Marigold

Suggestive, raw, directly made to fit and without attempting to evaluate the situation in any way. It evaluates itself best. And an excellent musical component. It’s no wonder that the creator paid with blood – the degree of closeness to Mary's life is deadly. Highly recommended particularly to those who have at least a basic knowledge. Highly recommended to combine with Fukunaga's Sin Nombre.

It was a coincidence that I saw Welcome, a touching story about a Kurdish refugee, and then In the Beginning, a touching story about a French impostor. Welcome didn’t make much of an impression, whereas In the Beginning did, but the films are united by similar diction and a similarly harmonizing storytelling tone. Why? If I am able to judge, then because In the Beginning does not infer anything and does not lobby for anything. it eagerly tells a story that is so unlikely that it could only have actually happened. The story of a man who overcame a huge inner emptiness through a bit of road that led nowhere. Only there did he find the meaning and purpose of existence. Cluzet's famous transformation from a closed and cold vagabond into an enthusiastic and laughing motivator is absolutely believable. Gianolli plays beautifully with the antithesis of a handheld camera and epic compositions from the structure. The final heroic paraphrase of many famous victorious gestures at the sunrise in the east should in fact upset a person. But you can’t help but cheer for the protagonist’s momentary triumph over himself in Gianolli's film. Also because, in the end, a first-class imposter is needed to give people the illusion of hope. Perhaps false hope, but in the end a vital hope.

The situation the way Lioret paints it frightens - paranoia and deceit among her neighbors reminds of totalitarianism. The acting and the subtle direction correspond well with the melodramatic undertone. What bothers me is the film's peculiarity; its effort to have an impact and convince at all costs. It's likely my own problem that I am much more affected by the authentic and more withdrawn images. I particularly had a problem with Welcome at the end – I knew exactly what the creators would present to me as another topic to make me emotional. I don't really enjoy that - I have my own mind with which to think things through. Welcome simply suffocated me with love and emotion. It's difficult to imagine what one can't fully believe in. But I acknowledge that this film is an important and certainly commendable attempt to acquaint the public with other dark sides of contemporary society.

This film is about as much of a horror as Bergman's Hour of the Wolf. The stunning metaphor of the decay of man and woman uses satanic properties only to underline the traditional concept of evil, the source of which Lars von Trier provocatively places in the soul of woman. In a time of correctness, his almost inquisitorial rhetoric is a revelation from hell, but it is supported by an absolutely perfect film form. After dry theatrical productions, we have the Trier-aesthete once again, which indulges in the raw images of "Paradise", in the raw studies of perfectly authentic actors. I don't know what made Trier confuse a selfless woman for a satanic woman, but I clearly rank the resulting film as one of the most captivating intimate dramas. To be offended means not to understand. Antichrist is not shallow - the audience that laughs at him and condemns him is shallow.

It’s too bad that the director pushes the pleasantly intimate and closed story to the level of fateful romance with all of the uncontrollable symbols and exaggerated impromptus that are extraneously forced into the storytelling. I get that there are efforts here to achieve a heartfelt "feminine" style, but Bottero has to be forced into it. That’s not good. It could have been a really intimate and theatrically sophisticated concert, but the way it is now, every emotional moment is spoiled by a wanted postscript, which is supposed to make the mundane unusual. But unfortunately, nothing like that is appropriate.

If this film is surreal, then children's imagination is also surreal. Give a mischievous youth the appropriate characters and he will invent the same amount of none-sense. Mix in an adult experience with a rubbish plot and you have A Town Called Panic, something like Wallace and Gromit on light drugs, cut with the crazy kinetics of South Park. A very pleasant regression and cleansing.

One of those rare films that perceives everyday micro-dramas with a bizarre sense of detail and humor that is familiar to me. From the first minute, I felt at home in the carousel of banalities, every bit of the puzzle of everyday destinies and unusual dreams fell exactly into place, and this whole visual essay-poem, built on moments of smallness, nothingness, loneliness and escape, impacted me deep in my soul. Formally, Fernandez's mosaic approach to reality reminded me of the new wave, but the content is very original... and the humor is absolutely brilliant. A very personal experience, of which there are not many throughout the year.

The first part had exactly the amount of rawness and blood that I had been longing for – it parodies the aesthetics of teenage horror and comedy, peppers one-liners one after another and culminates with a famous cameo by Bill Murray, which is destined to be a cult cameo. Unfortunately, any and all invention is lost thereafter and Zombieland starts to lose its way and the banal finale cannot improve on the lost tempo. Suddenly, what was parodied before is now part of the film, as well as awkwardness and implausibility. We also have the fat redneck Harrelson, who saves the ship from completely hitting the rocks and sinking. Partial elements of Zombieland are amongst the great representatives of horror comedy, but it's too bad that Fleischer et al. were unable to connect them into a meaningful whole. In fact, it’s too bad that they even tried. Because they deserve a smack on the head for the family ending.

I felt immense relief, because the hopes I had placed in Mašín's film were completely fulfilled. 3 Seasons in Hell is the same as its main character - engrossed in itself, its imagination, hasty, naively burning and sometimes very convincing. Despite the fact that there is an awkward romance after the exposition full of excellent visual metaphors and philosophical insights into the life of post-war intelligence, Mašín's film miraculously retains its integrity and its clear moral message. We can talk about the fact that, like Heinz, the film itself likes to listen to itself all too much, but the characters and their actions result in a completely consistent parable of a man thrown under the wheels of history. What I like about 3 Seasons in Hell is the film’s accessibility – it can be enjoyed by both experts on contemporary society and Egon Bondy, and by those who confuse the “greatest non-living poet" with a German teleshopping salesman... and Kryštof Hádek is finally establishing himself as a great actor. Tomáš Mašín should be thanked for looking at the 1950s without ignorance, tension and habitual patterns. He deduced from these years a moral message that was truly simple, but absolutely universally valid. Sometimes simple human SHIT is more important than a magnificent IDEA.

Imagine a drunk fan watching a football match and forgetting who he is cheering for. At least that’s how Gray's film seemed to me. It tries to look very serious, but as a result ends up with proven truths and clichés. A well-creased punk who drinks coca-cola while dreaming of absolute anarchy. But if I think away from the really poor imitation of playing with the motif of system corruption, then this is quite a suitable thriller. Neither Butler nor Fox give us anything more than we are used to seeing, Gray is gracefully satisfactory, and Law Abiding Citizen rides more on a wave of positive impressions. If only the film sometimes didn't pretend to be a smarty-pants and didn't act like a glued monkey...