Matty

Monsterman is a fannish music documentary built on the contrast between Lordi’s monstrous appearance and public performances and his relatively normal family background. For example, photographs and drawings from his childhood add colour to the image of the wild metal musician. Together with the testimonies of Lordi’s parents, pictures from the family album form a historical narrative line, which recounts the course of Eurovision. We thus see footage of concerts and pre-show preparations, as well as interviews with loved ones. Paradoxically, the only important person who never appears on camera in all his glory is Lordi himself. Therefore, even in a documentary focused on him, the musician maintains his mystery and the legend lives on. The not very well rhythmised alternation of talking heads, veristic shots and concert footage makes the film subjectively rather long. In terms of content, the documentary is revealing, especially by showing that monsters are also only human. It would be interesting to see how such a humanising portrait of a man who performs as an inhuman being would be received by Lordi’s fans. The film is also a remarkable illustration of the infantilisation of society, or rather of the male part of the population, which is living longer and longer with their parents and escaping from reality into imaginary worlds. 55%

El Dorado is an obstinately old-fashioned story of male bonding set in an idealised world that is still dominated by real men, though the question of “I don't know why you're still alive” that Joey utters may have been about the very concept of masculinity in the second half of the 1960s. It is a world of unconcealed sexism and racist humour (Mississippi and the film’s offensive caricature of an Asian) – the positive view of Indian tricks (hangover cure, lying down under a horse), which are of course practiced here by a young white man, can be seen as the only shift in this direction. A world where one shoots first and asks questions later (firearms are practically the only means of solving problems). ___ Everyone knows Thornton as a living legend and shares a story with him. Wayne (again) personifies the essence of American values. He is a headstrong man, but he clearly distinguishes between good and evil. He is eternally on the road to a new adventure, always at the boundary between wilderness and civilisation, taking the best of both. At the centre of events are men who can take care of each other and can also quarrel like a married couple after many years in a relationship. ___ “Women” are what “happens” to a man. They either cause harm or help out. Unless it’s an expression of admiration for a man, a woman’s word has no weight. ___ Professionalism and moral integrity are respected. As in all of Hawks’s films, amateurism is a reason for contempt (“this isn’t a job for an amateur”). But to criticise a western for the faults stated above would be like admonishing a horse for having big eyes and being indolent. ___ In Hawks’s case, the acceptance of such an ossified view of the world is aided by the film’s compelling narrative. What at first appears to be an episodic narrative is in fact an inventive interweaving of motifs (the imagined loss of a son and his rediscovery in another young man). The storylines developed in the first half of the film converge into a single flow in a long night-time sequence that seemingly takes place in real time (thus not allowing viewers to catch their breath). ___ Despite the familiarity of the plot (not only if you have seen Rio Bravo), I enjoyed these two hours of coarse male bickering more than would be appropriate for a young intellectual who otherwise abhors more guileless displays of male dominance. 80%

A Brony Tale is an unexpectedly perceptive, non-exploitative look into the inner workings of a subculture that would be very easy to laugh at. The film is surprising simply due to its subject matter (at least for those who were previously unaware of the existence of “bronies” before). In addition to basic information about one of today’s less common pop-culture phenomena, the film offers enough of a positive mood for a full-grown horse, which makes it different from a number of serious documentaries about the problems of today’s world (the subculture itself, with its ideological foundations, can be seen as a counter-reaction to the cynicism and irony of contemporary society). The effort to combine intimate portraits of “bronies” with an analytically unbiased documentary about them, however, causes a certain schizophrenia in the resulting account, which on the one hand avoids uncritical adoration, but on the other hand lacks greater distance from its subject. In any case, the film is a valuable contribution to the discussion on the crisis of masculinity, gender stereotypes and sexuality. 55%

Bonus points for trying not to show Africa as a land where undernourished children living in slums wait for Angelina Jolie or Bono to fly in to take photos with them. However, this poetic tribute to the dark continent by a colleague and friend of Roland Emmerich has other flaws. In the manner of Emmerich’s (and Bay's) spectacles, it revels in grand details, repetition of the same shots, slow motion and rapid cuts. It is accompanied by slightly ominous, important-sounding music like that heard in a Hollywood epic. We see only Africans during their tribal rituals. The English translation of the natives’ utterances is inscribed directly into the picture, whereby it becomes an inseparable part of the picture and gains the status of great wisdom that must be written down. The second segment, a portrait of an individual set in Brazzaville, is also made up of shot compositions that mainly sound and look good, regardless of how unnatural their half-art film, half-Hollywood (but hardly African) stylisation seems in the given context. The visually no less aggressive final chapter about wrestlers again works with faded colours and fetishising shots of muscular bodies, and the music is somewhat more belligerent. The informational value is minimal, but the visceral experience may be powerful enough for some to forgive the film for forgetting that it is supposed to be “about something”. The platitudinous statements of the people interviewed do not have much narrative value, nor do they add much to the observational shots with respect to the stylisation, which does not fit very well with what we see and thus does not highlight certain topics (the meaning of the rituals performed, the specific features of African wrestling). On the contrary, it draws attention away from them. 50%

“Who the hell was Baby Jane Hudson?” For her, life is theatre. If she isn’t at the centre of events, it’s as if she doesn’t exist. She is also convincing in her new role as a tormentor thanks to the fact that the victim of her (domestic) violence is her own sister, a woman who dared to be more famous. Just the two of them, a large house and the memories in which Jane is imprisoned, just as Blanche is imprisoned in the house (and just as her bird is imprisoned in its cage). Memories of past fame and of a time without television, when the public’s admiration was more valuable than money. And of a father whose authority is newly embodied by Jane herself. Jane will not admit that she has to share favours, especially of the male variety, with her sister, whom she physically abuses particularly at the moments when she feels threatened by a man. Whether it’s Edwin, fixated on his mother like Jane is on her father, or the doctor with his white coat buttoned up to his neck, reminiscent of a scientist from a monster movie due to an overhead shot. ___ Despite the explanatory prologue, however, it is not clear who created the monster called Baby Jane. We don't know enough about the female protagonists to understand the incredible cruelty of one and the partially voluntary passivity of the other. (The claim that the former is a sadist and the latter a masochist makes sense, but is not based on what the film tells us.) Though more straightforwardly shocking than satisfying, the explanation comes just before the end, which, unlike the rest of the film, takes place in an open area, thus escalating Blanche’s helplessness to the limit of tolerability (freedom is within her grasp, and yet she can't reach it). ___ The deficiencies in the psychological profiling of the protagonists and the suspension of plot development in the final third may not be noticeable at first because of the impressiveness of Aldrich’s directing. He combines theatrical stylisation (frontal room shots, lights placed in the foreground, campy makeup) with purely cinematic means of expression (a zoom lens, unconventional angles) while being well aware that the backbone of his psychological monster horror movie (which, unlike classic monster flicks, doesn’t conceal the fact that the titular monster is actually a female person) comprises two Hollywood divas. (Depending on how you look at it, Baby Jane can also be described as, for example, a grand guignol, gothic horror or camp obscurity, but I searched in vain for signs of black comedy in it.) Both of them overact because that was their style (which was already outdated in the 1960s) and because they can. The roles allow it. To be themselves, great actresses. Sincerely and painfully. 80%

“There's no living with a killing. There's no going back from it.” Deadpool (and before it, for example, Kick-Ass) used an R-rating for infantile silliness. Logan is an adult drama with Oscar ambitions (which are overly obvious in places) in which someone occasionally gets their head ripped off. Symbolically, Wolverine, which seventeen years ago was instrumental in getting Hollywood to take comic-book movies seriously, now graphically exemplifies the evolution that the genre has undergone over the intervening years. Only time will tell how much of a game-changing film Logan will be as it closes one phase and opens another (as was the case with westerns such as The Wild Bunch). ___ Despite its sweeping runtime, the film stays much more grounded than other superhero flicks. It tries to win viewers over with a small cast of believable characters with understandable motivations rather than with epic action (the action scenes are not only very raw and “earthy”, which is aided by the low camera position, but unfortunately also rather chaotic). Unlike Nolan’s Batman movies, the narrative is very straightforward, as it stays with the main character’s point of view throughout, which, however, it manages to use to its advantage. ___ Logan is a portrait of a world that has stopped believing in heroes and happy endings. People distrust each other and consider a loaded gun to be the only valid argument. Power is in the hands of corporations involved in the military-industrial complex, for which people (especially poor people) are just another deductible cost item. Jackman’s burnt-out renegade, who no longer cares about anyone or anything, gives a face to this social lethargy (or bad mood, if you prefer). Like Clint Eastwood in more than one role, all he has to do is look irritated and say the words “shit” and “fuck” between his clenched teeth. The film adheres to the slogan that children are our future, but these children are characteristically the offspring of immigrants and, furthermore, mutants (i.e. “others”), which is to say people who are doubly unwanted in today’s America. The promised land, then, is naturally Canada. ___ James Mangold is probably the first director who has been able to fully exploit the potential of superhero narratives to comment not only on the universal battle between good and evil, but also on the times in which we live (again, there is a parallel with westerns, which began to be used for the purpose of commenting on the present sometime in the 1950s, when Shane, which is quoted in Logan, was made). Unlike earlier films such as The Dark Knight Rises and Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Logan involves more than just a few allusions to the current political situation; Logan is riddled with social malaise, which is apparent in the melancholic tone and the meditative pace of the narrative (which, however, is always kicked up a gear by the next action sequence). ___ I don’t recall ever experiencing a comic-book movie so intensely, let alone having it resonate within me for so long. Perhaps that’s because of my current mood, or maybe because of this day and age in which such sincere stories about the fact that we have to help each other make sense. In any case, I would not be angry (or surprised) if this uncompromising settling of accounts with the genre became the kind of classic that, for example, Unforgiven is today. 90%

The 2017 Academy Awards started out well enough with Timberlake, but wound up being a rather weaker edition of the annual ceremony. There were no major surprises (except for the final faux pas), memorable thank-you speeches or jokes that truly cut to the quick. Kimmel was able to respond swiftly to the ongoing events ("Fake tans we love, but fake news..." after the bronze Alicia Vikander exited the stage; “Linus, we're so sorry about what happened in Sweden last week” after thanking the Swedish cameraman), but he should have saved the obligatory trolling of Matt Damon for his talk show. Conversely, he could have done more to skewer Trump, against whom few of the award winners failed to define themselves. Since the leitmotif of the evening was anti-Trump-inspired breaking down of walls and uniting people of different races, genders and classes, that was also present in the thank-you speeches of the so-called social justice warriors, who wanted to show that they were on the right side. Most of the jokes were more or less successful variations on moments from previous editions (the food served to the attendees, interactions with seated celebrities), and the “unexpected” tourist excursion was nice, but it could have been shorter. As could the whole ceremony.

“They're here.” Poltergeist is a strangely disjointed horror movie that initially ridicules a model 1980s yuppie family and their lifestyle (rationality, pragmatism, disconnection from nature, which then strikes back in the form of intrusive mosquitoes and man-eating trees), but then, through that same family’s misfortune, defends the values on which Reagan’s America stood (the use of paranormal phenomena as the impetus to return the characters to a time when they still “believed in miracles”, as Diane says, is ambiguous). Similarly, the film is unclear as to whether viewers should fear or sympathise with the ghosts, because they are – according to the clairvoyant – so alone. Perhaps both, except that the transitions from family-friendly entertainment, keeping us under the illusion that nothing is really happening, to brutal horror, with characters peeling the skin off their faces (resembling a cut of meat that they were getting ready to consume, which I’m not sure was meant to be some sort of sophisticated critique of consumerism), manifested also in the changing style (urgent details vs. units with multiple plans of action), are not very subtle. The film is not balanced either rhythmically (its pace is slowed by long explanatory passages, the narrative continues in a “set time” after everything essential has been said) or in terms of tricks (some are still impressive, while others, like the digital tornado, are laughable). Though Poltergeist contains the best of both Steven Spielberg and Tobe Hooper’s work, it fails to combine the two approaches in a way that doesn’t seem irritating. 70%

Poetry in motion. John Wick is a delightfully straightforward action movie that is constantly surprising and incredibly stylish with every shot. It is a film of movement that should theoretically satisfy fans of Buster Keaton, Akira Kurosawa, Sergio Leone, John Woo and video games. The comic-bookishly exaggerated world with a taciturn western hero (who, however, is skilled at expressing himself with a pen) makes more sense than in the first film thanks to the elaboration of the mythology, but a halting rhythm is the price paid for the second instalment’s longer runtime. The wheels come off the film for a moment after Laurence Fishburne, the king of New York vagabonds, appears (too late) on the scene (I believe he will be better utilised in the sequel) and just needlessly burns minutes towards the end (the return “home”). Though the first John Wick wasn’t so long that it would start repeating itself, and I will watch it again with greater enthusiasm, but from now on I will be happy to use the second instalment of John Wick, alongside Sherlock Jr., as a prime example of the fact that action doesn’t have to be created only through editing, but also through movement in thoughtfully composed shots. Who would have said a few years ago that the most respect-worthy action hero of the 21st century, whom you believe has a love for a nameless dog, distinctive taste in clothes, an understanding of intelligent modern art (you never know when a properly adjusted mirror might save your life) and the ability to shoot up the entire Camorra without batting an eye, would be Keanu Reeves in his fifties? 80%

“Where is the love?” Scenes from relationship life for the 21st century. Nichols does not in any way try to disguise the film’s theatrical origins; on the contrary, the chosen structure (several long conversational segments), perfectly timed dialogue and classical music accentuate them. It is only after the encounter at the exhibition that he begins to cut between the individual couples’ dialogue scenes, thus giving the impression that their stories are more closely intertwined and influence each other to the point that they cannot be together because of the others (the flashback to the signing of divorce papers, which is interspersed with Dan and Anna’s conversation in the theatre, serves the same purpose). I consider the big jumps in time, which we are usually informed about ex post and as if in passing through dialogue (we’ve been dating for four months, we got together a year ago, he left me three months ago...) to be a courageous decision, as they bring the film closer to a time-lapse documentary that captures only the turning points of relationships. Unlike Bergman, however, Closer is not a carefully nuanced psychological drama, but a contrived melodrama full of walking (arche)types, “chance” encounters and bookish-sounding lines, and throughout its runtime, I wasn't sure to what extent it was aware of its own exaggeration and unnaturalness or the extent to which it was convinced that it was revealing the unvarnished truth about love and relationships, or something along those lines. Many scenes, such as the bitter conclusion, graphically illustrating the fact that we often truly get to know even the most beloved person after they have left us (i.e. when it is too late), suggest that the simplistic characterisation of the characters was a way to convey a universal, almost allegorical story in which everyone who has ever experienced the ambivalent feeling of not knowing whether to kill or fuck the one you love (as in the last dialogue scene of Dan and Larry) can see themselves. So, there is some sort of life lesson to be learned from that. Personally, however, I prefer films that don’t pretend to have depth where there is none. 70%