Lima

It's easy to see why Leonardo DiCaprio, an environmental activist who chooses his films carefully, gave his nod to this one – substitute a deadly comet for current and worsening climate change in the coming years and you get the picture. On the one hand his character, Dr Randall Mindy, and on the other – in real life – deniers like Klaus, Trump and similar idiots who, despite clear scientific and factual evidence, deny the human effect on climate change, just as McKay's film shows. And the people who, just like in this story, generally don't give a shit, they'd rather superficially like an article about how some pseudo-celebrity broke up with her boyfriend and completely ignore something that will be in a few years, or is slowly coming, because celebrities and other such superficialities in commercial media (and now, unfortunately, in public media as well), which focus primarily on entertainment, are pulling their weight these days. You can't be surprised, then, that Ariana Grande's breakup is hilariously taking precedence on TV over information about impending danger from outer space. Unfortunately, after an energetic first half, when McKay, in addition to the aforementioned, aptly addresses the unfortunate influence of social networks, the superficial and short-term thinking of politicians and the herd mentality of the population, the film loses its grip and its momentum and reaches the end at an idle. It just goes from a biting satire to an overly activist thing with no insight. But overall, the 4 stars are well deserved for the message that we're sitting on a barrel of dynamite while laughing like idiots.

I know, I know, most of you probably took a good nap, counted your fingers, or watched the cockroaches crawling under the TV, but I enjoyed Matt's quasi-detective "Lost in Translation" quite a bit. Even in slow-moving films, there's plenty to find interesting and here, despite the respectable runtime, only the essentials are told. It would be a shame to cut out the family relationship ballast around it, because it would only harm this sober narrative. The story has a very realistic esprit, with a moral dilemma at the end – as in real life, nothing is just black and white. And I liked Matt Damon's subdued performance very much, exactly what a dyed-in-the-wool praying Republican would look like.

I love Elizabeth Taylor in her "pre-Virginia Woolf" years, because she combined fragility and beauty with exquisite acting. Here she’s the one keeping things afloat, unlike her namesake, who is as soulfully flat as a ply board. I love 50s movies, but this has one aged a lot. It doesn't even impress with its decent production design (it doesn't bear the slightest comparison with the seven years younger Ben Hur) and the choreography of the battles is rather ridiculous, with extras running around in confusion and being tickled by the tangle of arrows like toothpicks bouncing off them. Even Miklós Rózsa is going about half throttle.

Some like cupcakes, some like wild girls, but it's a fact that this one is too wild – headshots are not spared, nor are pierced eyeballs and larynxes. Again, it's probably just my problem, but somehow I don't give a shit about those skinny girls who have ten armed men for dinner, especially when they're in the last stages of being a Litvinenko in the ICU. Anyway, another template strong female checked off, Netflix at half throttle again. But I send Mary Elizabeth Winstead a kiss on the forehead, she's a cutie.

I would give I don't know what to be a part of a Ridley Scott shoot and get a glimpse of his art, his films look so real. One long camera shot captures the mood of the entire Middle Ages – a cathedral under construction, a stone bridge with a dirt road, huts by the river with boats floating on it, a peasant with an ox team, and behind him a cohort of soldiers on horseback, cattle behind a fence, dirty pigs wallowing in the mud, mangy dogs running around, and all that brown-tinted medieval gloom; beautiful. And then there's the story, which could be cheaply flushed down the drain as a politically correct me-too tale, but it's not. It is a powerful story about the strength of a woman who fights for her honour despite the threat of cruel death by burning. And at the end, it cuts to what is probably the best jousting I've seen in the cinema, even considering they so rarely appear in films. Jodie Comer is superb, and the guys are overshadowed by Adam Driver, he's a stud. And Ridley, once it's over, it's gonna hurt.

Look, let's say you don't need to see most films today in the cinema. Their visuals aren't interesting or sophisticated enough, they lack something that would give you that pleasant tingle in the back of your neck, they don’t motivate you to see them on the big screen, or it's just a dull colouring book for teenagers (oops, anyone heard of Marvel?), so you can get a big TV at home, or a monitor if you're a really undemanding viewer. But Villeneuve's Dune? My God! That's in a whole different league, that's the kind of film big halls and big screens are built for. There hasn't been a visual epic like this since ...... well, maybe since Nolan's Interstellar, and as for capturing the sheer genius loci of the desert, its magical dunes and scorching sand, there hasn't been anything like it for 60 years, when – as Steven Spielberg declared "the miracle of cinema" – Lean's Lawrence of Arabia premiered. And everything else in Dune is a triumph of cinematic design, a non-tactile architecture of spectacular proportions, an interior design that illustrates the fantastic visual compositions. Add to that the incredibly good cast – I was most excited about Chalamet, which is exactly how I imagined Paul Atreides. Other reasons why this is a film for the cinema: Zimmer's powerful, droning score (a quality audio set is a must) and then the simple fact that Villeneuve likes to shoot in the dark, at night, and much of the film is dark, with Villeneuve playing with light and shadows and ominous gloom. At home on the computer you’ll see fuck all. So I'll conclude with a nice little friendly jab at you – if you are judging a visual epic like this based on the aforementioned fuck all, you are an idiot (no smiley face).

A film as pointless as Mynář's press conference. It doesn't bring anything new to the genre, a soup reheated so many times that it’s inedible, and when it does come up with something unusual, which I consider to be the "popular uprising" of Haddonfield residents, it's as silly as Ovčáček's tweets. And Michael Myers here strikes me as an immortal cyber version of the T-1000 from Terminator and not a flesh-and-blood creature.

As a biopic, it follows predictably beaten paths, but the wonderful positive atmosphere trumps that. This film caresses you pleasantly all the time, without any negative feelings. The relationship with Helen, wonderfully played by June Allyson, is terribly funny (“Bought you a present for your birthday.” – “My birthday? That isn't until next November.” – “This is for your last birthday...”), some of the absurd situations made me laugh, and June is a real sweetheart, the ultimate woman in discomfort. And the real Louis Armstrong is playing – cool, jazz, what more could you ask for? And “Moonlight Serenade” is a song that will last for ages.

A shameless copy of Karloff's The Mummy, with the added value of swapping Egypt for ancient Greek Pompeii and a lava-covered walking zombie with its own name and history. He is the Etruscan slave gladiator Quintilus, who also lusts for a woman and whose unfulfilled relationship with her has been his curse for centuries. The boys blew it here, I wouldn't have been so strict. It's a Ctrl+C - Ctrl+V rip-off, but it's got likeable actors who don't overact exceptionally, nice seaside locations, and Quintilus hilariously smashes doors with his fist and gives knockouts like Mike Tyson. Let's be forgiving, Edward L. Cahn rode the vogue in the 1950s for "the better, quite workmanlike mass production."

I didn't fully appreciate this film when I was younger, but now, more than 30 years after first seeing it, even I, a person with a reserved relationship with cars, find it interesting. It's actually a kind of art-house racing film, part cool procedural, where we see almost live the preparation and the start directly from the cockpits, and part slightly melancholic experience with an unfulfilled relationship with a fellow racer's wife (but really only very lightly sketched). There's also the gentle jazz, the weaving loops, the rain, and Steve McQueen, whose every glance throws out the charisma of a power-packed racing car. And then there’s the reassurance that the races used to have a really human dimension, with the guys behind the wheel with one foot in the grave, a dimension mortal risk that today, in the face of state-of-the-art technology, is disappearing. That’s a win for Hamilton :)