Othello

A Haunted House is not as hopeless as many critics might paint it. Its main problem is that it's more of a black comedy than a horror parody. It's not helped at all by the fact that all the jokes in the film are the first possible reactions anyone would have to the situation, which is why I felt like I was watching an improv show or something like it for the entire duration. Especially given that the funniest scenes had nothing to do with horror at all. That most people would rather see Marlon Wayans picking their cotton after this is their problem.

It could have been edited down to two hours perfectly fine and it would have been infinitely better. As an opponent of watching in multiple sessions, I had to make a fourth effort to finish watching. Fundamental problems: 1) as crucial as the Battle of Gettysburg was to the development of the war, it is of little cinematic merit because its outcome was clear from the disposition of the troops 2) with a TV budget, it is hard to reconstruct a battle with over 160,000 participants, though it can be masked. But no, we have to have panoramic shots and extreme long shots. 3) The advantage is that there are many clubs in the US that are involved in reconstructing this battle and therefore know what to do, they will play for free, and basically bring their props with them. The drawback is that you can't believe they could maybe die for the life of them, because when they climb over a wooden fence during the battle, you can totally see how careful they are not to get a splinter or strain their hips. And that's despite the fact that they're under full fire. 4) Maxwell's reliance on "everyone knowing what to do" has resulted in crowd battle scenes where, at times, some people clearly don't know what to do now, or where to turn. If this had been filmed a decade later, the extras would probably be answering their phones during the battle. 5) The awful gentlemanliness, kindness, and self-respect (I'll stick a guy with a bayonet and then grab his hand and tell him he'll make it) is so comical that I got the impression that the Civil War was actually the most beautiful thing that ever happened to mankind.

The fact that Skip Woods suffers from screenwriting elephantiasis, and that anyone with a heightened sensitivity to moronic dialogue and story in general will probably get cancer while watching the new McLane escapades is unfortunately pretty much covered up by the fact that, from a directorial standpoint, this bullshit is surprisingly innovative and masterful. In fact, the alpha and omega of AGDtDH is that 20 or so minute car chase in downtown Moscow, where all the trump cards are laid out and, in fact, justify the entire existence of this film. The authenticity of the clashes here is aided by the multiple shots of the same situations from different angles, as well as the editing, which cuts away from the collision that the next shot records from somewhere else. Imho, it was purely deliberate that one of the shots ends at an angle where we see a crew member in a helmet along the right edge, controlling the vehicle on which the camera is placed. Combined with the senseless (but impressive) destructiveness of the entire scene, this makes every impact doubly felt and almost brings back that good old feeling of crossing your fingers for the stuntman, wishing him a speedy recovery. Moreover, the armored transport starring in this scene is actually the link between the chase scenes in Terminator 3 (a slow, multi-ton, virtually indestructible crane) with those in The Bourne Supremacy (fast, punchy, unconcerned with consequences), thanks to its destructive potential and not inconsiderable speed. In fact, everything before and partly after – the camera, for example, hiding fearfully behind a car during a gunfight, the shooting of situations from inside passing cars, the escape on the roof that we see from an aerial shot and hear only the echoes of gunfire – are the viewer's preparation for this scene. ________ Yeah, but otherwise it's really terrible crap, which in places defies the very basic creative precepts ("The whole room is contaminated with radiation" "Don't worry, luckily we have a secret substance with us 24/7 that will get rid of the radiation" – no kidding!) and the characters work about the same as in the snuff videos. McLane isn't in this movie, but I think he'd like it on TV.

Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! Yes, you too, the lady with those adorable twins! And you, the gentlemen trying to hide your beer in the newspaper! Don't be afraid and come on in! You're in for a unique circus like you've never experienced it before! You'll see vertical violence, horizontal violence, cutting, stabbing, crushing, and even a few times the smell of gunpowder will waft through the audience! Don't worry madam, there will be violence against women too... But guys, no shoving, everyone will find a seat. Don't be afraid to laugh out loud! You're in for a spectacular story about Ichi, a brutal killer who doesn't want to be a killer, but is forced to be one by past traumas and it is expected of him! You don’t know this story? I don't believe it....

An experience that from the viewer’s perspective is something that combines orgasmic feelings with getting your fingernails ripped out, when you had the misfortune to be born with twenty fingers on each hand. The subjective running time of 300 years admittedly hypnotizes you with its visual fetish and almost hollowed-out narrative, where Gosling, for example, could easily have been replaced with a plush imitation of himself and it wouldn't have mattered. I don't begrudge Refn making films for himself; what bothers me is that he's considered a fantastic director, with his obsessive fascination with the image proving that, as a director, he's actually incompetent and lacking any kind of insight. And I don't buy his dedication to Jodorowsky as an alibi. Only God Forgives is essentially a photo-novel due to its static nature, and perhaps the likes of Greenaway would eat it for breakfast. In all its negatives, the film is reminiscent of the director's American debut, Fear X, or the anti-intellectual I Come with the Rain. But I can't help it, it's delicious eye-candy and offended me only a little bit. Now it's up to Refn what he comes up with next; I'd recommend a genre film, otherwise he doesn't have much of a place in a world where Gaspar Noé, Harmony Korine, or Danny Boyle are making visual art spectacles. I look forward to the reviews.

I would gladly have blasted the film as an Oscar-winning ethnic warm-hearted gay pleasure cruise if I hadn't just a month ago listened to the stories of an acquaintance who had spent a year in Afghanistan. And that's why I appreciate a film that not only explains why the country is a barren dry yellow wasteland and the national pastime is to sit and stare straight ahead for five hours, but more importantly, explores the legacy of a once-proud nation without wiping its ass with the specifics and adapting them to Western perceptions.

A surprisingly clever, quite innovative, and very well made... uh.... psychological comedy. Seriously...

The problem with Lorepretty much lies in how it reminded me of the art teacher short in the film Ghost World, where they flush dolls down the toilet and repeat "mirror, father, mirror". Because, in the same way, this is truly universal art, behind which I tried vehemently and in vain to find something more than "intimate polemic over collective guilt" and "the transformation of a girl into a woman under strange circumstances". In reality, Lore is quite misogynistic in contrast to Trier's Europa trilogy, which is close to his setting, because while that one manages to raise many themes and issues from the perspective of a male observer, Lore doesn't get any further with its female active protagonist than the eternal stigma and mother protector. Which is only emphasized by the fact that it was filmed by a woman. And for a change it's very proficient formally, though I feel lately that cutting from close-ups marking some emotional advancement to long shots made up of informative footage is now such a general recipe for sticking an arthouse together for pennies.

The Perks of Being a blah blah blah is absolutely as much of a bummer as all the main characters. I mean, for all its attempts to be an independent, open-minded, and liberal piece of work, it's a shallow, bigoted, arrogant atrocity about people trying to stand out from the mainstream (the eccentric gay, the indie harlot, the quiet intellectual with a past, the goth, the junkie, the punk, etc.), all the while being taken from an uptight middle-class perspective. It's not just that the characters are extremely predictable, it's that the entire film degrades their attitudes into youthful horseplay, unable to distinguish them from the classic teenage schema. As such, there is no logical conflict of differing schools of thought, as the aforementioned are cemented by the fact that they are all different – which is such arrogant hogwash that is accentuated by the character of the main character's father – a hardened Republican who is addressed as "sir" by his own children. He's basically the main winner of the whole story, because exactly as he imagined, the kids mess around together, then it's revealed that his son was groped by his aunt (I would have liked a more open sequence here, because that's as far as the film takes my imagination), which actually makes sense as to why he occasionally goes wild, which solves it, and we have a chat about hockey at the dinner table after prayers. In other words, source material or no, the film in its sweet collectivist universe doesn't acknowledge straying from the mainstream, just pats itself on the back with an indulgent smile. And from this comes a lot of very hilarious moments, which include among my favorites the part when the father of a homosexual beats his son into a model hetero before dawn (they say he can't be cured, ha! there you go, liberals) or when the main character bursts into a room at a party where two gay men who have been dating for a long time are giving each other soft kisses on the nose _______ No one here knows how to act! It's sheer agony watching Emma Watson explain that she used to drink and fuck horribly and now she's trying to get rid of that past. Ezra Miller plays it like he's trying to end his acting career, and he's not alone in that. Once the film even starts to crawl into the Donnie Darko space, it's already done and can’t hope for more than 2 stars. I'm happy to banter with Stephen Chbosky sometimes, but I wouldn't buy his memories of his troubled youth even if he gave me money for it. Blech.

The biggest addict for festival welcome drinks, Ki-duk Kim, is fondling the Golden Lion again and I'm getting the feeling that the guy’s got a punch clock on the scene. It's all here – raping his own mother, lying in a grave, suicide, a mother masturbating her son, tears, penance, semen, animals. To top it off, all the characters act so independently demented that in real life they would never survive so much as buying baked goods at a convenience store. What's absolutely fascinating is how the director is unafraid to put the film in front of you and tackle all sorts of formal challenges. It just doesn't worry about them, and anything that reeks of someone having to take five minutes to accomplish is resolved by editing or by the film not showing it at all. SYMBOLISM!!!!!! is the credo of the entire film, manifested, for example, in the hero's alleged mother sitting beneath the painting of the revealed bust of a woman the hero is throwing a knife at. So deep!!! A true festival, art, all-destroying evil. Then again, the reveal wasn't totally totally stupid (though logically totally WTF) and there are worse things in the world. Like the holocaust. PS: I read the other reviews after mine and I refuse to rewrite it.