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Season 1 – 100% – I'm still amazed at how perfectly everything fit together. The rich script justifies why Frank's journey for revenge is a repeat, and it is combined with excellent acting from all the supporting characters, with Ben Barnes and the unfamiliar Amber Rose Revah standing out the most. As for Jon Bernthal, who was born to be the Punisher, he is a separate chapter all to himself. His willingness to embrace pure physicality and literally scream on screen in emotionally truthful scenes is unparalleled. This guy simply couldn't be a part of the Defenders because he would tear apart all the enemies in the first episode, even if it cost him his life. Season 2 – 90% – Not necessarily weaker, but in many ways the same season, lacking the surprise element of Frank's uncompromising solutions, but richer in the new, almost paternal dynamic of his relationship with the newcomer. Every action scene, every arrival of an unreadable new antagonist, every crisis moment portrayed by the reborn Billy, all of it makes The Punisher my favorite Marvel show on Netflix. If I could have only one wish, it would be for Jon Bernthal to appear in this role one more time, for as long as he likes.

Children can hear your name. The end of an era, slowly and gently. A friendly and peaceful episode, where inevitable regeneration does not happen in the moods of sadness, but in the alternating of nostalgia, winking, and smiling tears. Peter Capaldi has grown close to my heart even more than I expected a few years ago, and as much as I couldn't wait for the first scenes of the Thirteenth Doctor, I don't say goodbye to her predecessor easily at all. What's even worse, I still haven't come to grips with not seeing Steven Moffat's name in the new episodes. The creative genius gave the modern era a solid face of mystery and fear, and in the last six seasons, also a tightly held theme and concept of "a firmly established chaos". Maybe precisely because the last episode itself doesn't look like it, it is difficult to understand that a much bigger revolution is happening than when Russell T. Davies, David Tennant, and the others said their goodbyes back in the day. I am moved that everyone involved welcomes this ending with a clear smile.

Old Man Caesar. I was afraid that the purely war-themed ending wouldn't be dignified enough for this saga of primates and humans, but the opposite is true. It's not just an action ride; it's a multi-genre crossbreed that took my breath away with every change of storytelling spirit. From the almost palpable weight of the experienced leader's fate, through the mental battle of two strong personalities, to the escape, intensified by its unbearable tension. The last chapter even extracts so many emotions from me that I was surprised they were all just for the Planet of the Apes. Thanks to everyone who allowed Matt Reeves to have an impact on the script because War for the Planet of the Apes surpasses the thematically very close Dawn of the Planet of the Apes in everything.

An honest and relentless story written by all manner of moody loners. It's about how being different is damn difficult, and also about how even though we live in a time when we are often told that it's okay to be different and that everyone will accept us as such, the reality of the outside world doesn't always turn out that way. And in such moments, accepting our own uniqueness becomes even more difficult. From now on, please give Lily Mae Harrington a proper heap of leading roles.

It is almost surprising that an ever-expanding group of heroes still maintains the level of humor where they can laugh freely for an hour and a half without inhibition. The reasons why I used to defend the first three parts at any occasion have significantly decreased. The previous installment with its pirate-family theme clearly deviated from the series, and this time, the uniqueness of the whole Ice Age franchise has almost completely disappeared. Collision Course is nothing more than a replaceable family comedy full of obligatory clichés, and in terms of adventure, it is already a somewhat overused variation of a journey for the salvation of everything and everyone. I am saddened by this similar direction, and I will continue to shake my head for a long time, wondering why it couldn't have stayed just a trilogy, but the tremendously positive atmosphere in all of the squirrel's escapades still makes me cautiously nod upward.

I hesitated for a moment over how Rian Johnson's visual sensibilities don't even come close to those of J.J. Abrams, and how nostalgia is stronger than humor at first glance. But that was only the first half hour, which is just a prologue compared to everything that follows. Once the atmosphere on the island starts to thicken and some secrets finally open their arms, The Last Jedi finally becomes what it promised: an atmospheric spectacle loaded with fateful characters. The tension that flows from the screen every second of any interaction between Kylo and Rey took my breath away, and even though it attracts most of the attention and seemingly sidelines Finn, Poe, and even Leia herself, it's worth it. It is precisely the connection between these two halves of the only image, additionally spiced up by Luke in Mark Hamill's vivid portrayal, that is the gem that has already cemented the third trilogy of the famous saga as the best trilogy.

Robert Pattinson's performance pleasantly shocked me in such a way that for a moment I didn't recognize any of his previous roles. Additionally, when the story grabbed me so tightly that I couldn't even breathe for the first twenty minutes, I began to hope that the rumors about Drive on an acid trip would at least be partially fulfilled, but these remained only promises. Sometime in the third act, the plot and development stagnated so suddenly and nonsensically that I suspected at times that the creators only seriously wrote the first act. Wasted potential and a race to deny clichés as much as possible, which ultimately trips up all the creators.

The most unpleasant season, and thanks to the absence of supernatural elements, clearly the most oppressive. I am still amazed at the versatility of the golden core of actors (unsurprisingly dominated by Sarah Paulson), newcomer Billie Lourd excels with every line she delivers, and the escalating plot makes me increasingly anxious as I wonder if everything is as black and white as it seemed at the beginning of the series. Despite the perfectly functioning tension and Ryan Murphy's typically snappy humor, it still falls a bit short of the highest rating. The level of violence and bloody scenes has surpassed the threshold where I can accept everything without hesitation, and there were moments when I involuntarily recoiled due to the images I saw, which was a bit much this time around.

Season 1 – 80% – An extremely dense experience, exactly as I expected, given David Fincher's involvement. Technically brilliant, obsessed with professional techniques and factual accuracy – and somewhat unfriendly towards the main characters and almost anti-viewer. The exploration of individual questions and emotionally uncomfortable interviews always end right where they are supposed to, in theory. We can immediately forget about any chase with a cunning villain. When Holden's team presents their theory to me, the case is (at least temporarily) over and we move on to the next chapter. Nothing more, nothing less – and I say this fully aware that Fincher's work can be analyzed and dissected extensively, but in this case, the thought-provoking elements seem either trivial or amusingly strained, like Wendy and her trips for a cat. The whole endeavor rises and falls with the intensity of a specific case, with the emptiness in the eyes of the interrogated, but primarily with the speed at which the viewer believes Jonathan Groff as an FBI agent. Season 2 – 60% – It's as if the enthusiasm for the project disappeared along with all the promises of what awaits us in the long-planned seasons. The format has nowhere else to go, the personal storylines of Bill and Wendy appear somewhat randomly, and in the first case, suspiciously conveniently, and Jonathan Groff seems to have nothing to play except for the opening scenes. What's more, in the last episodes, the series voluntarily gives up its greatest advantage, which is traveling to prisons where unpredictable objects are hidden. The deviation towards closely examined series of events in Atlanta takes away the hypnotic originality from Mindhunter and turns it into an interchangeable contribution to the currently popular "true crime" subgenre. I couldn't justify giving it a lower rating even to myself, but the dragged-out conclusion is responsible for the fact that the (temporary?) hiatus of the series was actually a relief.

Because Godless premiered on Netflix at a time when I was also engrossed in the magnificent Downton Abbey, where I am completely in awe of Michelle Dockery, I didn't stand a chance against the addition of another favorite genre. Perhaps precisely because Alice Fletcher is the complete opposite of Lady Mary, she seems to me to be the main protagonist of the entire film-like experience. The atmospheric dose is more than abundant and, just like an archetypal story with all the necessary ingredients, Scott Frank's authorial miracle is also a tribute to almost everything that a viewer can remember from a western. I most often thought of Once Upon a Time in the West, The Magnificent Seven, The Quick and the Dead, or High Noon, all well-known pieces. That is why it is clear that those who do not particularly enjoy prairie settings, spurs, and gunslingers, could perhaps suffer through this expedition. On the other hand, those who have been waiting for years for a proper new western to appear in cinemas should immediately head for the television. Those relationships carved in stone, those dialogues about important matters, those progressive plots? Combined with well-drawn heroes and a villain who is impossible to hate? An unforgettable treat.