manner. In the interest of preventing similar situations, it should be seen and experienced by as many people as possible. 90%

Polish folk songs were never so sexy. Besides that, Pawlikovski’s balladic overview of the history of music and of Europe captivated me with its high-contrast black-and-white camera work and highly economical storytelling with sharp cuts, sudden jumps in time and numerous meanings communicated via the mise-en-scène without verbal explanation, thanks to which the film is able to cover some fifteen years of history in just under ninety minutes. At the same time, the atmosphere remains consistent, while the musical style changes along with the degree of frustration felt by the protagonists, who still do not have that which they desire. Cold War is obviously a film under the spell of post-war European cinema (in addition to its academic format, this is also apparent in the number of European countries and languages represented) – not by any means only Soviet-style musicals such as Tomorrow, People Will Be Dancing Everywhere against which it is critically defined – with which it has much more in common than with reality. At the same time, however, the plot is complicated and lovers are separated by the political repression of the time that discomfited artists in communist countries had to face. The major simplification of socio-political contexts, psychological flatness of the characters and bold stylisation serve well the timeless fatalistic story of unrequited love (in whose case it does not matter too much that we are watching only certain [arche]types instead of full-blooded heroes), but as a statement on a particular time and the people of that particular time, which it also wants to be, Cold War fails for the same reason. But if you want to see a very obliging art film that does not put numerous obstacles in the viewer’s way, it is unlikely that you will see anything nicer in the cinemas. 70%

I believe that a thoughtfully enriching and formally courageous film can be made about the events in Norway seven years ago that not only leaves viewers shaken, but also forces them to think. Utøya: July 22 is really not such a film. Though I appreciate that its makers wagered predominantly on the realistic motivation of the scenes (which, however, is somewhat superfluous in a film with fictional characters), that in itself is not a guarantee of a good film. On the contrary, it leads to the fact that most of the film’s runtime consists of long, suspensefully simple shots of several characters hiding and sitting tight somewhere in the forest or under a rocky cliff. Furthermore, any authenticity is demolished by tasteless melodramatic crutches (a mother calling her dead daughter, a micro-plot with a boy in a yellow jacket) suggesting that the main and perhaps only (cynical) ambition of the film’s creators was to wring some emotions out of the viewers, to claw at their souls a bit by exploiting real terror (after all, this intention is indicated with a certain guilelessness by the sentence that Kaja delivers at the beginning while looking at the camera when she calls her mother: “You will never understand, just listen to me”). But the narrative is too straightforward (for proof that this can be done more inventively, see Van Sant's complex Elephant) and there are too few variables at play that would draw us into the story, so Utøya does not work even as an “adventure” survival horror movie. We may ask ourselves whether Kaja will survive or not, whether she will find her sister or not, but that’s all. Poppe relies on our connection to the protagonist, but forgets that the film is not a video game in which fear for the character’s life enhances the player’s control over her actions. As Son of Saul recently showed, it is possible to hold our attention without letting us catch our breath in the present moment while also making a complex statement on a particular tragedy. By contrast, Utøya is a paradoxical reconstruction of an event about which we learn almost nothing, with the exception of the opening and closing explanatory titles. For me, this is a prototype of a useless film without value added, which was made mainly to provoke a media response. It is a film in which it is possible to admire the athletic performance of the leading actress and the cameraman (even though the personalised camera work, which sometimes reacts to the surrounding stimuli independently of the characters, creates the misleading impression that we are watching scenes composed of found footage). 50%

The fate of the women in the second Sicario is either to look on sadly (Catherine Keener) or to be rescued by men (Isabela Moner) who, when solving problems, apply the logic of “when force doesn’t work, use military force”. In this respect, the film does not much differ from its predecessor, though Sheridan’s ostentatious nihilism and desire to shoot a vicious film and vicious people take on parodic proportions. The “philosophy” of the film is best captured by the motto of Brolin’s character, “F*ck it all”. Sollima’s direction is mundane and Wolski only imitates Deakins through mannerisms. For the most part, the scenes are shallow and devoid of atmosphere and tension (because, among other things, all of the characters are such assholes that you do not care about them at all). The only authentic moment comes when Del Toro’s antihero can drop his forced macho pose for a moment and carry on some quite ordinary “human” dialogue (albeit with sign language). The extreme slowness given by the mechanical narrative (one bad plan is replaced by another, even worse plan, over and over again), the lack of catharsis and resulting unsatisfying resolution does not come across as an attempt to express existential anxiety caused by a world overrun with evil to such an extent that there is no way out, but rather only as the result of shoddy work and the compulsion to make a sequel at any cost. In the bizarre climax, where the remnants of logic vanish and we become witnesses to the birth of a monster, the film comes close in its exaggerated nature to the later work of Sam Peckinpah (e.g. Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia), but without the crucial sense of humour, which Taylor Sheridan unfortunately does not possess. This sequel is absolutely unnecessary, but it’s probably not the last one. I will be surprised if, after a week, I remember anything other than Josh Brolin’s stylish footwear (crocs) while inflicting psychological torture – the effectiveness of which, by the way, the film does not question in any way (unlike Zero Dark Thirty). 45%