novoten

The first positive feelings that United States of Tara gave me belonged to the realm of heavy nostalgia. I was terribly nostalgic for the times about a decade ago when Showtime was supplying viewers with one quality dramedy after another, and with all the ones I tried, I was hooked until the end, no matter how the quality had diminished over time. Perhaps that's why it doesn't hurt so much that Diablo Cody's series was only granted three seasons. All of them are full of humor, emotions, and, above all, perfect acting performances. I actually have to laugh at the fact that I used to consider Toni Collette's acting annoying, because her Tara, with all her "alters", is one of the best performances I have ever seen, not only in television. The switches to Buck, T, or Alice are breathtaking displays of the subtlest facial muscle changes, and therefore seemingly an inexhaustible source of entertainment. Other characters competed for the position of the favorite, including the emotional Marshall, the unbearable (yet completely irresistible) Charmaine, and the contender for best TV dad, Max. However, they were all overshadowed by the adorable, spoiled, cake-destroying, and often career-changing teenager Kate, who paved the way to fame (and years later, an Oscar) for her performer, Brie Larson. The Gregsons are simply a family I felt like I truly lived with, whether it was getting to know them in the first season, deepening the relationship and exploring possibilities in the second, or fearing for the fate of everyone involved in the third year. A week after watching the finale, I remember them with emotion, and I am very sorry that even seven years after the last episode was aired, the Kansas gang still has such a negligible number of (and even on average, sadly low) ratings.

The longer I think about it, the more The Cloverfield Paradox resembles an idea that simply didn't work out. An attempt that originally wanted to be part of an ambitious series but somewhere halfway through falls short of that intention. The resulting connection is almost an insult to the viewer because this time there are no surprising twists, turning clichés upside down, or even deepening familiar genre boundaries. The earthly storyline jumps from nothing to nothing, and the main attraction, the space part, doesn't come close to any of its thematic counterparts (Sunshine, Prometheus, Life) and is most notable for Chris O'Dowd once again playing Chris O'Dowd, which is as striking as it is liberating. Cloverfield was supposed to be an original series that turned expectations upside down. I don't understand why, a decade later, after the first film crushed me months in advance, its development is desperately clueless.

The aesthetics and thoroughness are so phenomenal that I only regret the amount of space Reynolds' ego receives in the story. If his repetitive manners and utmost despotism were replaced by the richer background of Alma or Cyril, this deliberately unpaced, original, and falsely dramatized display of audiovisual beauty would perhaps have reached even the unattainable.

A gentle story of one summer that hides a surprisingly strong added value thanks to its free atmosphere. Though at first it seemed a bit too artsy for a love story, from the moment an elusive feeling starts to emerge between the piano notes, Luca Guadagnino was effortlessly leading me on a hook. And however much some viewers may argue that two hours is too long for a story unfolding this casually, I would gladly welcome another two. I was so tense, afraid this delicate bond would break.

I still can't come to terms with the fact that the same film, which stole the hearts of 99% of reviewers overseas, is considered just above average in the domestic market, despite its innocence and naivety. Perhaps here the cliché rule applies, when a viewer, spoiled by American whispering and the increasing number of prestigious awards, expects a life-changing spectacle and gets – Lady Bird. Small, angry, headless, sincere. When it gets under your skin, you understand that this is not supposed to be a life-changing experience, but the exact opposite. An honest depiction of the most average, ordinary, and therefore, the most enchanting adolescence. Everyone has experienced enough family and relationship turmoil, hopes, and leaps into the unknown, and even though mine may differ somewhat from those in which Christine was embroiled, the accompanying moods are almost identical. An easy spectacle that doesn't need to surpass any benchmarks.

I was able to overlook the complete senselessness for a long time and focused on the actors. Specifically, on Brooklynn Prince, who delivers without exaggeration the best child acting performance I have ever seen. But after a while, the noisy children, noisy adults, noisy arguments, and shouted vulgarities became too much, and I quietly suffered through most of the second half. Moreover, we hardly leave the motel complex, and the viewer can sense that they will have to wait only for small joys and greater concerns. The salvation of the script is the character of Bobby, on whom, thanks to surprisingly civilian Willem Dafoe, it is visible that he wants to help his tenants, but he suspects that for some, it's just throwing pearls before swine. However, a significant drawback for me is the fact that most of the time I couldn't get rid of thoughts about what awaits Moonee in her later years and how she might end up with a similar environment and similar mother. Even a heart of gold can spoil, and despite efforts for positive moments, these thoughts made me feel miserable. Three stars solely for Brooklynn, who, with a bit of luck, could become a real treasure.

From the fifth minute on, I couldn't shake the feeling that this should have been a theater play. It places even greater emphasis on dialogue than usual, as well as slightly different acting moods. Justin Timberlake handles this combination best, as he can both play innocent and emphasize the dramatic aspect, while Kate Winslet is somewhat restrained until almost the very end. Jim Belushi is completely lost, and his clumsy shouting is occasionally shocking. However, this is still Woody Allen, where actors are mostly just a tool for the main concept, and this time it doesn't fall behind. The retro mood works perfectly despite the small space, and both amusingly intense and sadly sincere moments fulfill their role excellently. Maybe if it wasn't so obvious that it's just a one-act play, I would have left the cinema even more uplifted.

I had a little trouble with Alexander Payne every time. The main characters of his stories are always looking for the meaning of life, their salvation, or a new goal, and usually go in endless circles while I often shake my head at how their situation somehow resolves itself. Downsizing is a shock to me for that reason. The main character actively tries to solve his unhappy situation each time, helps others (often by accident or unwillingly), and is constantly moving forward in peculiar directions. In addition, the topics that Payne and Jim Taylor stitched together are such a mess that I could hardly keep up with the necessary moods and settings. Ecology, marriage crises, migration, overpopulation, sci-fi tangents, harmony with nature, the wealthy, loneliness, dead ends of the future. And each time with an abundance of details. This story has everything, and its conflicting reception clearly shows that maybe there is too much for the audience. However, thanks to the presence of about ten familiar favorite faces in the smallest roles, I consider myself one of the most satisfied.

When fierce defenses of the original version, original music, and original cast emerged in the first reactions, it seemed somewhat funny to me, considering that the popularity of the original is often associated with a certain condescension stemming from the fact that it is a favorite of our mothers. However, the smile disappears when similar fervent speeches are accompanied by insults towards all participants of the new version, led by Abigail Breslin. Of course, I don't know if other reviewers still adore Jennifer Grey, but for me, she was actually the weakest link in the original cast, and she simply never appealed to me as a teenager from the sixties and an ugly duckling at the same time. Abigail, on the other hand, is sassy, shy, initially wooden in her dancing, and – in my eyes – absolutely perfect and irresistible as Baby, who harbors a shy swan, capable of achieving anything she desires. The second frequently criticized issue, namely the added parental storyline, is believable, lifelike, and touching thanks to the perfect Debra Messing and precise Bruce Greenwood. The problem arises with Johnny's character. Patrick Swayze was a legend thanks to Dirty Dancing, while Colt Prattes tries but fails to deliver even once because he simply lacks charisma. Additionally, I cringed occasionally at the reinterpretations of the most famous hits, which often do not suit the modern version at all and, in one case, are downright unpleasant. However, I cannot go against the current evaluation. The new Dirty Dancing is a laid-back, optimistic, and well-made (although practically identical to the original in many places) spectacle. And those who claim it is unwatchable should take off their rose-tinted glasses (or, in some cases, actually watch it).

I expected civility and uniqueness from the British approach, but the reality was otherwise. The reasonably slow start never lives up to the promised potential, which, combined with the debut of Fionn Whitehead, who unfortunately doesn't handle the intense scenes well, makes Him a pretty serious disappointment. The main character stumbles from one family member to another, constantly repeating that he wants to be good and strong – only to succumb to his abilities at every opportunity and cause trouble. The emotional moments, when I should fear for him, always fall flat. A one-bite snack that decently snoozed in the mystery genre.