DaViD´82

A straightforward, slightly dumb, disposable old-school offering that is unfortunate for its rather low budget which was probably swallowed mainly by the fees for the famous five names appearing here. The rest of the cast is made up of absolutely awful (non)actors who are incapable of saying one line with it sounding at least a little natural. The second flaw was pushing Stallone into the noirish, cynically sarcastic voiceover. Sly has a lot of things going for him, but delivering complex lines is not one of them. But when he’s quite or just filtering out a wisecrack through his teeth, it’s the Sly we know and love. Otherwise there isn’t much to fault, unless you aren’t expecting anything that I mentioned above.

So was Monsieur Merde from Tokyo! was just Monsieur Oscar on vacation? What a disappointment. In any case, after seeing this, I can say just one thing: Kylie is tragic as an actress too. The rest is so weird and flamboyant that, despite everything, you should give it a chance even if you end up switching off in disgust after ten minutes. Even though there is a considerable chance that in this pastiche of incongruous segments you will find something to adore/detest; I found such elements here and proportionally they are represented exactly half-and-half.

... and the bubble burst. NOS² testosterone³ in an absolutely unnecessarily over CGIed action scene which is more like gameplay footage than a regular movie. For Lin, this is a sad return to a never-ending series of routine movies that don’t know when to stop. However much number five was surprising (and deserved) winner of the action premier league, number six is on the brink of relegation to the second league of yawnably familiar rubbish.

An extract from a Danish gem in eight parts putting its money on melodrama instead of Scandi raw and rainy stylization. Which, in view of the theme, doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s bad, but here we get those soundless, slow-motion shots with pretentiously touching/dramatic music or shooting against the setting sun so often that it gets tedious. The greatest difficulty is the concept itself; since they bet everything on the down-to-earth, psychological aspect which, instead of crime and its investigation (which is good, because you can deduce “who and why" beyond all doubt very early on and in fact the crime aspect of the series simply doesn’t work), focuses on the impact on the family of the bereaved and their surroundings and the consequences of the tragedy and coming to terms with it within the community, it is essential to have excellently written, three-dimensional characters who can stand up to being put under the microscope. And it has to be excellently cast. And although a few characters fit the bill, not all of them do by a long chalk. And those who come out of this the best remain merely characters; not one of them is a “alive" as the Birk Larsens in the Danish original mentioned above. The strongest aspect of the series is the genius loci of the village of Broadchurch.

Who could have guessed that an adaptation of Henry V would suffer from a lack internal tension? Who knew that the series, which was adorned by its cast, would be betrayed by the actors in their new roles? Definitely not me. Paterson Joseph's amateurish bugging out of his eyes as York is as ridiculous as can be, but even so, his amateurism is completely overshadowed by the tragedy of Edward Akrout's performance; there are no decent words to describe it. One might understand it in the early days of the silent film era, but to play a serious dramatic role in the twenty-first century, stylizing himself into a powder-pale villain who constantly casts hateful, glaring glances - that’s really too much. To crown it all, Richard Griffiths’ absolute lack of diction and uncertain speech completely failed to convey his lines. If he were evaluated at school he would have received a disapproving "you didn't please me, nor will I please you" from his teacher. In this mess it is not surprising that the routine direction ruins even such potentially rewarding scenes, such as the St. Christopher's Day speech before the Battle of Agincourt, and renders them unnoticeable. In addition, the appalling, pathetic-sounding soft trumpets often play as a musical undertone, leaving you waiting as the English standard slowly falls to the ground... The result is not bad, the original is too good for that, and the actors (led by those from last time) are too good, but here the only scenes that really work are those of studying and speaking amorously in the Frenglish of the time.

I quite understand why both parts of Henry IV are so often performed as a single shortened play, because why have two very good parts when you can have one phenomenal one, right? In any case, as the action somewhat stagnates in part two, the development of the characters culminates (commensurate with the acting performances). The exception is Tom Hiddleston, who "only" jumps from the mode of charismatic dandy to the mode of uncompromising charismatic statesman and nothing in between, even though the material gives him enough space to do so. But do not be mistaken, in both of these modes he is insurmountable.

The only problem with this otherwise very successful adaptation stems from the original; even there, a sharp conversational comedy about the debauched life of a young dandy and a prince in one person somewhat clashes with the dramatic approach to the historical problems of his father, Henry. One cannot reproach the cast and much less their performances. Apart from the enthusiasm for the rewarding central trio "Hal – Henry IV – Falstaff", I was particularly thrilled by Joe Armstrong in the role of Henry "Hotspur" Percy. It is a pity that they have recast the roles already cast in “Part 1"; it could have been even a bit more interesting.

I always found Richard II rather overshadowed by the rest of Shakespeare’s works; not for its atypical, flowery versed form, but purely because the main character always seemed perhaps the least interesting of all of Shakespeare’s major main protagonists. Which is a direct contrast to Bollingbroke, who, despite having much less space and fewer lines, is in my eyes a far more fascinating and unbalanced character. In any case, Whishaw’s bold “effeminate" interpretation of Richard II considerably redeemed this character for me. When you realize just how much his performance is bound by absolute faithfulness to the original text, then he definitely deserves nothing less than the word “respect". In any case, this changes nothing about the fact that for me, Bollingbroke is the main protagonist in Richard II and the person who acts him is the stumbling block for this adaptation. However much I like Rory Kinnear (and he certainly isn’t a bad actor), in this Milky Way of stars, you have to admit he plays second fiddle. Which is a crying shame even despite the premature climax being the confrontation between John of Gaunt and Richard.

A crime movie which at first glance seems commonplace and uninventive - one of those “emancipated female vs. perverted maniac male" thrillers that you’ve seen a hundred times already. But the seemingly commonplace nature of it dissipates in the first few minutes. This turns out to be a worrying series. Very worrying. It doesn’t try to impress with (explicit) violence not does it count on genre props, but goes at it old-school style, through the meticulously built atmosphere of a bleak Belfast. It’s slow, taciturn with long, almost hypnotic scenes where nothing seems to happen. But under the surface it bubbles away, because the actions of the “main pervert" are chillingly realistic. More than in any other movie, the worrying and unpleasant “guy next door" feeling seems terribly real. | S1: 4/5 | S2: 4/5 |

Unconvincing from the very first scene. A mini juicer in the car that doesn’t need a thorough wash to stop the pulp rotting in it? You can tell that the authors have never come up against a dried juice filter. And it’s also the worst caliber of propaganda. You know how it is... The most militant anti-smokers are former smokers and the most adamant propagators of healthy eating are formerly obese eating machines who, one day, saw their mistake and now have the feeling (in fact it’s a mission) that they have to save the world. Which they do by talking to one American after another and, through Jehovah's Witness type interrogation, they try to convince people to take the path leading toward vegetables on your plate. That’s right, instead of faith, Jesus Christ and eternal salvation, he we hear words praising healthy food, long life and health, whereby creating the impression of spreading awareness. Unfortunately, the result does more harm than good for healthy lifestyle, working only on an uninventive “tabloid press" level of if you eat like a pig, you might die early, oink, oink, oink!