POMO

Satan is a not exactly conventional Christmas film for a select audience. Though it follows a classic horror formula a la The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, it is conceived as a low-budget crazy comedy. Concern and disgust are present to a lesser extent than in similar horror movies; the film cannot be taken too seriously. However, the retarded rednecks have a certain appeal, and Vincent Cassel portrays his likable eccentric with real gusto.

Poetic, philosophical, exciting, historically instructive, sensitively written and edited, technically world-class. I don’t believe that anyone could make a better documentary about the High Tatras and specific climbing routes, which connect history (the legendary Polish first ascensionist Wieslaw Stanislawski) with the present (two young Slovaks following in his footsteps). The Alps would also benefit from a documentary filmmaker like Pavol Barabáš.

A movie that starts five minutes before the end credits with the only scene that evokes any emotion. The rest is too Harlequin romance-like and shallow to engage viewers and allow them to relate to the characters in any way or to have any interest in observing the evolution of their “relationship”. Dakota Johnson’s acting is OK and natural. Jamie Dornan is not natural and his acting is reminiscent of Ben Affleck in Armageddon. And everything falls apart with him because his complicated and wannabe opaque character is supposed to be the core of the film, just as Sharon Stone was the core of Basic Instinct. Or at least I hope that the book is based on psychology and not flying helicopters and cars given as gifts. The contract negotiation scene shows the only spark of the director’s creativity in this gray, gray void. But it is irrelevant to the film as a whole. The most characteristic scene here is the one involving playing the piano after the loss of virginity… Personally, I was pleased by the answer “Me” to the question “And what will I get out of it?” Because I, ever impatient, never knew how to answer this particular question and always opted to move on to find a different, more experienced candidate.

Cooper aims high; he wants recognition and Oscars. And he obviously tempted Clint Eastwood into this with a high fee. Otherwise, Clint wouldn’t go for it, as the script doesn’t offer much space for his narrative talent (the emotional scenes with the wife could have been done by anyone). The simplicity and straightforwardness of the film, which does not bring anything new under the helmet and relies solely on the potential of the real Chris Kyle’s fate, will delight on one hand (the film engages viewers without imposing higher demands on them), but due to the use of all sorts of clichés and the absence of its own personality (which the identically construed but less oversimplified The Hurt Locker did have), it is not entitled to any Oscars. Unless the Academy intends to openly admit that it is more about politics than movies. The key action scene (Butcher + drill + boy) has masterful editing. But the second half of the movie needs to be shortened.

Birdman has a Woody Allen-esque theme and environment conveyed by the unique optics of Lubezki’s long shots, but without Woody’s wit and detached perspective and with irritating jazz disharmony. An occasional good scene (Times Square in boxer shorts, waking up on the sidewalk), some occasional good dialogue (Emma Stone and Edward Norton on the roof) and always great actors. But for an uplifting “artistic” experience, this portrait of a mid-life crisis and creative burnout is not enough for me.

For this movie to be perfect, it would have to be less literal and with less Hollywood-like straightforward emotions (A Beautiful Mind), but with more British nobility and reason (Tinker Taylor Soldier Spy). If the main character were black, it would be the most formulaic movie with Academy Award ambitions ever made. Benedict Cumberbatch is, however, excellent.

Angelina Jolie managed to show up even Clint Eastwood with this film, without the pathos I expected, but with a powerful story and the excellent Jack O'Connell in the leading role. She didn’t achieve this by being original, but by employing an accurate, clean, old-school Hollywood narrative like those done by Edward Zwick or Ron Howard. With a nod to Forrest Gump, the film completely overshadows prison stories like Hart's War and paraphrases the idea of The Shawshank Redemption. Of course, it is questionable if she could have completed such an ambitious project without the Coen brothers as screenwriters and Roger Deakins as the cinematographer. But let’s not be mean. It’s still not bad for the former Lara Croft.

Michael Mann’s realistic and damn serious form again works great and one scene (unfortunately not the final one) is also stunning in its impact on the development of the story. Hemsworth’s uncompromising character of a hacker convict gives the film some balls and serves as a good driving force. The problem, however, lies in the script, which is simply not clever and sufficiently thought through to match Mann’s unique form (and it would be more fitting for a film with Wesley Snipes from a second-tier director). Mann’s films don't need a complicated plot. They are strong in the psychological portrayal of the main characters and fatally entangling them in banal but brutal crime plots. Blackhat works with a non-banal crime plot in an unfortunately oversimplified way, and the same goes for the psychological depiction of the characters.

Intended for Czech viewers of toilet-humor comedies like Kameňák, Photographer depicts the life of a world-class Czech photographer portrayed by an almost world-class Czech actor. It is cheap trash with a terrifyingly long runtime. What I don’t get is that Jan Saudek doesn’t mind that this thing will be watched by his admirers around the world, from Argentina to Australia. One star for Karel Roden, who is obviously enjoying himself.

For coffee-shop intellectuals whose vampire-themed experience begins with Murnau and ends with Jarmusch, this will be a relaxing and refreshing look at Iranian cinema. Everyone else will tear their hair out from boredom. The film is about as vibrant and generally beneficial as a hypothetical version of Kiarostami’s Taste of Cherry made by Robert Rodriguez.