POMO

Polyester is a portrait of a suburban American family that becomes dysfunctional from one day to the next. The daughter is an idiot, the son an aggressive pervert, the dad an unscrupulous boor and the mother a good-hearted, hysterical mouse who is dependent on all of them. Waters’ bizarre film, which has gained cult status in certain circles, is entertaining with its bizarre microcosm of characters, but without the endearingly over-the-top distastefulness that he served up in Pink Flamingos, it doesn’t leave such a distinctive mark.

Despite its interesting subject and high-quality work with the setting and characters, Red Joan was somehow not developed into something bigger, which it deserved.

With Marriage Story, it’s like when you forget that you’re watching actors in a film and you feel as though you are intensely living the situation that the protagonists are going through. This is a fragile, dialogue-driven relationship film that employs excellent camerawork and editing in telling the story. Scarlett’s first confession to her lawyer is perhaps the film’s most brilliant scene. Her acting is comparable to Naomi Watts’s breathtaking performance in the rehearsal scene from Mulholland Drive. There is also, for example, the build-up of tension through editing, with gradual approaches to tense faces in the quarrel, and the climax in which the worst is said and then immediately regretted. It wouldn’t work so well on the stage without those close-ups of the actors’ faces. The dialogue is so authentic and the natures of the characters so precisely formed that playing them must have been creative ecstasy. And it’s not just Driver and Scarlett who turn in wonderful performances here. Laura Dern makes a full-force comeback in a small space and Ray Liotta masterfully makes up for his absence in The Irishman in an even smaller space. Marriage Story is like the best of Woody Allen, with a touch of La La Land’s heart. In my opinion, an Oscar for best screenplay is inevitable.

This feel-good movie with a likeable ensemble ably brightens up the faded stars Murphy and Snipes. It draws you in with high-quality filmmaking and dirty jokes, and then it gradually slips into unsurprising clichés with no greater goal than to provide relaxing entertainment.

In comparison with Butler’s movies in which he plays a Secret Service agent protecting American presidents, Den of Thieves is a revelation. It’s a gritty crime flick with tough cops acting like gangsters and bad guys who, though they look like prison thugs, know how to always stay one step ahead of the law. The main bank robbery (particularly its setting) is a good idea in the screenplay and the shootouts are properly realistic. The film borrows a lot from the classic Heat, but twenty years later. Mainly, however, if it’s a B-movie version of Mann’s classic, then it’s a damn good B-movie version.

This was great in IMAX. The space spectacle of the year, with a blistering pace, amazing (digital) locations, delicately busy camerawork and nostalgia, supported by unexpected appearances of old characters. In the final confrontation, I felt the force, almost like in the final rebellion against Sauron. And finally, I liked Daisy Ridley. Unveiling the new identities of the re-established characters didn’t make much sense to me, but since I don’t remember exactly what happened in the preceding episode, I didn’t care (I don’t consider this trilogy to be part of the beloved STAR WARS; it’s just commercial parasitization). However, a second screening on a significantly smaller screen, where it was no longer possible to not notice the (dis)honesty of working with viewers in telling a meaningful story, diminished my impression of the film. The Rise of Skywalker is merely a disposable rollercoaster ride, an attraction in the new Star Wars section at Disneyland.

This unpredictable thriller about the clash of social classes is formalistically and psychologically brilliant in the mold of Kubrick. Bong Joon Ho is a master director – from his surgically precise characterisations for the purposes of the story and setting that story in an interesting environment (which itself almost becomes a character), to his unpredictable juggling of genre principles and twists, to the metaphorical interpolations that tie the whole masterfully directed film together with thought-provoking questions. He is perhaps David Fincher’s only creative sibling, though culturally more exotic and transcending the standards of universal American genre movies. But of course that also requires the viewer’s willingness to accept a significantly different logic behind the resolution of conflicts, which is where I got stuck – just as in the case of the resolution of Oldboy, for example. The conclusion of Parasite seemed to me implausible, insufficiently justified and superficially escalated solely for the purpose of adding would-be depth and some sort of intellectual inaccessibility.

Three scenes from The Lord of the Rings, stretched out into a silly 105-minute television production with a spectacular poster. The visual effects are fine for, say, a Danish fairy tale, but the costumes and dialogue are a form of punishment. Terrible.

This is a nicely filmed portrait of a short-lived love affair between two girls, with tender, subtly depicted emotional nuances in their getting to know each other and the subsequent journey of falling in love. And that’s all. The emotions in the film are so repressed (as in “high art”) that the viewer becomes a mere observer, not a participant. Not to mention the complete absence of sensuousness. Comparison to Call Me by Your Name is appropriate; paradoxically, that film’s sensuousness (something that’s very important in a film portrait of two people becoming close) is what the vast majority of viewers would welcome here. Both girls give fantastic performances and that is obvious in their eyes, but nowhere else. And the final scene, though it provides a great conclusion to their sad story, is much too similar to that of Glazer’s Birth.

It’s as if someone wanted to launch a new Netflix action franchise featuring a team of agents in the mold of M:I. Unfortunately, Bay doesn’t think it is important to elicit any sympathy for the characters, who are the second most important thing in the genre after action. Or at least give them broader characterization than the cars, boats and inanimate pink ducks get. If anyone from the group screams, he is quickly dispatched in three quick shots, and then on with the show. Even Reynolds isn’t nearly as much of a smart-ass as he is in everything we love him in (and for). The dialogue is simply painful; it would have been better if no one had spoken at all. The best thing about the film is the action-packed opening car chase, both in its unmistakable stylishness and humorous Bay elements. Here it as if we find ourselves in better times for Bay before the second Transformers. The rest of the film is entertaining with traditionally spectacular filters, epileptic editing, ladies’ costumes and the over-the-top glamourous settings of the other action scenes. And it’s annoying with its dullness and endless lack of feeling for anything.