DaViD´82

Val Kilmer is more Jim Morrison than Morrison himself. Every single hair in his mane flutters just the way it should. An incredible performance, but not the only one. For instance, Kyle MacLachlan doesn’t lag behind at all in terms of acting. Stone achieved the impossible and manages to put even the sober and un-spaced-out viewer into a psychedelic trance. And he leaves them to drift in the ocean of genius that are Morrison’s texts. Simply one genius takes a closer look at another genius, resulting in a work of genius that came so many horse lengths before its time that even seventeen years later it isn’t duly appreciated. And maybe it never will be, because maybe there is nothing timeless in the movie and only a couple of isolated viewers see it there. Who knows?

No. 5 is alive! And he still is, while his rust-bucket descendant, Wall-E, loses his life in the first half of this movie. This brutal murder was committed by the guys at Pixar because they were unable to come up with a sturdy storyline. Or that’s how I imagined things were after reading the reviews before watching. And fundamentally they are right. However, I didn’t mind at all, because those peepers with their constantly focusing lenses soon had me completely in their power. Too bad that the gala performance by the nicest animated character for the past several seasons is spoiled by the cursed human race. Paradoxically, Pixar gave the machines a soul, but not to people (I know that this was partially the intention, but still...). Inorganic beings in this movie are overflowing with feeling and spontaneity, while all organic forms are infuriating and deserve total eradication. Along with green activists. However, everywhere where the robots come out on top, a full set of stars isn’t enough, and, conversely, I would barely award three stars for the places where people make an appearance. Lucky that we see much more of robots in this movie.

“Sandman” for little ones about the protectors of children's dreams with an unforgettable pillow car and countless sheep. It is those ubiquitous sheep that I remember the most to this day. Nostalgia, you see.

“Sandman” for little ones about the protectors of children's dreams with an unforgettable pillow car and countless sheep. It is those ubiquitous sheep that I remember the most to this day. Nostalgia, you see.

We could enter into a several day long debate on the topic of “How the hell could routineer of all routineers, Andrew Davis shoot something so ingeniously simple and simply ingenious?" but it would make no sense, because even Mulder and Scully would have searched in vain for the answer to the greatest mystery of the nineties. So, it’s best not to worry and just to comes to terms with the fact that this has better pace than anything else in that decade (not only) in this genre. I’d be hard pushed to root for any main protagonist more than for Richard in his gripping journey to clear his name. There’s just one mistake: the catchy theme tune is seriously underused throughout the movie, we hear it maybe just twice.

One of the fifteen best French crime films. It's a shame that among the other fourteen, it's rather cowering at the back. PS: I cannot refrain from remarking that, although I do not share the actions of Commissioner Goitreau, who is being condemned here, I fully understand them.

A condensate of ABBA, with lashings of sun-sparkling Metaxa in the form of a refreshing soda. For most people hell, for me a surprisingly bearable guilty pleasure (and shockingly unbearable choreography). Without Meryl, it would have been just half a movie, but so what. She’s here and she’s amazing. It’s just Brosnan who spoils it. As long as he’s sitting there grinning, everything is ok, but he really shouldn’t have opened that mouth of his. His singing sends chills down my spine. Chills of terror, not pleasure. I’m convinced that it’s intentionally over-kitsch ad absurdum and the filmmakers are obviously making fun of it. At least I sincerely hope so. And I’m not looking forward to the Czech dubbed version. I can hear it right now, The Winner Takes It All sung by Czech Golden Girl Vondráčková or other stars of Saturday night variety shows. P.S.: Stellan “I don’t own a T-shirt" Skarsgård’s bare chest is more than a heterosexual man is able to stand in a movie. Much more.

In the first half, I came to the conclusion that the filmmakers were making fun of superhero clichés. In the second one I found out that the jokers were only making fun of the poor spectator. Hancock is like a trio of very different films in one, only that not a single one of them is good.

“Don’t Look Now" by Daphne du Maurier is about making somebody unsure, sowing the seeds of paranoia, and a married couple in crisis in Venice. They searched in vain for some tourist-free, but still crowded back alleys that at misty dawn or dusk give you an impression that you are in a totally different city. “Don’t Look Now" by Daphne du Maurier is not about making somebody unsure, sowing the seeds of paranoia, and a married couple in crisis in Venice. Tourist-free or otherwise. Daphne du Maurier’s story is a punchy, fifty-page tale. Roeg’s adaptation is simply routine and almost two hours long. And those are fundamental mistakes. It’s not boring only thanks to Sutherland, naked Julie Christie, the ending bit and the color red.

I know that this is an amateur movie, but I’m not making any excuses for it just because of that. It possible to shoot a quality movie even as an amateur. Dead End is a perfect example. Even in its humble ten minutes, Dark Justice is worse than Schumacher’s big-nippled Batmen. It has no story, let alone any invention. And what’s worse, it’s unintentionally ridiculous. At the best moments.