novoten

Awkward exaggeration, confused action, and overall too different, albeit earnestly ironic Bond film. The final sequence is daring for its time and light-hearted tendencies, but it doesn't fit here.

The number one in the title signifies the position of the creators' greatest motor sport in their personal hobbies. They want to tell us everything about it – or at least something about everything. As a result, it necessarily ends up somewhat fragmented in terms of the overall history of the Formula One race, but some powerful moments make up for everything else, especially for those of us who did not experience that deadly time. Paul Crowder and Mark Monroe build a monumental monument to everyone who paid the highest price for their love of stepping on the pedal, and it is precisely in the divided and emotional memories of past rivals, friends, or lovers that the documentary is painfully powerful.

At first, after a special mixture of melancholy, nostalgia, and optimism just a few hours after my own prom, Ten Things I Hate About You was my little treasure that I didn't want to see any flaws in. I enjoyed the captivating romance, fresh screenplay and direction, Ledger's charisma, and the beautiful sister duo. But upon second viewing, everything seems like a parody of itself. Scenes that used to evoke positive memories are now just sterile and unfunny paraphrases of Shakespeare. Although the stadium song still works and the guitar scene is still an amazing emotional peak for me, I feel a bit sad that I can no longer be swept away by high school naivety. Some movies should only be seen once.

Another opportunity for an entertaining-adventurous film wasted. Emmerich's straightforward childishness and honesty with which he tells his stories fascinated me at times. However, as a result, the film is just a tired fable in which cavemen speak English with a Middle Eastern accent, mammoths build pyramids, and the last remnants of adventure are saved by a five-minute scene with a saber-toothed tiger.

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.

Desire for adventure, desire for solitude, desire to live. Danny Boyle translates a relatively trivial story into a highly personal level, where no hallucination is purposeless and no flashback empty. With the breathtaking James Franco and a visual that never rests, 127 Hours becomes a magnificent spiritual cleansing and also the most intimate story. It is simply a difficult task that passed with flying colours and made me, despite the inconspicuous warning, desire to rush somewhere headlong, making it perhaps the biggest surprise of the season.

Black Hawk down for good. After watching the murderous footage and a more than thorough introduction, it is clear that this is a dream project, whose author was unrestrained and thus able to fulfil his greatest wishes. And although the motivational speeches or threats about dead Americans bring to mind Pearl Harbor with their quantity, it only slightly diminishes the experience. When it comes down to it, Grade AAA Action comes to the forefront, proving that Michael Bay simply never gets old, but matures in his own way. Every salvo or explosion surpasses everything you could possibly see in the genre with its dynamism, and the increasing fear for the main characters drives towards an overheated and even more exhaustively satisfying finale for the audience.

I was expecting a cynical hero locked in a scary room. And I got a cynical hero with past trauma locked in a treacherous room, which can scare you so much that unexpected visitors will not be welcome at that moment. Even in the horror genre, there is occasionally a surprise that won't easily leave your mind and that you would gladly experience again, despite the unpleasant dose of fear. Cusack's The Raven deserves this privilege.

"When you're young, everything feels like the end of the world." When Zac Efron, Michelle and Leslie Mann are at the peak of their performance, and the genre mixes a few clichés with an nostalgia as strong as a wave of fandom, it is impossible to resist. "Different" teenage comedies still know how to warm your heart.

From start to finish, a formally perfect spectacle where I marvel at how much work went into each shot and how many trenches had to be dug for each scene. However, the captivating visuals are where it ends. The heart-wrenching journey did not captivate me even for a moment, the narrative style forces me to reminisce about many genre predecessors, and in the end I only see the most clichéd war story, which it fundamentally is.