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A new generation is entitled to a new beginning, and thus the semi-divine orphan once again descends to us earthlings for the first time. I am glad that he succeeded in a way that only does justice to Kal-El, but as a fan of the more innocent and human adventures of the Man of Steel, I was hoping for something a little more different. I admire Zack Snyder for daring to rearrange the chronology of the sacred origin story, but there were simply too many technical tricks or destroyed blocks for me. Superman has always been different for me precisely because he is well aware of his almost painful superiority and does not fight in a destructive way that you tend to see in superhero movies. I can watch their methods from morning till night, but the savior with the S on his chest naturally flies a class above. The perfect casting, led by the fascinating Russell Crowe as Jor-El, partly mitigates these criticisms, as do those sentimental insertions that may have caused some discomfort in other viewers. But when the screenplay touches on the humanity of the central hero, that's when I almost immediately soften. On my way out of the cinema I ultimately felt a conflicting satisfaction. Due to the devilish pace of the second half, I can't shake the feeling that I was riding an express train rather than a full-fledged reboot, but there were surprisingly enough attractions waiting for me in it. So keep flying, Clark. I hope you'll fly far enough to keep the memories from turning bitter.

Omniscient narrators, stylish slow moments, and a dancing Bradley Cooper as the director's good luck charm. The master David O. Russell has not only mastered the art of pushing actors to unforgettable performances, but has also been conquering the forms of more and more genres. In this cunning mess, he succeeds even better the more superficial and confusing the whole American Hustle seems to other viewers. A tour de force from Amy Adams is just the sweetest cherry on top.

Season 1 – 80% – In the seemingly well-plowed field of the relationship genre, you can still find something new. Or rediscover something completely obvious – like the truth. Lena Dunham writes her group of girls so convincingly that some situations, flare-ups, and breakups play out with an authenticity that rides familiar shivers down your back. However, with that comes the danger that just like in life, some people won't appeal to you, which applies to most of the male characters (the awkward Charlie or the creepy Adam) and unfortunately also to the main female character. Hannah is interestingly talkative, but also self-absorbed, somewhat selfish, and very often strange in an unpleasant way. It is surprising that I am greatly entertained by the remaining three girls, even though they decide to do everything but the right thing. And they are surprisingly confident about it. Season 2 – 70% – If this is how things actually are in reality, then I officially declare that I understand girls no more now than I did during puberty. It's just a shame that I'm starting to understand the whole series less as well. The dialogue is still written in gold, but the season as a whole has not grown on me (despite the perfectly developed first half). I don't buy the OCD storyline, I don't buy the suddenly successful Charlie, and I also have a problem with the transformation of Adam into a likeable damaged guy with a sincere heart. Thanks to a few great ideas (the episode with Patrick Wilson), a tastefully compiled soundtrack, and the roller coaster ride of Marnie, it is still watchable without hesitation. But I'm starting to worry that the girls are losing a piece of their hearts. Season 3 – 75% – A bit of helplessness on my part, and maybe even a safe bet on the part of the series. The biggest question mark for me is still that masochism when Lena writes herself as the most unbearable person under the sun. Even the eccentric Adam or the spoiled Shoshanna with her year of freedom can be seen as interesting characters, but I meet Hannah's every decision with a silent grinding of teeth. And it's a shame, especially since the third season raced forward very confidently, and with the confused (yet still the most golden) Marnie or the amazing scene-stealer Elijah, it deserved a much higher rating. However, it is a very nice above-average show with a script based on random stories without an escalating plot. If it maintains this level, Girls can easily function for five more seasons. If it slips, the concept will get boring within a few episodes. Season 4 – 85% – I suspect Miss Dunham felt happy in her personal life when she wrote about the latest experiences of the main characters. Despite various relationship or family kerfuffles, the fourth season of Girls exudes a constant dose of optimism and an undeniable glimmer of hope. Thanks to this, Ray is suddenly not just an inconspicuous mold, but a likable guy, and Adam, despite one crucial mistake, becomes a surprisingly nice guy. Even Hannah's selfishness suddenly makes sense and is easier to understand. Maybe Jessa wouldn't have to be on the verge of death in every sardonic speech, but you can't have everything. I had no fear at all about the overall direction of the series thanks to imaginative supporting roles played by familiar faces and confident scripts that are not afraid to tackle unconventional topics. And as it turned out, this was right on the money. Season 5 – 100% – Jessa is still unbearable and yet sometimes I fully understand her. Marnie is still caught up in details and yet I cannot help but love her. Shosh continues to be insecure in moments when it is not at all necessary, and yet I root for her. And lastly, Hannah is the biggest stubborn mule, and self-centered to the point of madness, and yet I just want to see her happy. Girls has matured just as Lena Dunham has matured. It's not afraid to experiment (a solo episode in Tokyo, Marnie's introspection through a visit to her own past) and it ultimately reaches its intended destination. A conversation gem that can only offend or enthuse with its unique humor. The perfection was always there, it just took four seasons for it to come out. Season 6 – 100% – Whether the main characters are enjoying joy or suffering, dealing with work matters, or closing and reopening the relationships that the viewer has been following for six years, it is evident that we have all experienced something similar, felt this way at this age. Moreover, not only has Lena Dunham matured as a creator, but this time she also reaches the peak of her acting skills. Whether she is enjoying a seaside destination, dealing with a new chapter in her life, or facing what Adam meant, means, and could have meant to her, she is so precise and sensitive at the same time that I would not hesitate to hand her a Golden Globe. This is a heroine who can only make you cry or laugh. If you had told me a few seasons ago that Hannah Horvath, who seemed spoiled and ungrateful at the time, would be a character I would breathe for, just so I could help her in some way, I would have laughed at you. And that's where I see the biggest transformation, which turned me from a cautious supporter into a genuine fan who recommends the series to everyone. While the first three years were a pleasant conversation with weaker and stronger moments, the last two years are pure gold taken from life, and to me, they represent the pinnacle of what has been seen on television.

An entertaining game with a determined policeman and a vain count with a fondness for exotic creatures and human weaknesses. It gave me a slightly sinful pleasure to guess what conditions of the contract each client will violate and what consequences it will have for them. Since it only has four episodes, there isn't enough time for more elaborate plotlines, but at the same time, Pet Shop of Horrors doesn't even have time to get tired of its episodic theme and instead pleasantly surprises with each new creature and story.

Such a sophisticated ode to money, sex, drugs, and immense debauchery that I almost forgot that, in reality, such people seem overdue for a good slap in the face. Yet even if I had spent the entire three hours merely studying the movements of the wolf king Leonardo DiCaprio in fascination, it would still have been worth it. Sharp monologues, the casting of prostitutes, or cerebral palsy may be the high points, but all throughout DiCaprio delivers a performance at the edge of human capabilities, which might appear casual and relaxed, but must have required a level of effort greater than ever before. Still, it is a shame that Scorsese expands the scope to an unnecessarily broad extent. Even my love for overdramatic stories that don't know when to stop being told could not prevent me from being even slightly bored by the last hour running a bit freely. Martin Scorsese and Leo yet again know how to do it and take unbelievable delight in their talent. And yet they miss absolute center, whether they make a buck or not, by a field.

How to live with HIV, not giving in to anyone or anything, cursing and going all out until the very end. Matthew McConaughey refuses to cry or laugh superficially and takes it head-on through all obstacles, even when it could be the last day of his life. And today could quite possibly be that last day. A sincere drama that is most lovable precisely because, just like the main character, it remains true to itself the entire time.

Revolting, grinning, and sobbing. Considering how fed up I am with the places Czech filmmakers constantly turn, Identity Card is an incredibly uplifting experience. Additionally, the fact that Petr Jarchovský is the one writing for Ondřej Trojan this time is literally its salvation, because I wouldn't believe Jan Hřebejk's returns to the past even with a C cup.

Such a safe bet that it doesn't have a single surprising or completely sincere moment. There have already been so many biographies of rude people that the perpetually sour Miss Travers is more of a nuisance. Both the storyline with the adaptation and the journey into the past follow a fabricated template, which becomes murderously tiresome over the course of two hours. The innocent third star is saved by the perfect Tom Hanks and the fact that the whole mess is written with such a friendly and amicable tone that it actually has nothing to provoke. Perhaps only by that unexpected and sadly grand ordinariness.

This was supposed to be a magnum opus with everything, but instead there came false grandiosity, where the plot only describes larger or smaller circles. I'm somewhat regretful given Steve McQueen's obvious engagement, but neither the raw scenes nor Michael Fassbender's dominating performance help him on his way to the audience this time. This is partly due to the fact that Hans Zimmer' music is overly sentimental and therefore incongruous, partly it is the feeling of futility that the casting gave forth excellent performances that go nowhere (Paul Giamatti, Benedict Cumberbatch). But worst of all – thematically, there is absolutely nothing extra. The sorrowful looking (and it must be said, significantly underplayed) Chiwetel Ejiofor is dragged by destiny, encounters slimy, treacherous, or weak white men, and sympathizes with suffering black people. And that, more or less, is where it ends. In fragments of the plot or dialogue, it occasionally functions, but as a whole, it is remarkably transparent.

Airheaded nonsense. To duck when Alex battles Atom, to tremble when Evangeline Lilly smiles, and to cheer for the most likable guy in Hollywood face-to-face as you watch Hugh Jackman's expressions during the final bloody duel. Bravery for all those who are not afraid to look into the eyes of their younger self.