Marigold

To paraphrase Homer Simpson, sometimes alcohol is the cause of and solution to all of life’s problems. Vinterberg has a fresh and well-written screenplay to work with and, above all, collaboration with the famous Sturla Brandth Grøvlen, who managed to combine realism and camera kinetics into a form where one really feels close to being intoxicated. Yes, in some ways it's like a model-driven drama in the vein of The Hunt, where you feel like you know where it's headed. But Vinterberg managed to be painfully personal and civil, something he desperately couldn't do in the dead film The Commune. His characters and their drunken movement of reality are completely free of morality, and there is something unusually sincere in this film. While Vinterberg occasionally worked as a mannerist or apathetic silver screen worker after The Celebration, urgency and sarcastic energy prevail here. This film is one of the best dramatizations of emptiness and the feeling of worthlessness that comes at a certain age. At the same time, Another Round brilliantly captures the fleeting feelings of euphoria and the moments when a person gets the feeling that he has gotten the better of life (and is then immediately disappointed). This is a film about a painful search, a destructive friendship and also about the fact that catharsis does not necessarily mean finding an answer, but rather surrendering to the moment. With this final performance, Mikkelsen confirms his best form and, with his movement, describes something that I know very well. It is something I don't see all that often in a film in this transparent Nordic openness.

I have friendly advice for you outraged renegades, for which you will thank me one day. Stop reviewing independent films. You don't have what it takes, just like a pig can't do algebra. You are not even able to understand the elementary meanings. For example, the fact that Cuties is not a defense of multiculturalism, the new world, pedophilia and other perversions, which are just in your head. It is a completely simple and archetypal story about rebellion and the choice between two worlds, which on the one hand take the form of a "Senegalese wedding dress" and on the other hand a whore costume from luxury music videos. Cuties tells the story of two extremes, and the film is critical of both in various ways, because they have a negative effect on the body and mind of the main character. In the end, she must go through the traditional "coming of age" trajectory, i.e., she needs to realize that no cultural uniform brings redemption and the answer to the question of "who am I?". Otherwise, it's a nicely shot, personal, slightly naïve (in terms of screenwriting) indie film. Whoever sees pedophilia, Zionism, neo-Marxism, and god knows what else in the film, should find the nearest veterinarian and have their brains replaced. And just so you idiots don’t forget, it's not a Netflix movie - it was bought by Netflix after it was released at Berlinale and Sundance. Go ahead and rinse your genitals with lukewarm water. Muck.

During its best moments, it feels like the deadpan of Kaurismäki's films about forgotten losers. A group of illegals live in the gray zone between two worlds, on the fringes of interest, which Sharrock aptly illustrates trough a desolate Scottish island. Carefully arranged shots do not lack a depressing dimension and a liberating sense of humor. One of the film’s problems is that it’s too easy to see into Limbo’s thoughts due to its minimalism, and the second, dramatic half, does not work nearly as well as the introduction. It's definitely not a film that fades out - it's too stylish for that. But it's also not something that last 103 minutes without stuttering and schemes.

This is a nice looking and sounding mistake. Mankell was a leftist, but never a simpleton. His stories get to the point and he has never been afraid to name the traps of Swedish society. Harris created a naive story with two-dimensional ideological templates in which the entire Malmö police force follow the intuition of a jealous beginner. The killer will be guessed by any veteran of Scandinavian noir films in the second part, and then all that is left to enjoy is how clueless the storytelling is. However, Adam Pålsson is a good casting choice, it’s never a mistake to use the songs Seinybo Sey, and the Volvos look good on screen... but that really isn’t much, is it?

A tired, desperately chatty Southern epic with clunky direction, and questionable dramaturgy, but also some nice grim cinematography and solid actors who pull it above the level of mediocrity. Campos is about as much a director as I am a helicopter.

A solid affair with very good performances and a fine narrative structure. It's marred by the explicitly TV filming and staging of some scenes, and in the excellent last part by moments when Frears' brain takes a cabaret vacation. Otherwise, it’s a film that one devours.

I don’t want to be mean to Tenet. Yes, I enjoyed it as a solution to a quadratic equation, as an endless conversation with an android in whom someone implanted the EgoBooster 3000 chip. Yes, I understand who the protagonist is here and I will not haggle with a person who understands entropy and is not afraid to use it. But no one can expect that this ostentatiously conducted puppet show full of flatly-spoken phrases and motivations subject to narrative mechanics will evoke in me anything that is even remotely close to fascination, and even further away from emotional investment. In short, I cared even less about Tenet than Inception and Interstellar combined, and my degree of indifference was far greater regarding the film about people waiting on the beach, with a few other approaching them whose watches move at different speeds. For me, Nolan has changed from a magician who could draw me into his intricate magic into a puppeteer morbidly obsessed with wires and switches. I understand that it doesn't matter that McGuffin was pulled out of someone’s ass – it only matters that he functions in an entropic bidirectional. Ok, if this is a Bond film for future generations, I'm glad I grew up with the past one, which discovered insight and later the basics of psychology.

The questioning of Newton's method is very cautious in this documentary, also because primarily the "victims of his camera" speak. Nevertheless, thanks to decent dramaturgy and a good choice of talking heads, there is certain space to take a polemical position. Gero von Boehm admires what Newton embodies, but that doesn't mean that this documentary amounts to just blind adoration. In fact, it does not force anyone to like the main actor and allows him to be perceived as a stubborn child who battles with machismo and subversion. The result is not necessarily sympathy, but definitely a passion for a person who did not consider himself an artist, yet with his photos he significantly inscribed himself in the pop-cultural memory of the 20th century.

I have sympathy for it because, with its empowerment message, it gets on the nerves of the herd of local brownish bastards. It has balls and an idea, but unfortunately they can't replace the naivety, the cumbersome start and the chaotic editing. Similarly to Extraction, there is no clear villain, and as in the case of every Netflix original, the playwright went on vacation and never returned.

This idea will always be at least a little cool. The actors are fine (J. K. more so), and it has a couple of nice scenes ... but otherwise it's a bit shallow. The film lacks a brisk pace and punch and, although it does flow pleasantly, it never completely gets going. The speeches bring the film down, and the fact that when the film is supposed to get moving, it instead becomes more cautious. In the end, it's a pretty solid absurd romance, but in a space where a lot of movies have already operated, it rather sheepishly looks around and is looking for something that hasn't been here before… And doesn't find it.