Matty

Beautiful Boy is a film that has nothing to say (a few informational titles at the end bear the sole message). It merely shows pain and attempts to be moving. The first half is at least remarkably well structured. The narrative does not move forward, but only – often by means of sound bridges – sinks into itself (like a person on drugs). For no apparent reason, the filmmakers abandon the fragmentary, highly subjective narration and alternating flashbacks of a father and his son, and the rest is conventional misery porn with a terrible selection of music and spasmodic actors (Chalamet is capable of great acting, but needs stronger directorial guidance; here, he seems to be a bad Robert De Niro imitator) who, instead of normal sentences, deliver lines like “I missed you more than the sun misses the moon” with a straight face. However, I admit that I felt like crying at the end. Because of the wasted two hours of my life that I will never get back. Perhaps I am being overly harsh, but I have a strong aversion to this kind of film, which uses someone’s actual misfortune for terribly cheap and self-serving exploitation. 20%

Soon after Lazzaro Felice comes another film, at the end of which I had the desire to escape into the wilderness and spend the rest of my life among wolves. Although these films are fundamentally different, Leave No Trace is, for example, far more intuitive, as events simply follow one another in a time-lapse documentary without being exposed in advance (conversely, the entire first half of Lazzaro Felice is preparation for the second half), the plot flows freely and undramatically, we are not made aware of some essential information, the narrative does not come back to many of the characters and situations (for example, the only thing that we learn about the mother is that she liked the colour yellow). The protagonists have to overcome obstacles mainly in order to get to know each other and themselves better, rather than to achieve a particular objective. Upon closer viewing, it is possible to uncover in Leave No Trace, like in Lazzaro Felice, a web of motifs connected with the theme of man’s relationship to his own nature. Both pictures turn our attention (back) to nature (and to that which is generally good and unspoiled), or rather it compels us to think about man’s relationship to nature. I think these films are more successful in this regard than are “pure” nature documentaries, to which it is more difficult to connect emotionally due to the absence of a human element. In Leave No Trace, this is aided by the fact that the film does not contain a single negative character. It is purely a clash between the system (towards which Granik is not explicitly critical) and people who want (need) to live outside of it. We understand their situation, but we are not didactically guided to accept the opinion that Walden’s way of existence is the only correct way. In a similarly ambivalent manner, the film addresses the issue of freedom. Though civilisation establishes binding norms (connected here with Christmas trees, which must all look perfect) and tries to somehow categorise everyone (as Tom places shirts in drawers in a new house), but the main female protagonist is in the forests under the ceaseless patronage of her father and cannot rely on basic life security. For better or worse, they are reminiscent of a pair of seahorses, brought to mind by a girl's pendant or an orange peel reminiscent of that animal, which mates for life and whose offspring develop in the abdominal sack of the male, rather than that of the female. Giving someone freedom can be the greatest expression of love. Though the film raises the visibility of certain issues through its story, it leaves it to us to decide what is better. Will provides similar freedom in raising his daughter. He does not lead her to accept a single dogmatic worldview (he responds with a smile rather than disapprovingly to her remark that God created frogs, as she had read in a leaflet distributed by the local Christian community), but he stimulates her curiosity. Thanks to this freedom that the film gives us, the opinion at which we arrive has even greater weight. Leave No Trace thus continues to reverberate after the disarming, maximally simple penultimate scene. 85%

My immediate impression of this film was manifested in one of the first names to appear in the closing credits: Philip Nee Nee. Everything important happens in roughly the last fifteen minutes, which are preceded by an hour and a half of hopeless advertisements for wedding dresses, Paris, Audi, men’s shirts, vanilla ice cream, Aspen, sex toys...hollow narration for snobs. Through most of the movie, the only suffering incurred by the protagonists, who are so wealthy that they shop in boutiques where they are served champagne as they pick out clothes, is whether they will make the evening more pleasant with a butt plug, a vibrator or a whip. Instead of Dornan working out on gymnastic equipment, here we have – for lovers of camp – Dornan singing at the piano (this time, unfortunately, we don’t see a poster for a movie like The Chronicles of Riddick). Otherwise, everything between the central couple remains as it was. Anastasia has problems and doesn’t listen. Christian punishes her, which she sometimes likes and sometimes doesn’t. All disagreements in the relationship are resolved by means of expensive gifts. Despite all of that, this particular Fifty Shades is slightly more tolerable than the second instalment in the series, which was ten minutes longer and far more obstinate in its disrespect for storytelling logic and causality between scenes. Though I would not in any case call this art, I find it extraordinary that someone can write and make a film that is so empty that there is nothing in it that you could hate. But it looks good and your brain can comfortably relax. 35%

Women's breasts and bottoms (and not much else) are on display in approximately 40% of the scenes in Sorrentino's new film, mostly during the first fifty minutes, placing Loro in the company of The Wolf of Wall Street (there is also a lecture on the effects of a certain drug), Spring Breakers and Tinto Brass’s Caligula (decadence for the sake of decadence). Ten percent would have been enough to get the necessary point across. It’s the same with everything else in Sorrentino’s latest work. It is a film that seeks meaning, just like its protagonist, who fears aging, death and being forgotten. It presents a void of thought in an opulent package, which in and of itself bears a certain message, but you needn’t see it over and over again for two and a half hours. At the same time, Loro does not bring many motifs to fruition (one such example, which goes nowhere, is the formulation of parallels between lust and the desire for power, thus politics and exploitation of foreign bodies, starting with a prologue in which one of the characters devises his plan while looking at Berlusconi tattooed on the back of a woman he is having sex with). Paradoxically, the film could possibly benefit from being an hour longer rather than shorter (i.e. as in the case of its division into two parts, shown in Italian cinemas) and thus legitimise what comes across as self-serving and empty. No essential knowledge emerges from the final synthesis of the perspectives presented in the first and second of the three chapters of approximately equal length into which the film is divided (Berlusconi hardly appears in the first one). Even more conspicuously than Sorrentino’s previous films, Loro is reminiscent of a series of perfectly synched music videos packed with excellent ideas (the upper crust’s only real encounter with the real world happens when a garbage truck explodes in front of them) which when taken together, however, do not communicate much of anything or gel into a consistent form that would bear at least a somewhat relevant message and not merely repeat what Sorrentino was able to express more impactfully in Il divo. When in the conclusion the narrative finally focuses on the tragedy of real people, it is framed with the same unnatural pathos that characterises the rest of the film, which tells about fake people. Loro is a waste of talent on the part of the director and a waste of time for the viewer. 65%

“Of course it was wrong to want to change people, but what else could you possibly want to do with them?” Five episodes from the life of a narcissistic schizoid alcoholic with suicidal tendencies. With its relentless pace, large number of jump cuts, persistent inner dialogue, alteration of slow camera approaches and symmetrical compositions done with a roving hand-held camera, the first episode, mostly anchored in Melrose’s agitated mind, is reminiscent of an hour-long panic attack – “concentration like a flamethrower”, convulsions, tremors, suicidal thoughts. Melrose doesn't want to get sober and calm down, because he knows that he would fall into his damaged mind and get kicked around by traumatic childhood memories that hurt more than a burn or needle puncture and that are approximated by the outwardly light, but at its core horror-like, second episode (with his father as a dreaded monster), thus transforming the meaning of the first episode (we initially gleefully laugh at him and then we regret it). ___ Patrick is too honest with himself to be able to completely deny part of his self and pretend that nothing had happened to him (like the rest of the upper crust to which he belongs, at least based on his origin). Drugs and alcohol help to distract him from his thoughts and the voices in his head. ___ Melrose’s determination to take control over his own life, starting at the end of the first episode with the initial manifestation of years of supressed emotions, continues in the third episode, which at first is as apathetic, slow and humourless as a man kicking his addictions. The onslaught of emotions is strongest when Patrick is alone. On one hand, going out means seeing people who are just as unbearable as his father. On the other hand, the party to which he was invited primarily shows how the same disturbing patterns of upbringing are repeated in aristocratic families and the same humiliating rituals take precedence over human decency, which is something that Melrose will strive to avoid at all costs. The work culminates in one of the best-written, acted and rhythmised dialogue scenes that has ever appeared on the small screen. Melrose confides his darkest secret to a friend and expresses his desire to become part of the real world and to somehow be more beneficial now that he has more or less gotten clean. However, he worries that if he gets rid of his bitterness, resentment, sarcasm, snobbery and self-loathing, there may be nothing left. His friend suggests that he should try to fill his life with something more valuable, such as love and parenthood. ___ Again presented predominantly from Melrose’s point of view, the fourth episode shows, however, that even if you surround yourself with high-quality people, you will not necessarily begin to believe that you have any value yourself. Melrose strives to protect his kids from the family curse until he again sinks into depression and addiction. Though his son is not being abused, he finds himself in a similarly uncertain and stressful position as Patrick did at the same age. The final episode shows another cycle of Patrick’s debilitating struggle with himself and, at the same time, concludes one lifecycle, when Melrose buries his mother, who followed his father in death. His alternately growing and weakening belief that he can now keep himself upright on his own two feet is expressed by the alternation of two levels of the story, two motions (falling inward and moving forward). If he wants to succeed, he will have to give up not only drugs and alcohol, but also his dependency on his father, mother and everyone else who influenced him, and gain his independence from the idea of the kind of life he should lead and who he should be. Thanks to the precision, perspective and perceptiveness with which the series depicts his struggle marked by ups, downs and repetition, viewing all five episodes has something like a psychotherapeutic effect. Patrick Melrose is very entertaining, very dark and very powerful, making it the highlight of this year's live-action television production so far (and probably of Cumberbatch’s career).

“What's the point of a fucking window if you can’t jump out of it?” In a different mood, it is possible that I would be bothered by how much the whole thing is done for effect and that it is basically the “Quaalude scene” from The Wolf of Wall Street stretched out to an hour-long runtime, but with its darkness, nihilism and cynical humour, Melrose suited me to a tee and I can’t wait for the next episode. In addition to that, Cumberbatch is in top form, the style precisely corresponds to the protagonist’s level of sobriety and whatever is running through his head, the pace practically never lets up and the musical accompaniment comprises great songs like “Wild World” by Cat Stevens.

The best Easter movie. You won't find more Easter eggs anywhere else. In comparison with the book on which it is based, Ready Player One has more levels of meaning and a more concise narrative, and it makes more sense. The real and digital worlds are intertwined much more organically in the film than in the original work, which we become aware of thanks to the cuts from OASIS to Ohio at key moments of the narrative, and which Wade experiences with extraordinary intensity (astonishment, fear, love). The fluidity of the story is also aided by the smooth transitions between the two sub-worlds using sound bridges and compositionally similar shots. ___ Compared to the book, the film’s exposition is highly condensed, but we learn from Wade’s voiceover everything we need to know in order to understand the story (the message that people stopped solving problems and began pretending that they don’t exist is especially telling). We may not necessarily be interested in how OASIS works (or doesn’t work) in the rest of the world, because Wade, whose perspective the narrative adheres to at first, isn’t interested himself. We later set Wade aside a few times in favour of other characters, who are more multi-dimensional than in the book. ___ In order for the protagonist to stop seeing the search for the keys as entertainment and to start understanding its real consequences, a girl who has unsettled accounts with IOI is needed. Wade’s awakening occurs during a dance sequence, which may otherwise seem like a pointless diversion from the main story (however, i-R0k also reveals the true identity of Parzival). ___ Art3mis is not just a manic pixie dream girl and a prize to be won. The protagonist’s awakening depends on her. She is also the one who drags Parzival into reality, thanks to which we realise, much earlier than in the book (which moralises in an awkwardly appended epilogue), the conflict between the real and virtual worlds. The central idea better permeates the entire narrative and is excellently connected to the story of Halliday, who is also a much livelier character than in the original (for which, among other things, the phenomenal Mark Rylanek deserves credit). ___ The relationship with Halliday is even more important to the protagonist than his bond with Samantha. He accepted the genius inventor as his surrogate father, from whom he learns what is right and what is wrong in life. Like Spielberg’s other young protagonists (Elliot, Jim from Empire of the Sun, Frank Abagnale), he finds, thanks to someone else, a replacement for his dysfunctional/non-existent home, to which he cannot completely dedicate himself, because it simply isn’t real. ___ For many viewers, Spielberg himself is a similar father figure who creates worlds to which we can safely escape from incomprehensible reality. In Ready Player One, he offers us another such world, while warning us of the risk that it could completely (i.e. irreversibly) absorb us. At the same time, we should believe that one of the huge companies (Gregarious Simulation Systems), which is on Wade’s side, thinks about consumers, while the other (IOI) pursues only its own enrichment, in which lies one of the story’s main paradoxes. ___ For me, Ready Player One is primarily a movie about returns. Returning in time, returning home, returning from the virtual world to reality. In the first challenge, Parzival must shift into reverse; the second takes place within the space of a film about a man trapped in a time loop; to complete the third challenge, it is necessary to uncover the very first video-game Easter egg, thus revealing the creator’s name. The realisation that real people are behind the virtual world is the point of Halliday’s game. Only the person who knows the details of the creator’s life relating in a certain way to how he thinks (breaking the rules) or what he most regrets (the girl he didn't kiss, the friend he lost) can win. ___ Pop-culture references serve the narrative much better than in the book. This is not an autotelic service for nerds, though it is sometimes a bit unnecessarily pointed out to us that the motorcycle over there is from Akira. For example, as Wade’s race car in OASIS has a design similar to the DeLorean in Back to the Future (with accessories from Knight Rider’s KITT), we understand that he's a fan of Zemeckis’s sci-fi comedy and it thus makes sense when he purchases from a video-game store a “Zemeckis Cube”, which later helps him to escape from a difficult situation. Many of the songs refer to specific scenes from particular films (“In Your Eyes” from Say Anything…, “Also sprach Zarathustra” from 2001: A Space Odyssey), and if you’re in the picture, you will fully appreciate the extra layer that they add to the given moment of the film. Also, other products of the (predominantly) American entertainment industry not only serve as rewards for attentive viewers, but also convey the motifs that the film presents and help bring clarity to the story. ___ From a geek’s perspective, Ready Player One is visually, intertextually and technically so sophisticated that it touched me a few times and in the end I - at the same moment as Wade – even shed a tear (and I think that not being ashamed to admit something like that is the essence of geekdom). Even from a film critic’s perspective, I did not find any fundamental shortcomings in the film. Narratively, it is a brilliant affair without dead spots, the action scenes are extremely uncluttered (even in 3D), the story has many more layers than it may seem to a naive viewer... (though you don’t have to agree with its message like I do). In short, I don’t think that my almost uncritical enthusiasm derives only from the feeling that this is a film just for me (which is a feeling that millions of other viewers probably have). 90%

A postcard for people who lust after food porn. At the same time, the film idealises food in such a way that it can impress you with the detail of pork ribs and convince you that a soup prepared with love can bridge the gaps between cultures, nations and generations. The characters’ very kitschy, sentimental and psychological motives make for extremely simplistic, yet essentially pleasant pop – though perhaps a bit too pleasant, given the seriousness of the topic (Singaporeans’ hatred towards the Japanese because of the atrocities committed during the war). 55%

The fate of the women in the second Sicario is either to look on sadly (Catherine Keener) or to be rescued by men (Isabela Moner) who, when solving problems, apply the logic of “when force doesn’t work, use military force”. In this respect, the film does not much differ from its predecessor, though Sheridan’s ostentatious nihilism and desire to shoot a vicious film and vicious people take on parodic proportions. The “philosophy” of the film is best captured by the motto of Brolin’s character, “F*ck it all”. Sollima’s direction is mundane and Wolski only imitates Deakins through mannerisms. For the most part, the scenes are shallow and devoid of atmosphere and tension (because, among other things, all of the characters are such assholes that you do not care about them at all). The only authentic moment comes when Del Toro’s antihero can drop his forced macho pose for a moment and carry on some quite ordinary “human” dialogue (albeit with sign language). The extreme slowness given by the mechanical narrative (one bad plan is replaced by another, even worse plan, over and over again), the lack of catharsis and resulting unsatisfying resolution does not come across as an attempt to express existential anxiety caused by a world overrun with evil to such an extent that there is no way out, but rather only as the result of shoddy work and the compulsion to make a sequel at any cost. In the bizarre climax, where the remnants of logic vanish and we become witnesses to the birth of a monster, the film comes close in its exaggerated nature to the later work of Sam Peckinpah (e.g. Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia), but without the crucial sense of humour, which Taylor Sheridan unfortunately does not possess. This sequel is absolutely unnecessary, but it’s probably not the last one. I will be surprised if, after a week, I remember anything other than Josh Brolin’s stylish footwear (crocs) while inflicting psychological torture – the effectiveness of which, by the way, the film does not question in any way (unlike Zero Dark Thirty). 45%

This neo-noir mashup will most probably anger even more people than The Image Book (because more moviegoers will go to the cinema to see it because of Garfield). Rather than creating something original, both films are based on recontextualising earlier media content and seeking hidden meanings in pop culture, which represents the basic frame of reference in Under the Silver Lake. Everything refers to something that someone else invented in the past. There are no originals, only copies and rewrites. Therefore, the story has to be set in Los Angeles, a city that has played a role in so many films that it has become a remake of itself. Mitchell’s third film holds together thanks to its absorbing atmosphere at the boundary between Vertigo and Chinatown and its pseudo-detective plot. It unfolds in such absurd, totally Lynchian mindfuck ways that instead of providing satisfaction from the uncovering of new contexts, it brings only gradually deepened frustration. Both for us and for the main protagonist, a paranoid slacker like from a nineties indie film, it almost involves two and a half hours of a delayed climax (the only satisfying interaction takes place during the prologue). Throughout its runtime, it is also immensely entertaining, while being a deferential and cunning pastiche of classic and post-classic noir films (and the music from such films), most of whose “shortcomings” can be interpreted as conscious and ironic work with certain conventions and stereotypes. For example, we can understand the reduction of the female characters to more or less passive objects as a critique of the “male gaze”, as that is precisely how the mentally immature protagonist, whose perspective the film thoroughly adheres to throughout, perceives women based on their media representation in films by Hitchcock and others. Under the Silver Lake is an ambivalent postmodern work which, thanks to its lack of a centre and its solid structure, succeeds in expressing the confusion of young people who try in vain to find some sort of higher meaning in all of the stories obscuring their view of reality. For me, it was one of the most entertaining movies of the year, but there is roughly equal probability that you will hate it with all your heart. 85%