novoten

*SPOILER ALERT* – An example of body deception. There is so much conversation, explanation, political negotiation, and diplomatic anticipation that I foolishly expected it to end in the same way and sail off to distant galaxies with a surprising twist. Mistake. After everyone spends the entire time trying not to make it an interchangeable contribution from the sci-fi genre, in the last quarter it switches to an interchangeable contribution from the sci-fi genre. The development is abruptly shortened, interesting characters collapse into one-dimensional categories, and the story can only be saved by a few pleasantly unexpected plot points and the strength of the previous storytelling. If I hadn't felt that there were enough things happening in that last hour to fuel an entire season of another show, maybe my rating would be a triumph, but this way it's more of a disappointment.

For so long, I believed. Several times I have read the opinion that the whiniest fandom is Star Wars. "True" lovers of the original trilogy consider the prequels too romantic, one sequel too similar, another too different – and this makes them somewhat laughable. I agree with that, with one exception. They only come in second in whining. The true crybabies are the orthodox fans of The X Files, who probably demanded the continuation just so they could constantly complain about it. Because no matter the episode, it deserves to be erased. One learns that funny episodes too often devalue the series' legacy, dark ones do not fit in the present, mythological storylines no longer interest anyone, memories of old plotlines bother new or forgetful viewers, modern elements seem ridiculous, and no matter what the original idea is, it always turns into any possible outcome. And unsurprisingly, Chris Carter himself caught the first wave of criticism. Sure, it was a decent challenge to introduce such a major twist right in the first episode, but to blame the show's creator for destroying it was a bit too much for my taste. This is his work and no matter what he does, it is just his development, not destruction. Not to mention that we already received blows to the head from him in the original series, when more than once he left me in shock or tears with his revelations. He's just playing with the audience until the end, like few creators do, and not everyone has the stomach for it. Of course, this does not change the fact that My Struggle is a fitting name for both (including the previous season) of these episodes. Carter is struggling with the new mythology, every line or twist draws blood, and it shows how much he is now working hard on it. Maybe that's why I like him even more and I would easily include the finale of the whole series (?) among my favorite episodes ever. But other artists hit the nail on the head as well. The Lost Art of Forehead Sweat is a perfectly self-aware tribute in a mischievous spirit, which only the truly invested heart appreciates, Kitten reminds us of Skinner's focused gems Avatar and Zero Sum. Nothing Lasts Forever brings back memories of the ninth season, specifically the moment when the last episodic storyline (in the case of Sunshine Days) focused on an individual who constantly watches TV and adjusts his surrounding world according to it – and despite the bloody harshness (which, in fact, is the aspect that I like the least about the show), it earns points in a big way thanks to its sufficient care for the main characters. And finally, the almost detached appetizer with the blatantly trolling title Rm9sbG93ZXJz, which best demonstrates the shift that the series has undergone over the past quarter of a century. In the beginning, even the then-current case of troublesome technologies in Ghost in the Machine seemed funny, while now this dialogue-driven thriller is not lacking in frostiness, relevance, black humor, or irony – and by the way, it easily competes with the famous Black Mirror. Surprisingly often and surprisingly strongly, however, I feel nostalgia from the season as a whole. All those who could write individual contributions this year are calmer, more thoughtful, they know more compared to the tenth season, they know what they can afford because this time the break was only two years, not more than a decade. But above all, there is a sense of acceptance of the end coming from everyone. They were given a chance that many TV shows do not get – to end it once again, to fix what they felt was unfinished in the original ending. And I can feel all the emotions that they could experience while writing, not just in the last ten minutes, which, in the spirit of a giant ancient tragedy, bring storylines that have been hanging in the wind for twenty years to a close.

A little bit of a restart, a little bit of an unexpected continuation, a bit of a "midquel", and to my great disappointment, the ignorance not only of the recent episodes of the original series but also several of the latest seasons. That's why the prayed-for revival deserves a completely separate profile from the ninth season onwards, or at least a subtitle, like "The Lost Episodes" (copyright by novoten) or "Karen's Drunk Dreams" (copyright by Tom Riddle). Despite the difficulties in accepting all the accompanying circumstances, however, it is a perfect barrage of sketches that can confidently measure up to the golden age. Only one series in a hundred has such chemistry among all the main actors.

♪♪ For the life of me I cannot remember what made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise ♪♪ Sometimes I ached for the creators. Super idea, well-developed characters, soundtrack bordering on perfection – but somehow it doesn't fit together, and for every successful moment, there are two unfinished or clumsy ones. It doesn't help that the adult storylines were obviously written at the last minute (and shamelessly copied from any family comedy) and especially that the main character, Luke, is an unpleasant manipulator and an unstable choleric, alternating between fits of self-pity and anger with introspective moments of contemplation. This means you end up waiting and waiting for a perfect episode – and then Ace of Base gets stuck in the player, everything falls into place in an instant, and for the rest of the running time, Everything Sucks becomes at least a flawless generational affair that embodies all the desires of a brave generation. Therefore, I'm sad that in a time when 80s love stories receive almost boundless (and certainly well-deserved) praise and have hordes of fans (see Stranger Things, It, or Ready Player One), the 90s, in all their glory, don't come with any proper hype and are cancelled before the public even has a chance to notice them properly. Hopefully Peyton Kennedy, in the role of perhaps the most incredible teenager of all time, will have a sufficiently promising path to fame.

Legendary. That's what the book form of the saga is. A complex dealing with childhood, injustices, bullying, and more generally, adolescence. It also encompasses almost all genres, making it highly enticing and equally susceptible to being adapted into a film. It is precisely the childhood part that accounts for about two-thirds of the story, told through memories, exploration of history, personal desires, and imaginings, and occasionally even visions – a language that is somewhat unconventional for film. However, the film manages to touch upon or even adequately develop these themes as if by magic, and even though it primarily focuses on the most captivating centerpiece, Pennywise himself, everything unfolds smoothly like Swiss clockwork, to the point where I couldn't believe that the entire search was nearing its end. Unfortunately, not all members of the Losers' Club get their due during this process, especially Mike, who is merely included for the sake of numbers, and Richie is partially reduced to being a pubescent troublemaker (although even in this position, Finn Wolfhard portrays him with great likability). On the other hand, Jaeden Lieberher seems as if he stepped right out of my book version of Bill, and I can believe that I would have followed him anywhere during my childhood, even into the sewers, even though I wouldn't be able to explain why exactly I was doing it.

The necessary trimming of a million specific '80s references in film language (even under the guidance of the original author, Ernest Cline) transforms into a million fleeting enchantments, for which everyone must reach out and inevitably contemplate how many of them they couldn't even catch. And it's good, because blindly following a cult template would be a path to hell. Therefore, the challenges are more action-packed, straightforward, inevitably easier, and, first and foremost, easier to find. The entrances to the paths to individual keys are more about luck and intuition than encyclopedic knowledge, but after watching it for a few days, even that doesn't bother me anymore, despite such a change taking away some of Parzival's nerdiness. Similarly, the casting of Olivia Cooke takes away from Art3mis that desirable curviness (the dreamy hottie from the original remains far from the gates of adaptation) and replaces it with a girl named Samantha, but given her talent, which surpasses the rest of the youth by a bit, I almost understand this decision. And the cherry on top? Mark Rylance. Every smile, solemnity, and wink creates an immensely touching combination of life disappointments and boyish efforts. Steven Spielberg becomes the king at least once again. Nobody could have expected the transformation of a cult geekgasm into a loving celebration of human relationships.

Season 1 – 85% – Or how an apparently unsurprising contribution to a clichéd theme became a pure Ryan Murphy show from the first minutes. The assignment for the main creator was reportedly clear: Something like Nip/Tuck, where (at least initially) it won't be necessary to see every episode at all costs. But that would be a shame because even though I don't see the potential for growth to the heights of McNamara/Troy yet, partly due to genre "purity", the living characters and their precise actors still don't let me catch my breath. I'm especially delighted with Peter Krause, who after two seasons in The Catch can finally play something more than just filling a box. I warn new viewers against the idea of eating any snack while watching. Thanks to my own foolishness, tapeworms will haunt me in my dreams for a long time. Season 2 – 85% – A sustained state that results in the position of a surprising hit. Sometimes I don't understand how Murphy and Brad Falchuk, eternal manipulators of the audience, can oversee a collective of brave, witty, and perfectly likable heroes – and still appear sincere. The avalanche of pathos that rushes toward the viewer seems bigger to me from episode to episode, but except for a few overly tearful moments, it doesn't bother me; on the contrary, the whole group around Station 118 handles me exactly where they need to. The new arrivals to the main party fit in completely naturally, and someone like Maddie, even though I didn't idolize Jennifer Love Hewitt even in her teenage years, has matured into a beautiful and convincing favorite. Season 3 – 85% – Stable and almost like a family show. There are individuals that you always like to see, that you genuinely look forward to, that you fear, and there is also someone who is somewhat annoying at times, but even the biggest pain in the neck is forgivable because they have a good heart (Buck). The specialties work, the episodic micro-plots work, the chemistry between the characters works. Certainties that have remained at an absolute minimum in procedural series. I dare say that this flagship of FOX will be with us for many, many years to come. And I'm glad. Season 4 – 80% – Playing it safe and relying more and more on family values, the chain provides more or less refreshing episodes. But they play with such skill that I can watch each dose in any mood. The question is how long a procedural drama that changes its scenery and dynamics of characters very slowly and reluctantly can stay at the top in terms of viewership. But for this year, it still easily suffices. When a surprise comes, it excites me to the maximum, and when it decides to fully indulge, I can't resist for long. Season 5 – 80% – Another dose of the same with occasional almost cinematic approach (May Day) or unexpected deviations from the usual pattern (Boston). Thanks to sensitive approaches to all storylines and characters, and the unwavering enthusiasm of all involved, there is no room for reproach. I still enjoy every moment when there is (though decently forced) twist, and I fear the moment when this inseparable group inevitably loses any member of the golden core.

Season 1 – 65% – I try to like the main protagonist, to respect James Purefoy in raw form, or see Vernon as a funny partner and not as annoyingly stubborn and one-dimensional filler. And it works for me until the eighth episode, which represents everything I dislike about the series and when I mentally give up on the investigation, the storytelling, or the flashbacks, and simply enjoy the one hundred percent visual experience (including the unrivalled queen Martha Higareda), possibly the most elaborately crafted visual aspect I have ever seen in the genre. As a result, I struggle with the overly familiar plot twists and, above all, with the unbearable pose of openness to everything "forbidden": blood, nudity, sex, violence, torture, screams – almost everything is so blatantly obvious that I don't have the space to believe in the final emotions evoked by the creators, even though they are squeezed out quite relentlessly, for longer than a few seconds. Naturalness got lost somewhere in the flashbacks. There was potential, but the resulting taste turns bitter all too quickly. Season 2 – 30% – If the continuation managed to accomplish anything, it was to revive memories of the first adventure. The new season takes what was talked about the most and amplifies it twofold. As a result, I am subjected to an excessive amount of torturous scenes, with a convoluted plot that attempts to be explained by the confused Poe, and the action focuses on blood, as always. Unfortunately, none of this is what initially attracted me to Altered Carbon. What I liked is either missing now (Martha Higareda), evolving in a way that does not interest me (Takeshi himself is merely a supporting figure in an uninteresting and unbelievable love story), or almost ridiculed (the construction of the entire world relies on cliché side characters and bizarre plot jumps). The reason why my rating is so low, however, is the visual aspect. It is almost tragic that a series that used to astonish viewers with every other shot voluntarily confines itself to dark halls, warehouses, and caves. In combination with the complete waste of the traditionally irresistible chameleon Simone Missick and the charming Anthony Mackie, I can only shake my head at what exactly the main creator expected hungry audiences to say about this after two years.

The Secret Life of the American Teenager. In every bloody scene, there is a heaviness in the chest; with the passing of time, an increasingly unsettling feeling while watching Andrew Cunanan and his journey, which I do not (and yet have to) understand and a lot of contemplation as to whether the twisted storytelling technique benefits or harms. Discovering small details about the birth of the main antagonist works like a charm, but seeing the meticulously dissected fates of the supporting characters who died in a previous/later episode occasionally becomes tiresome. Compared to The People v. O. J. Simpson, it is a much more personal experience, both because of the feeling "it could happen to you" and, above all, thanks to Darren Criss's outstanding performance. Rest in peace, Teenage Dream.

Very few people have a sense of drama like Ryan Murphy, and the fact that he took on such a complex story and is now reaping the praise for it is satisfying. Because there's no point lying about it: it truly was the trial of the century. At the beginning it was clear that there wouldn't be any room for narrative shocks in a story where most viewers know the beginning and the end. And yet I was mistaken, because in the desperate battle between determined prosecutors and ruthless defense lawyers, a few surprising twists actually do occur. Until the whole thing reaches the actual trial, I had quite a problem with the storytelling, because O.J. Simpson comes across, however intentionally, as very unappealing, especially due to Cuba Gooding Jr.'s melodramatic performance, and I only just barely endured his hysterical outbursts where he constantly complains with his squeaky voice. But as the tension starts to build, it takes a completely different turn, and the actors get credit for that the most with so many unparalleled, breathtaking performances all in one place. Surprisingly, Sarah Paulson impressed me the most, and I cheered for her with every obstacle she faced from adversaries or the public. John Travolta, who is frightening, and Courtney B. Vance are also outstanding in their roles, especially Vance's portrayal of an almost bloodthirsty demon fighting for human rights, Johnnie Cochran, who thoughtlessly commits "good". However, my biggest favorite became Christopher Darden, who was initially unassuming but increasingly important. The uncertainty when it is expected that he won't be on this side of the fence – and when he is, his presence is solely seen as a racial issue – are masterful moments, and I'm glad that Sterling K. Brown's star is rising steadily, precisely because of the Juice's case.