Marigold

Mission Impossible: Nation of Crooks. Delaney is a 19th-century Ethan Hunt. If it weren't for Tom Hardy's great performance of compressing emotions into monosyllabic interjections, all those coincidences and supernatural motifs (often masking the careless interconnectedness of certain events) would be rather annoying. However, the combination of a dilapidated expedition, skin and dental diseases, a bad version of Breaking Bad and a whole host of cute details make for very good (slow) entertainment. If it weren't so bound by pretending to be a serious historical storyline and it was thrown straight into pure steampunk, it would be pure well-being. Hmmmm... I’ll take it.

A two-part film. Almost everything that is remarkable about it has its downside. Apart from the acting performances, which are the strongest thing that Moonlight has to offer. The division into three parts and the reliance on the outlets come out alternately, in some places an impressive tension arises between the unspoken cause and effect, whilst elsewhere the film feels a little broken or leaky. Laxton's camera, which can conjure up an intoxicating vortex trajectory, sometimes slides into mannerist conventional details. The music sometimes dries out, but sometimes it goes great with what is not directly said (the scene in the restaurant in the third part). It is a problematic emancipation film on both levels - it creates the main character, who is more approximate than captivating. And it speaks of the identities of a minority without deriving them from its relationship to the oppressive majority (like 12 Years a Slave) or making this relationship a main topic at all. Rather than a radical social image, Moonlight is a lyrical portrait of personality changes - and this is where it has considerable limits. The experience from the film is so very inspiring and unsatisfactory... Respect mixed with doubts.

Something wicked this way comes! They had a dog in the first one, and artistic ambitions in part two. And they look deadly serious during it ... and I'm buying it this time. Proof that headshots belong to galleries and newer Bond films may be outdated, but with their emphasis on increasingly daring sets, they also influence films you wouldn't expect at all. At the same time, Stahelski is learning to be a director and plays even more with the timing of the action, which, unlike many of my colleagues, I consider significantly better than in the first film (I don't even know the last time I smiled so stupidly during the arming scene). Wick grabbed exactly what I enjoyed most in number one - the strange mythology of the brotherhood of assassins - and adds other interesting fragments. The main ingredient, in addition to the flashy visuals, the crazy pompous scenography and the fantastic choreography, is, of course, Keanu. He goes against the fashion of muscular fighters and kills with the same, and still penetrating gaze. Reeves returns to the elite through a door no one expected three years ago. And I can't help but say that I'm just looking forward to the third movie in the style of "him vs the world". A very, very nice surprise, which played an even better game with the same characters.

The atmosphere will purify you like Professor Volmer's famous water. The first 15 minutes or so are pure ecstasy. Like a gothic horror from Sorrentino. For about an hour, A Cure for Wellness keeps you suspecting that it is coming up with a clever metaphor for a world plagued by the cancer of ambition and mammon. Of course, nothing like that happens. The screenplay has multiple sclerosis, so it dissipates the quite primitive incestuous story so perfectly along the way that in the end it doesn't make much sense. But it does not matter. This film loses its sanity as amusingly as the main character, and the ball ending is something that died out in Hollywood in the 1930s. And Verbinski pulls it out of the coffin, as if it were a graceful quail. Necrophilia intercourse with everything. Unjust, insane, sometimes almost stupid... but incredibly fun. Do you know where the alpine water can be bought?

Trainspotting was like jumping on an express train that goes nowhere. T2 is like waiting for a train that has gone by a long time ago. The fact that I consider this futile nostalgia and cycle to be thematized as one of the main elements of the plot and the new destinies of the old characters, is a mitigating circumstance, not redemption and quality. It's like sitting for two hours with a raffish guy who expressively explains what the ride was like in the 1990s. You listen, but in the end you are glad that you will (hopefully) never see him again.

It’s eccentric, but in a rather unsatisfying way. Hawley is a master of bringing seemingly incompatible elements together, but here it falls apart. It’s slightly over the edge in all respects. Moreover, the finale doesn't look very good, and the attempt at Daredevil fluidity feels more like a light digital spasm.

There are plenty of nations in Europe that could make dozens of films like Land of Mine. The Danes probably have a single theme, but not only will they film it, but they will film it consistently, distantly, and without artificial vicissitudes and pathos. The theme itself is exceptional, but Zandvliet can indeed get a consistently civil drama going in which broader questions of collective guilt and the legitimacy of revenge resonate. A mature, accurate and very elegantly filmed story about post-war explosive soil. I have respected Roland Møller for a long time, but here he demonstrates his undoubtedly most nuanced and sophisticated performance.

A heavily exaggerated moral/parable of corrupt Russia. The more serious and tragic the film tries to be, the more transparent and shallow it becomes. It’s the kind of depressing populism that tempts one to rather superficial wisdom about decent people not having a chance. It’s like Leviathan for the less demanding.

Lonergan is an amazing screenwriter. The compositionality of the film, the work with ordinariness, with economical dialogues, with what is to be shown up close, or what to observe from a distance through a hint - masterful. The directing struggles a bit with the exaggerated ceremony of selected moments, when Lonergan suddenly helps himself with a mournful Händel and decelerators. But he never takes its feet out from under it, in the best moments his focused and laconic leadership of the actors and watching the routine of the fading (and still present) tragedy is extremely strong. Manchester by the Sea has the ability to constantly slide toward pathos, but it never does so. It feels sparing, despite the fact that behind the main character is a drama almost ancient, behind which we can clearly perceive the script design. But Lonergan can handle it. He does not abuse misery, and the chemistry between Affleck, Hedges and the supporting characters is completely physically perceptible in every shot. A film about the difficult art of mourning, about the inability to accept wounds and return to where one cannot forget the past. I look forward to watching it again, and it’s the most impressive American indie since Boyhood.

It’s no In My Father's Den. An uncompromising portrait of an extinguished artist who found himself in the grip of intrusive kitschers. The returns to the 90's work like a hard mirror. Creativity and intensity take a very hard toll. It has the seeds of porn misery and a lot of borderline experience, but Remo can keep his distance and capture telling details beyond mere vulturism. Impressive, uncomfortable. Embarrassment mainly from the introduction, listening to the self-centered Banášes. It's a good start - to morning diarrhea.