novoten

A short film about the Hidden Blade Made in Italy for the third time and for the first time well. Assassin's Creed: Lineage and Assassin's Creed: Ascendance were mostly boring, but in Assassin's Creed: Embers, they play with emotions and to a significant extent nostalgia, which fits perfectly here. After all, I fought, ran, and jumped in Ezio's skin throughout the three parts of the game series, so saying goodbye to him is not easy. In terms of the script, it's not a big win because connecting to Asia doesn't make much sense, but I'm glad that, unlike the game Revelations, I at least got some kind of ending for Master Auditore. I cautiously praise the acceptance of one's own fate, but I simply expected more from bidding farewell to the long-standing favorite character of the entire Assassin's Creed.

With "Cannonball" Lea Michele seemed like she was trying to prove to everyone that nothing from her personal life had left any lasting consequences on her and that she can move on no matter what. Yet it's precisely with "On My Way" that I finally start to believe this attitude of hers. Musically or lyrically, it is only average, but Lea's radiant smile, carefree atmosphere, and the visual of "loose shirt and shortest shorts" in a hundred and one ways truly do a lot.

Ape not kill ape. The stunning impression from Rise of the Planet of the Apes remains unmatched, but the sequel does not embarrass the apes, quite the opposite. It is only the world of Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, where heroes and flawed characters exist on both sides of the barricade, that feels very real and convincingly enough that instead of offering an action-packed and dramatic spectacle, it provides a rather depressing spectacle. However, there is still plenty of room for superbly executed intense moments, which once again unsurprisingly belong to the majestic Caesar. I am slowly losing confidence in how many installments this saga can withstand, but if it really continues under the helm of Matt Reeves, my concerns will quickly disappear.

To write and shoot a three-hour film about the elusive meaning of life is something that only a creator who has already created numerous perfect conversations about it can afford. And Richard Linklater proves that in his portrayal, it is not just adulthood, relationships, and definitive maturity that are incredible, but also a hundred and one feelings of the earliest self-awareness. Sometimes on a more intense string, sometimes on a less intense one, but always from a story that we have experienced, our neighbor on the bench or a friend who flew through our lives seemingly irreversibly influencing it and was never seen again. And it is precisely here, with positive and negative paternal figures, with an omnipresent mother who never says "I love you" yet still shows her feelings countless times, that a boy can grow into something more. Maybe even a man. Maybe just an ordinary dilettante. And maybe someone who wants to reach for a little bit of their own happiness while flying through life.

Talks of a reboot or a functioning standalone miniseries were more misleading than I could ever have guessed. Characters who were absent for years reappear in the plot, subplots bring back the darkest ghosts from the past, and the whole structure of the opening episodes recalls the classic days of the original 24 as much as possible. A terrorist group can threaten the world with various weapons or explosions, and even when he is just a legend for most people, rather than a real person, Jack Bauer must intervene. And although I hesitated slightly, I couldn't help but be consumed by the excitement of the action scenes and nostalgic references. I occasionally shook my head at the technical abbreviations or devices, but in the end, I let myself be captivated. The final three episodes offer the essence of everything that captivated me about those hours  ticking away years ago. Perfect audiovisual presentation, tension that lasts until the last second, and an emotional experience that sometimes makes me feel almost miserable. Those moments when the necessity and zeal for saving others surpasses one's own need for happiness or even life itself work perfectly even for the ninth time. Surprisingly, William Devane earns the fifth star, effortlessly grounding the entire staff of the White House at almost seventy-five years old.

An appealing summer tale, exuding French lightness and flashes of its excellent literary source material. However, it suffers from the fact that the first part relied more on the titular hero, while the sequel focuses half of its attention on his parents. Thanks to the fabulous duo Valérie Lemercier-Kad Merad, they easily find their way back into the hearts of the audience, but that irresistible Mardi Gras magic is slowly fading away.

Thanks to two viewings, both series of the great anime are still vivid in my memory, and yet it remains a question as to whether that's a good thing. In my opinion, it is, because a knowledgeable viewer can enjoy plenty of direct quotes and references, very faithful supporting characters, and the unmistakable atmosphere of the family manor. However, the shift to the present is fatally jarring, which I spent the first half adapting to, along with the related nature of the central case, which contains perhaps too many modern conveniences. All the more credit goes to Hiro Mizushima, who skillfully tackled the most thankless role with a star. Portraying the eternally calm Sebastian in the live-action adaptation is solid hell, given the fans' expectations, and his minimal gestures and smile in his eyes brought forth the true and genuine servant for everything. For individuals positively tuned into the Kuroshitsuji wave, it is clearly a must, and for viewers unaffected by demonic servants, it is a promising experience.

Emotions overcome reason, anger overshadows some more humane feelings, and somewhere deep within, there's that persistent desire for a deeper understanding of oneself and one's own origin. I wrote that in the previous installment, and I'll write it again now – and perhaps for the last time. Sam Raimi's version was great, but it is Marc Webb's personal approach and scriptwriting greatness that makes The Amazing Spider-Man an unforgettable series. Even after this Electric Rhapsody becomes just another interchangeable summer action film for everyone else, I will remember much more. I will remember Emma Stone, who dialed down her sassy approach and ultimately became the true and genuine Gwen Stacy. I will remember the nervously escalating storyline of Harry, which, even in a smaller space, causes a chilling sensation. And above all, I will remember a more mature Andrew Garfield, who effortlessly handles both the jumping red and blue quipster and the torn-up mess seeking help from his loved ones. In combination with the first film, it is a perfectly intoxicating experience, thwarted only by the greed of Sony bosses on the path to a unique trilogy. It's a tremendous shame, making all the preparation for further adventures utterly futile. Considering the power of the story about the rise of a young loner to becoming a hero, it is so frustrating that my frustrated arguments became irrelevant only a month later when Spider-Man returned to Marvel instead of another reboot. How he fared among the established Avengers, however, is a different story altogether.

From the promising storyline supported by a promising book series, only a surprisingly roughly chopped omelet remains, though the impressions remain largely positive. With the impossibility of keeping up with the escalating mythology, with three twists and two new characters in every other five-minute segment, everything lies on the beautiful Zoey Deutch, because the wooden Danila Kozlovskij, the heavily overacting Olga Kurylenko, and the unremarkable princess don't help her much. However, the main heroine, as well as the less successful and insufficiently soaked in sarcasm scenes, handles it with ease, which, combined with cool action and a strong frequency of lines, is absolutely sufficient. However, if I were to seek logic in the sequence of the plot, I would have to burst far more.

Season 1 – 70% – Given the fascinating dynamics of all the relationships between the main trio, I almost don't want to complain, but I was simply expecting something more from the first steps beyond the Fringe. The comparison to The X-Files is perfectly accurate in terms of genre, slightly paranoid atmosphere, as well as the fact that even Mulder and Scully had their troubles maintaining quality in the first season and only later reached truly legendary storylines. The team around J.J. Abrams deserves credit for their efforts to tie together even the least attractive cases into one big narrative tapestry in the last two episodes. I may have many criticisms regarding the pace and paradoxical simplicity of individual plots, but when it is revealed in the very finale where the whole Fringe matter is likely to lead, all I want is to dive headfirst into this world. However, for now, I can only give it three stars in the rating, perhaps somewhat preemptively. Nonetheless, I have no doubt about the future improvement in quality. Season 2 – 70% – Surprisingly, it follows the same development as a year before. The purely episodic plots are almost shameful rip-offs of early The X-Files (the visions in Dream Logic, the telepathy in Of Human Action, the beings in Johari Window), and even though the relationships between characters remain the most delicious component, the long-term storylines achieve success only sporadically. The whole affair surrounding the shape-shifters seems somewhat stretched, while the foundations of the individual doorways connected to the passages give the necessary tension and emotions, especially in the excellent final two-parter, which unhesitatingly becomes the best story so far. I just wish that such a significant change in the game had a stronger follow-up than what happened between the first and second year. Because if the screenwriting team with such immense potential also squanders the next opportunity, all the efforts of the Bishop clan might become insufficient. Season 3 – 85% – The plot splits into two specific lines, where every banality can have fatal consequences, and the series finally stands on its own. The atmosphere of impending catastrophe, which sooner or later must arrive, has finally captivated me with the Harvard team, and the acting opportunities that are provided, especially to Anna Torv, are so ingenious that I can't stop marveling. The twist-packed (yet perfectly functioning) final episode is a leap into the unknown, which is even more endearing to me because it can end either as a triumph or an absolute disaster. Season 4 – 60% – A huge step backward that can't be justified by the fact that the series is starting or by an attempt to test the tolerance of its viewers. The reboot of the universe also encompasses a reboot of the concept itself, and after experiencing an engaging and often gripping serialized story a season earlier, the episodic supernatural procedural becomes maddening at times. However, when the trinity finally gets back together and fringe science crosses over the titular boundary, we can speak of a last-minute rescue. Still, I can't help but feel that the potential is possibly only 33 percent exploited, and all the time manipulations, alternative universes, Observers, and everything else are most of the time just backdrops for unnecessary repetitions like those involving David Robert Jones. However, there is one shining hope. The episode "Letters of Transit" is the best of the whole series and primarily hints at the end of an era. Only in this direction does the path now lead towards a dignified (and theoretically truly revolutionary) continuation. Season 5 – 80% – A step into the unknown, a new series, a change in genre. We can call the fifth season whatever we want, but we can't deny the courage of the creators. Just when one previously unthinkable storyline unfolds before me after another (Etta, Peter, and the Observer's identity, Donald), I realize over and over again that the original concept has become remarkably diluted over four seasons, and it's time to move on. And even though I'm not a big fan of the post-apocalyptic genre, J.H. Wyman, as the writer of all the crucial moments of later years, succeeded in this. Sometimes, he unnecessarily gets lost in several standalone episodic moments but then compensates with logically escalating tension, a perfect trio of final episodes, and pushing Joshua Jackson to his best performances. Although Fringe had its weak moments, and it wasn't always easy to look forward to the next episodes, it always managed to hit the right sensitive note at the end. Despite not fully realizing its potential, I mostly have positive memories of it.