Matty

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%

When you accept from the beginning that Mike Flanagan (see also the excellent Oculus) is using a horror framework for the purpose of relating a suspenseful narrative about dealing with family traumas, finding trust (the story of a woman who no one believes repeatedly falls victim to attacks, which is very up to date), overcoming fear and the search for a home (i.e. unlike in other horror films, family history does not serve only as pretext for the scares – it is the main subject; fear comes from outside), you can then enjoy this psychologically compelling drama with its layered narrative structure and smooth (visual and audio) transitions between the past and present, facts and imaginings, as well as “old school” scares, based on the intra-shot montages and disturbing movement in different parts of the picture. Though some scenes are shot in a rather run-of-the-mill manner (shot/counter-shot dialogue scenes) and the conclusion with a loosely formed metafiction level is somewhat negatively affected by excessive ambitions and runtime (each of the episodes, usually bound to the point of view of one of the main characters, has its purpose, but many of them could easily have been shorter), The Haunting is excellent overall in terms of acting and directing, and one of the most pleasant surprises of this year among series. The sixth episode, consisting of several multi-minute shots that are complex choreographically and in terms of meaning, ranks among the best that high-quality TV has to offer with respect to craftsmanship.

Next to Wonder Woman, Lara comes across as a poor relation (perhaps producers perceive gamers as a weaker audience than comic-book readers). Tomb Raider offers a total of four environments (London, Hong Kong, an island, a tomb), no spectacular action scenes with the exception of the waterfall, and basically just one (rising) Hollywood star. In the context of the efforts to create a full-fledged action heroine, however, it represents a small degree of progress. Lara Croft is absolutely believable as portrayed by Alicia Vikander, who has natural acting ability. The pair of screenwriters (Geneva Robertson-Dworet also wrote Captain Marvel) did not engage in experimentation, instead offering a traditional origin story that clearly introduces non-gamers to the world of Tomb Raider and gives gamers a satisfying portion of backstory and a number of direct quotes from the game. Lara is introduced to us by the pair of opening action scenes as a woman who does not excel through tremendous physical strength, but through her ability to come up with clever solutions to problems. In both cases, she fails anyway. It is only after she actively resolves here “daddy issues” that she becomes a strong and self-confident (though not fearless), yet relatively credibly vulnerable action heroine. One gets the impression she has always had all of her presented abilities, some of which she owes to her father (problem-solving, archery), but that she only lacked inner balance, as she had no father figure in her life. In this respect, this outwardly progressive film is terribly traditionalist (actually in a similar manner as The Last Jedi – substitute Dominic West for Mark Hamill and you get the middle part of the film). However, the family storyline, primarily presented through flashbacks at first, is incorporated well into the main narrative, driving the plot and explaining the heroine’s motivations, while helping to bridge longer periods of time when the characters are moved to a different location. When it comes to any given scene’s contribution to the narrative, Tomb Raider is above reproach. There are almost no dead spots when we would lose interest in what happens next (Nick Frost’s cameo could have been shorter, or deleted). Everything is nicely connected and all of the parts fit together, though perhaps too smoothly and straightforwardly. The action scenes are sufficiently diverse and boldly reminiscent of the video game (and demonstrate how Lara improves herself in individual areas – hand-to-hand fighting, escaping from pursuers, jumping long distances) and the pace does not slacken. Just as in The Wave, Uthaug displays flawless mastery of his craft and knowledge of the principles of classic Hollywood storytelling. Within the action genre, that is not a bad thing at all, but I hope that the sequel, for which the conclusion of this film somewhat long-windedly and too obviously lays the groundwork, will not be as exceedingly cautious. 65%