Isherwood

There's no such thing as a typical Gypsy. I have the nagging feeling that to fully appreciate (perhaps even understand) the film, one needs a full understanding of their complex souls. Comparing Czech and Balkan gypsies is a bit inappropriate here because of the line it draws, beyond which a lawsuit for racially motivated statements awaits. Director Emir Kusturica presents an amazing panopticon of diverse characters, whom he sends into utterly banal but all the more charming situations. The folk humor of the Balkan temperament may not be fully appreciated by Central Europeans, but the piles of "disposable" jokes will make you laugh. I don't know how the master of dark camera compositions Thierry Arbogast came up with a film like this. But his impressive filming of the Danube's shore, combined with local folk music, opened up new horizons of audiovisual culture for me. My encounter with director Kusturica was more than happy, so I am honestly not afraid of another.

There are many slightly independent, slightly minimalist, and easily overlooked films. It's from such works that the biggest surprises eventually emerge. Cherish is just such a film. For director Finn Taylor, all he needed to adapt his own script was the minimal space of a cleaned-out apartment and the occasional glimpse of the street. The seemingly uneventful plot is propelled forward by technical tricks, including camera work, nervously humming music, and unstable soundscapes. It is a drama that engrosses, a thriller that keeps you on edge, and a dark comedy that guarantees laughter. Genre-wise, Cherish cannot be clearly classified. Taylor plays a sophisticated game with the audience, never giving them a moment to catch their breath, as he prepares unexpected changes not only in the film's genre but also in plot twists and character transformations. Robin Tunney, not an exceptionally amazing actress, delivers an absolutely excellent performance, perhaps as a gesture of gratitude for such a role. Fear, accidents, or just pure love. We condemn it, we don't understand it, but we always cheer. A small film that caught my attention purely by chance ultimately rewarded me royally for my sacrificed time.

Director Andy Tennant (Anna and the King) is able to depict romance unusually moderately, so as not to offend critics and nasty cynics, while still achieving the effect of the most mindlessly simplistic and sugary melodrama reminiscent of a soap opera. Why was he recruited by the producers for a film that abounds with such a breathtakingly stupid script? I really don't know, and I regret that they wasted such a great talent. Tennant tries his best, but he doesn't have enough to lift the film higher than just out of the mud of stereotypes. After a rather unremarkable start, the film picks up pace to the extent that even the filmmaker himself might run out of breath and experience a cramp. The film automatically induces a cramp in the viewer's smile, leaving them unsure about how to categorize the movie. Will Smith approached his first romantic role with a carefree and relaxed attitude, as the easygoing charm within him battled with his self-centeredness for a place in the character. The result is a mischievous expression and the unpredictability of Hitch's next move. Already after I, Robot I stopped doubting his acting abilities, which is only confirmed by this film. Just don't let Bad Boys for Life or Independence Day: Resurgence descend on us, which would bring back the egotistical macho who is eager to rap. Eva Mendes is a typical example of a (non)actress. Plus, I also have strong doubts about her beauty. Many better and prettier actresses could have played her role, but when there's no one else, there's no one else. Hitch may be a cinematic treat, but it will definitely leave you feeling a bit heavy, especially because you'll be digesting it for two hours, which is a bit too much even for the most die-hard romantic within the summer romantic comedy genre. And if you're not one of those people, which I am not, it's even harder.

If Bowling for Columbine was not a documentary but a bunch of Michael Moore's personal opinions, then what is Fahrenheit 9/11? Moore's objectivity can be successfully doubted about as surely as his political affiliation can be determined. The 250-pound likable guy, who wears a clearly visible label of Leftist, is the main guarantee of success for his films. But whereas in Bowling for Columbine, he went out, inquired, debated, and presented a lot of objective information, Fahrenheit 9/11 feels more like Moore sat in front of the television, recorded news from all sorts of TV stations, and then edited them according to his taste to create a certain narrative. The first half, which is a pure criticism of the Bush family, is downright lazy work by Moore. He bombards the audience with piles of unnecessary information, from which we can see that George W. Bush is an even bigger scoundrel than he seems, but they don't fit into the context of the movie at all. His reputation is subsequently redeemed thanks to the criticism of the Iraq War, but it has one catch. Everything that Moore states as fact, any reasonable person would have put together a long time ago. Why is Bush attacking Iraq? I've known for a long time that it's about oil and the money from it. How do the soldiers themselves see the war in Iraq? Look at the introduction to the movie Black Hawk Down, that thinking hasn't changed. Whoever is interested in the opinion of the Iraqis themselves should watch the film Control Room by the Qatari TV station Al-Jazeera. However, it cannot be denied that Moore has enthusiasm, passion, and above all, a sense of humor with which he presents everything. If I were to rate Fahrenheit 9/11 as a documentary, I'd go higher, but as an independent (my political affiliation is still unclear) who pays attention to the situation (about which Moore meanders for a long two hours), I'll stick with the middle after all.

The acting stars, led by Mel Gibson, seemed to have run out of patience and decided to settle their differences with their number one enemies through the closest available means - a film - instead of endless legal battles. Whatever producer Mel Gibson wanted from writer Forrest Smith and director Paul Abascal, the result is rather sheepish. An unrestrained thriller, spiced up with a touch of action, and wrapped in an atmosphere of dense moralizing on the topic of how much one can afford to give up their privacy. Smith's story is terrible, but that's to be expected. However, there is something else I don’t understand. That is the fact that the paparazzi are portrayed as the biggest scoundrels in the world, who only make the lives of honest, moral, and well-intentioned celebrities miserable, destroying their hard-earned achievements. Bo Laramie embodies all the ideals of a Hollywood actor that we won't find on the pages of the (real) tabloids. He's got a decent family life, and his job as an action hero is going well, so when he turns into a ruthless god of vengeance in the second half of the film, why not root for him? He has little need to justify his behavior, which takes the bloody path of a fierce duel with the malicious paparazzi. After all, it's about the welfare of his family. I wouldn't mind that. I see violence in movies every day, so why suddenly blame Paparazzi? It’s because if Smith and Abascal suddenly want to fervently moralize about the (for actors so significant) topic of their privacy, they should form a coherent opinion on the matter and discuss it from all sides, including the "other" side. This left a great idea lying under a layer of mud called bias. What the stars probably don't realize is that these people are the reason they have gained much of their fame and popularity. Excuse me, but the paparazzi are still divided into the good ones and the bad ones, right?

For an hour and a half, the film keeps the audience at a distance, only to eventually captivate them and allow them to glimpse into its inner workings. That's the feeling I get from Suspect Zero. Director E. Elias Merhige (Shadow of the Vampire) serves up the entire plot in a cold-blooded style without the slightest dramatic charge, which at first glance seems to lack even life. The viewer is forcibly thrust into the role of an observer who has no choice but to watch what is presented to him. At first, it may seem like a cheap crime drama from a German TV production, but the screenwriting duo of Zak Penn and Billy Ray brings old themes to light in a modern, original, and coherent execution. Director Merhige then pushes the envelope in every shot and leaves nothing for himself. The camera alternates between blue, black and white, and dark red filters, which contribute the most to the detached atmosphere. Aaron Eckhart transformed every role (including this one) into an acting concert. Ben Kingsley and Carrie Ann-Moss look incredibly tired. However, the film does not rely solely on the actors. Whatever crime drama Suspect Zero is, there's definitely a sense of something new here. But the feeling that it could have been better is twice as strong, more urgent, and inescapable. This is a flaw that unfortunately plagues most new thrillers. A great idea, but bad (in this case weird) execution drags the film down.

Director Lee Tamahori deserves a few slaps to the head. His need to inject action into almost every other shot is commendable, but the style of execution fluctuates quite a bit from the original idea. In a time when digital effects are commonplace in almost every action movie (yes, there are also bright exceptions), they can be quite sloppily executed. The ending seems as if it was crafted by cartoon animators for children rather than computer wizards. The film gives the sense that the creators tried to make everything better, but in today's world, it takes not only a healthy passion for the craft but also a certain skillfulness. The plot could be told in twenty minutes, so the rest consists of one-liners, action, one-liners... Moreover, everything is filmed very half-heartedly and predictably. The speeches that mention Kosovo are laughable, similar to the unhealthy overflow of patriotism, which Tamahori originally intended as a lighthearted joke. Unfortunately, the reins were loosened to such an extent that what was meant to be targeted fun turns into unintended fun, which may make people laugh even more but also ends up being more infuriating. I have quite mixed experiences with Ice Cube in movies. One cannot deny Ice Cube's dose of rugged charisma, but also the dose of non-acting that Cube manages to mask properly with sharp one-liners and a dominant presence in action scenes - just like his predecessor Vin Diesel. So if I overlook the plot holes and action, when I disregard the story altogether and avoid bad memories of digital action, all that remains for me, besides tears in my eyes, is about twenty minutes of decent action (which the audience experiences in the first half-hour). When I add it all up, I think that it still has enough to earn two stars.

Given that Jan De Bont hasn’t directed many films, one cannot deny his unhealthy hyperactivity once he sits in the director's chair. Even the direction of grand digital spectacles requires a steady hand - Roland Emmerich could testify to that. De Bont thoroughly indulges in the whirlwind of tornadoes he serves up and at the same time uses them to mask the stagnant story at point zero, penned by Michael Crichton. The heaps of stereotypical scenes and characters drawn from the most run-of-the-mill corners of Crichton's imagination, maybe intentionally, maybe unintentionally, drag down the result of De Bont's work. As an example, take a look at the equipment of the rival tornado hunters. Joe and Bill ride in rundown vans, while rival teams speed down roads and dirt tracks in modern black jeeps, with their crew members dressed in grey uniforms. The characters' traits, lightly sketched at the beginning, remain unchanged throughout the entire film. Their behavior is predictable, similar to Speed, but that film wasn’t as rough as this, which might be due to the fact that there are many more characters in this film than in De Bont's debut. A proper disaster movie needs proper music. The catastrophic nature of the film (in terms of grandeur) can be successfully questioned, but the bombast of Mark Mancini's soundtrack certainly cannot. One can easily dismiss Bill Paxton's overacting and Helen Hunt's attempt at acting without any worries because this film is not about the actors. It's all about enjoying it, but watching two hours of black holes destroying everything that comes their way also requires some patience from the audience. If they had cut out the pseudo-story fluff called solving a marital crisis, I wouldn't hesitate to give it five stars.

Is it possible to make a good sci-fi film without hi-tech weapons, futuristic vehicles, slow-motion shots, and generally without any hint of the future (apart from the opening title)? Andrew Niccol proved that it is! At first glance, the entire film is based on a strongly utopian vision of the world, where people are divided into genetically perfect and... genetic waste. The utopia, however, lasts until every more sensible viewer reflects on the message of the film and, whether they like it or not, acknowledges that a frontal clash with this problem may indeed happen at some point. Niccol, however, doesn't scare the viewer with his apocalyptic vision (as his fellow sci-fi filmmakers often do) but presents it as a stark fact that the viewer must accept in order to engage with the story. That's why Niccol avoids all flashy, but attention-diverting tricks mentioned at the beginning. That we are indeed a bit further in the future is only hinted at by Niccol through sparse facts, such as flying to various planets and their moons. Yes, the entry ticket to Gattaca can also be taken into account. Thanks to the camera work of Sławomir Idziak, who uses an unhealthy yellow filter to shoot both interiors and exteriors where the story takes place, Niccol managed to create the atmosphere that every viewer expects from a genre film. Ethan Hawke's smooth performance, with Jude Law hot on his heels, and even a small role by Xander Berkeley (as a doctor), is so impressive that it makes the timid stumbling of Uma Thurman somewhere in the background all the more regrettable. Even though Gattaca doesn't hold any trump cards to dazzle us with, it's still a film that's not easily forgotten. Which, in the absence of the bombastic visual effects, is an almost superhuman feat.

Zdeněk Troška should watch this ten-minute film at least twenty times to see how a well-crafted slapstick can be created in a minimal space. The endless efforts of the boxer, portrayed flawlessly by Jacques Tati, who learns the rules and basic tricks of this punching sport (quite literally) on the go, evoke the loudest bursts of laughter that the audience doesn't need to be ashamed of. And if director Troška did in fact see this little film, he must have misunderstood it. However, there is one thing that bothers me about this short, and that is the words. I can't help but think that if the film eliminated even the minimal expressions that appear in it, it would have been even better. It may not be quite like a Chaplin (from whom the creators were clearly inspired) film, but it still deserves a full rating because I was royally entertained by it.