Isherwood

Jerry Bruckheimer, the grand producer of grand films with grand budgets, has ventured into the waters of a civilian film. Veronica Guerin's life, which I know nothing about, was certainly more eventful than what the creators presented in the film. Director Joel Schumacher cannot be criticized for achieving at least a minimal runtime by including unnecessary (the scene with the Irish pub featuring Colin Farrell), gratuitous (the emotionally charged walk among drugged children), and unnecessarily prolonged (the entire ending is presented in slow motion) scenes. Schumacher unwittingly undermines the film right from the start by placing the ending, which should have been at least five seconds longer, in the opening scene. Cate Blanchett's performance in the lead role leaves a tired impression and reduces the level of engagement to almost zero. It’s sufficient as a documentary, but below average as a film drama about human determination. PS: The film features another stunning musical composition by Harry Gregson-Williams.

The inevitable conflict that arises from the mutual confrontation of an American and a Brit is a perfect basis for the film's main theme. The script, as in similar films, is not the most important thing. All responsibility is placed on the shoulders of the director and the actors. Unlike the cumbersome crossover Freddy vs. Jason, director Ronny Yu took a much more relaxed approach to the film. Jokes on the theme mentioned at the beginning abound. Only a few of those moments, which Yu crowned with a punchline, were many times more entertaining than the entire previous content. Unfortunately, this brings the film down to an average level, despite the likable plot and great performances from the actors (Samuel L. Jackson, along with his naked backside, is defeated by Robert Carlyle's non-stop barrage of insults). However, the mental emptiness and the waste of the potential of the story will rather frustrate than sadden.

The film is precise in its form and content. That could be said about all of Michael Mann's works. That The Insider is no exception is probably no surprise to anyone. Michael Mann, with all his minimalism and almost theatrical atmosphere, unfolds a banal story about the anti-smoking battle between individuals and organized societies into a thematically grand and boundary-pushing drama. It’s an intense drama about people who are willing to sacrifice even fundamental values, such as family, for ideals they may not fully comprehend, but are upheld by society. In the cast, Mann once again demonstrated his penchant for transforming actors' images and breaking away from established stereotypes. This time, Russell Crowe became the "victim," and although his gray-dyed head doesn't impress as much, he captivates with his fantastic and convincing "tired" performance. Even the exceptional acting standard of Al Pacino isn't enough. Those who took away from the film only the fact that smoking is bad for your health should watch the film again because every pack of cigarettes will tell you the same thing. This film is much deeper (but not philosophical) and more valuable than its two-and-a-half hours might lead some to believe. Plus, it goes by as fast as a lit cigarette burning down to the filter.

Is it possible for a boring story, framed by an even more tedious narration, to overshadow the experience of kung fu fights choreographed by the master of his field, Yuen Woo-Ping? Fist of Legend is sad proof of this. Director Gordon Chan could have shown at least a little more creativity in transitioning from one fight scene to the next. Although it may not seem like it, the gaps between kicks and punches are filled with thick filler, which requires the viewer to put in a lot of effort to get through. Towards the end, this effort turns into almost suffering. Jet Li's acting skills may not be the strongest wouldn't matter much because when he fights, maybe only his opponent gets to see his face (and even that happens briefly, as Jet's limbs quickly take care of them). But most of the time, Jet Li's presence contributes to the thick filler in between the action sequences. This means that neither the exotic original title nor the presence of numerous Asians throughout can increase the level of poetry that other films abound in and Fist Of Legend lacks.

The partial easing of political tension in Czechoslovakia in 1968 created fertile ground for the emergence of this film. I don't think anyone would have dared to film this in any other era. The battle of Czech airmen, in the service of the English RAF, against Germany is a celebration of civilian heroism. Heroism as it was. Director Jindřich Polák pays tribute to those who fought for something that few can understand today. Formally, the film is packed to the brim. Indeed, that fact it’s almost 40 years old has left a rather strong impact on it, and yet aerial dogfights and bombing of strategic targets in this film still remain impressive. Jan Němeček's camera work is excellent. But this film is not about warfare. It is about the War and, more importantly, about the people in it. One character next to another. Most viewers will probably instantly fall in love with Sgt. Novák brilliantly portrayed by Jiří Hrzán. While his witty lines may bring a smile, the smile freezes and chills at the thought that war is all around. At first, I wondered how much the Riders in the Sky could be compared to Dark Blue World, which came out thirty years later. However, that may not be the best idea, as both stories are about the same subject but told differently, and Riders in the Sky would also "lose" in terms of its form. Let's leave to Svěrák what is Svěrák's and appreciate the fact that Jindřich Polák made this film. This is a film that should be seen not only by every proper Czech...

Gary Marshall wanted to dedicate this film to teenagers. I don't know what his reason was. It could be seen as a more moderate response to the wave of teen films where everything possible happens, but you know those ingredients well. However, the tendencies of the creator of romantic comedies like Pretty Woman and Runaway Bride are evident in it. Marshall suffers from directorial schizophrenia. The constant struggle between entertaining teenagers and not offending the adults drives the audience crazy. Marshall's 2 (that's two) gags were really good. But what about the rest of it, which takes a whopping two hours? Perhaps the runtime is the film's biggest problem. In two hours, a lot can be accomplished, or it can also be a time for boredom and dragging on. The Princess Diaries unfortunately fulfils the latter. And to be honest, it's hard to speak of any wasted potential here. The very subject is ridiculous enough (but it can be gotten over somehow). A script that piled one banality after another is also not the pinnacle of intelligence. A 15-year-old outsider suddenly learns that she is to ascend the throne of a small European kingdom. I've already mentioned the director's cluelessness. Of course, there will be people who will dismiss what I wrote above by saying that I am too preoccupied with filmmaking flaws and that I don't let myself be carried away by the film and simply enjoy it for a so-called one-time use. But The Princess Diaries doesn't even meet that criterion. There’s no comfort to be had here. The movie is too rigid and the cast is very disjointed. Julie Andrews as the Queen does give off a majestic and authoritative air, but that's about it. Anne Hathaway also delivers a strong performance only once. That's in the scene where the ugly duckling becomes a beautiful young woman. At that moment, I, too, turned my attention to the TV, and the otherwise bored look on my face was replaced for a moment by the hint of a... er, lusty smile. The charming ladies’ man and driver Joseph, portrayed by Hector Elizondo, is excellent, and his character is at least worth noting. The Princess Diaries is a (un)surprisingly dull and boring mishmash that, without any proper explanation, robs the audience of TWO! hours of their time.

Robert Redford as a director is still a small-big unknown for me. Nevertheless, in The Legend of Bagger Vance, we can find a few moments and things that prove that Redford is not only an excellent actor but also that the film is narratively simple. For some, it may be too simple and, above all, incredibly pathetic. Few directors could transform a script that is overstuffed with genre clichés and pathos into a film that is not only watchable and digestible but can be watched several times. In the opening, the audience is presented with a World War I battle scene, which Redford somewhat mishandles. To his credit, he didn't drag it on even for a minute longer, probably aware that a huge fireworks display and slow panning of the camera across a field filled with the dead wouldn't be sufficient to capture the war atmosphere. He tries even harder in the golf tournament, where the actors also get their relevant space. The breathtaking role was given to Will Smith, who played it to perfection. His musings on life, golf, and how they are all connected make him a humorous (but not comedic!!!) character. I don't think Matt Damon is even capable of acting badly. From a broken man burdened by life to glimpses of hope in his eyes, the portrayal of regaining lost self-confidence is performed with direct simplicity and without unnecessary redundancy. Charlize Theron once again enjoys the role of a beauty, but this time elevated to the level of a player in the financial field. I can't help but say she did a good job again. Whatever you may think of any part of The Legend of Bagger Vance, you can't help but acknowledge that as a whole, this film was a great success. Hats off and compliments, Robert!

It seems that not only shoes and shirts of questionable quality are hidden under the term Made in Thailand, but also films. I don't know about the others, but judging by this one, cinema in Thailand is the complete opposite of the textile industry. Although I wonder what's so special about Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior. The story of a poor village boy who ventures into the big world of Bangkok to find a lost sacred artifact is not groundbreaking, even for the local audience familiar with similar themes from regular fairy tales. What makes Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior so special is the form, which, although it overpowers the content in every way, does not kill it completely and leaves it some space. Both are mutually subordinate to the other, so the resulting symbiosis offends no one. To look for flaws in the form probably isn't worth it. The choreography of action scenes is packed with excitement, leaving the audience with nothing else to do but silently gaze in awe. Nevertheless, we must accept certain rules of the game that the film sets out. The most crucial aspect is the constant repetition of slowed-down shots, only from different camera angles. Repetition may be the mother of wisdom (even in postmodernity), but it requires a bit of patient tolerance from the audience. But action is not just about kicks and punches. I've seen many (very many) chases on everything from cars to bikes to boats. But I've never seen a three-wheeled rickshaw chase before. An original idea (certainly to my taste), but its inspiration lies elsewhere. Across the sea in hamburger nation. Slowing down and speeding up shots is in Tony Scott's job description. The inspiration from his films is quite evident here. The film itself doesn't deny it when a poster for Tony Scott's action thriller Spy Game appears on the door in one scene. Thanks to this gesture of gratitude before the film, I bow and acknowledge that it is merely inspiration and not plagiarism. Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior is definitely worth watching. For a viewer who is not actively interested in East Asian cinema (like myself), Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior is a very pleasant surprise and a highly interesting addition to an otherwise recently lackluster film menu presented by the hamburger nation.

Daredevil didn't do great in theaters, so the producers listened to the wishes of the male part of the world, who unwittingly drooled over Jennifer Garner, and gave Elektra her own standalone film. And precisely what all film fans (not just male ones) were looking forward to, failed the most. I'd condemn Elektra's makeup artists for... Elektra swapped her fitting sadomasochistic leather outfit for a brightly red ensemble that covers up too much at times. The red color is more faithful to the comics, but it looks a bit strange. And the make-up artists straightened her beautiful wavy hair and added some absolutely horrible bangs. This really stirred my stomach juices. It didn't surprise me that the film's script wasn’t groundbreaking, similar to Daredevil. But that it would be so (sorry) stupid and illogical is a bit too much even for me. The dreadful main storyline is actually totally meaningless. There is not a single twist in the film, and not a single character utters a sentence that hasn't already been heard elsewhere. Anyone could have written such a lame story. The omission of the screenwriter's mind (and not only his) is ultimately glued together by one man. The credit for the fact that the film is not that terrible and remains at least watchable until the end goes solely to director Rob Bowman, who skillfully keeps this rapidly sinking ship afloat. Yet what strikes me most about the film is the lack of action. Having only four major action scenes in less than an hour and three-quarters is too damn little. It doesn't even help that Bowman shot them in a cool, bombastic style. Another downside is definitely the absence of a better villain. A Japanese man with two katanas doesn’t really cut it. Of course, I don't count those comical fighters with abilities that even the X-Men would envy. The digital effects, with which the film "helps" itself to an unhealthy extent, look rather cheap. All things considered, if it weren't for the director, the film would have been a complete wreck. As it is, it's just a dull mishmash from which any impression fizzles out before the end credits roll.

The character of Bridget Jones is one of my least favorite movie characters ever. Perhaps my least favorite of all. I make no secret of this fact and therefore the following opinions may be too critical, so don't take them too seriously. The success of the first installment, which revolved around a plump thirty-something desperately seeking a man, was not only tempting for the film producers but also for the author of the book adaptation, Helen Fielding, to create a second part about a woman who, as she says herself, messes up everything completely. The director has changed, and with her, the approach to the film has also changed. Beeban Kidron relies on the most pathetic ingredients of a movie joke. True, the script, which was co-written by Richard Curtis, also didn't give her much room to make the entertainment any more intelligent. The gags try to be funny, but unfortunately, they don't quite succeed. Still, something about my approach to the film has changed since the first installment. While the first one left me with a stone face, I couldn't stop laughing during the second. It's just a shame that it wasn't the classic hearty laugh, but the defensive one when you don't want to start crying out loud in anger. The significantly higher budget provided the opportunity to reach beyond the British Isles. A visit to the Alps is the perfect place for jokes on a snowy slope. Currently, there is a conflict within me between my calm self, which urges me to stay calm and deal with it, and the other self, which tells me to vent my frustrations calmly. Honestly, it's a waste of words... Even the gags in Snowboarders were better... Shut up! Thailand. The name of the country alone smacks of romance. Especially if you're making the visit with Hugh Grant. I don't know, but I haven't noticed anywhere that the consumption of "magic mushrooms" has been transferred from teenage films to adult films. And judging by this film, I would say that a Thai prison is not that bad. What do those drug dealers who got put in it see in it? After all, they can have fun and listen to songs by Madonna in there. What positive is there to find in the second Bridget Jones film? It’s got a bad script, bad direction... bad fun... Maybe the actors? I like Renée Zellweger as an actress and as a woman, but in this role she is downright repulsive to me. The sexist macho Hugh Grant once again excels to the fullest. But Colin Firth? He’s something, alright. Firth, to me, is a true British gentleman. His simple yet masterfully convincing acting makes him one of the best British actors of our time. But even the best actors simply cannot salvage such a bad film, where you can feel that it was made without love, and its logic is dictated by the producers' calculators, who honestly don't care about the final outcome. Their eyes might turn to the final product only if some porn was thrown in there. I’m not going to elaborate.