Marigold

Claes is a great Dracula (except for that first version of the Romanian Borat), but the only time I buy this cardboard B-movie crap is when the Count is pulling off the lines of a villain from the pulp district. Otherwise, it's an ugly-looking, flimsily-mashed-together joke.

Well, I can pretend to be a man who is detached and sees that if I drank a shot at every mention of the word fate, I would die of alcohol poisoning after one episode. It could have been even better thought out in terms of working with time storylines, so that even the average viewer could understand before the third part that they were not parallel. It was certainly possible to have a better tempo and escalation of some parts, as well as the tonal consistency. But this is all "flaw by design". Sapkowski wrote a fantasy soap opera where horror, romance, a fairy tale and cruel parables about the world on the brink of destruction all eclectically meet. And to my great surprise, Netflix made a completely faithful (albeit deviating in detail and narrative storyline) adaptation, which is excellently cast, funny, exciting and romantic, appropriately crazy and engaging to me. You say that it doesn't have as much coherence and clarity as GoT and others? This is an Eastern and Central European tradition of melting pots of cultures, folklore and deep traditions. I've been missing this for years. A series that I will stay with and that I will dream about at night. This hasn’t happened to you? Well, you probably haven't read all the books ten times over and given yourself a nickname based on one of the characters. But thanks to the series, you also have a chance to get into it completely. Great job. I suppose the next series could raise the bar a bit higher, because it will no longer focus on various short stories, but rather on a novel pentalogy.

The curse of this trilogy is that obviously none of the bigwigs knew exactly what they wanted to achieve. Of course, the seventh episode elegantly ironed out the kinks after the second trilogy and told a similar story to the new generation as the original trio of films. Then Johnson came and, believing that he needed some courage at Disney, began making radical decisions and shifts. But a wave of hate swept over him and Abrams is returning to help out. This time, however, his bet on certainty did not work out for him. The film has a frantic pace and suffers from the complete absence of logic and an excess of "I do it because I am inspired to do so" moments. It's almost absurd how the screenwriters deal with each problem through a narrow escape with unclear motivations (then you just sadly watch the Knights of Ren wander the galaxy like a bunch of idiots with oversized weapons) and the revelation of some of the old canonical figures, who have to approve every fart of any of the incompetently-acting new characters. The film purposefully killed Rey, who was given a surprising twist by Johnson, and he has no idea what to do with the supporting characters at all. Without Kylo Reno, the trilogy would bring absolutely no benefit and no dramatic arc. Yeah, it's filmed competently and it’s nice to look at. But the magic is gone. And it's not just the result of fan service. Abrams didn't do that well, either. It's the result of the fact that no one knows what this trilogy was supposed to do. Other than the fact that it was supposed to make billions.

A modern classic? It’s more of a you-wish gesture masterfully timed for the period when Scorsese stirred up a totally anachronistic debate about high and low. The film itself relies on the use of technologies that have been largely brought forth by Disney (Tron 2) and Marvel, and on the robust plan of Zailian's screenplay, which again lavishly beats around the bush, but does not work much with the depth of the characters. De Niro's Sheeran is therefore a static and slowly shifting cruel mountain of CGI flesh, and his picaresque pilgrimage through the history of American trade union-mafia intercourse drags on like an old man. The characters who are age thirty move about like they are eighty and in some ways, this accurately captures the essence of Scorsese's work - this stocky, corrugated professorship that lacks elegance and fun segments, but as a whole functions more like a cinephile fetish and an obelisk worshiping the past. At the same time, however, it fits very well into Netflix's portfolio, where the absence of a strict dramaturgy is confused with a robust creative vision. Martin is too good a director to make a disguised film, but his firm The Irishman is as stimulating as De Niro's face when he fires lead into German prisoners in a miserable, unintentional paraphrase of Call of Duty. For me, it’s on the thin edge of cringe.

See? This is how you make a Deep Human Story. This was already outlined this year by the solid film Invisibles, but Nakache and Toledano gave it a hit packaging that has the potential to work outside of France. The complex topic of caring for children with autism is served by the two hit-makers with ease, which, however, is not identical to exploitation. The film has a great tempo, gallows humor, a strong central pair of actors and the ability to hide appealing pathos under a realistic and civilian tone. The message is so serious and the topic so current that one forgives even the protracted (lack of) point. We're almost there. It's just that we're still far away. I am healthily and un-cynically moved by a film that refuses to believe that things are long lost and that it is not worth fighting losing battles to the end.

There you go. A clarified concept, consistently shabby aesthetics, a radically slow pace in the spirit of GerontoSympathy for a very slow Mr. Vengeance, a guarded acting tone, and Schmitzer at the head of everything, who leads his cart with the penetrating power of a tank. Unlike many documentary filmmakers, Dušek builds on the best of his documentary Into the Clouds We Gaze. It started flirting with a feature film, but doesn't flirt on the edge. Thanks to collaboration with Ondřej Provazník, Old-Timers has a cohesive film image, mature filming and a decent focus, which avoids literality, but certainly not vindictiveness. It is a road movie with liver spots and a properly bile image of a society that cycles in past wrongs and the inability to deal with the crimes of the past in any way. Most importantly, it is finally a film that does not have to compete in the "Paralympics", i.e. it’s good for a film from the Czech Republic. It’s simply a good film. That it didn't make it to the main competition in Karlovy Vary is almost a scandal. For example, it’s much better than Omerzu's Winter Flies.

A long-overdue stay in the village of Harga ... and what can I say? It’s great! The best couples therapy / horror about the ultimate evil and a relationship destroyer called a thesis. I've seen a lot of ambitious US horror movies in recent years that were inadvertently funny. What at first glance seems to affect the viewer's psyche as an extract from psychotropic, or perhaps even poisonous mushrooms, in fact resembles, after watching the film, the unpleasant come-down after smoking an excessive amount of marijuana cigarettes, which contain more twigs and other unpleasant ingredients. The film combines ridicule of practices that are common in sects and a bizarrely-constructed drama with the theme of toxic relationships. It works like a anthropological study written in the manic phase. In a year from now, our entire family is going to be dead. Along with Get Out, it’s the peak of the wave of indie horror films. Bye - Ari Zoroaster aka Josef Midsommar.

Mangold, as always, follows the path of least resistance. This gasoline-soaked bromance thus favors cliche and simple shortcuts over complexity. Sometimes, Mangold's routine is funny (the way he helps himself by creating a disgusting villain, a B-movie caricature of a Ferrari driver), sometimes it’s a little irritating (will the directors really keep only giving Bernthal roles to play in a coma?), but mostly it’s just straightforward fun. The racing sequences are shot with confidence and with the pedal to the floor. Bale and Damon talk about electric innovations, and the former can conjure more intensity with his expression behind the wheel than the spectacular somersaults of racing cars at the curb of a country road in Le Mans. This film praises honest garage guys who face the dementia of people in suits with their hearts and over sensitivity. Just like Rush, it’s impossible not to like it. At the same time, however, one cannot get rid of the feeling that the best story in the history of motorsport has more horses under the hood than Mangold was able to take advantage of. He is simply such a reliable Ford van with a stable, bubbling diesel engine. Not a passionate twelve-cylinder.

An observational film that reveals a deep understanding of the characters (given by the fact that Martin Mareček has been working with Vítek Kalvoda for a really long time) and unusual ambitions to lyrically capture the escaping relationship between father and son traveling far away to overcome the feeling of mutual alienation. The strange circling and misunderstanding, passing each other and escaping between the fingers are among the best moments of the film, which sometimes struggles a bit with the thin edge of documentary and fiction, and thereby does not find such precise, concise language so that the storytelling is able flow smoothly and all of the details speak to the necessary depth. From this point of view, it loses a bit compared to Nothing Like Before, Into the Clouds We Gaze, or Solo. In any case, it is a perceptive and, at best, a funny, chilling work about insurmountable gaps in space, culture and human relationships.

Hardy would be funny even if he played a used roll of toilet paper. This is true even in a film that is written and composed as cumbersomely as Venom. Something is being prepared for a very long time and quite illogically, then everything is revealed and resolved very quickly. The disobedient film works thanks to Hardy's charm. But it is on pretty thin ice.