Marigold

A self-impressive Gondry spasm, mentally at the level of a high school party, but shows off as a praise of love for film and community creativity. At the same time, it is so brutally forced and pandering that even those few solid moments are drowning in a sea of poses and awkwardly staged allotrias. This "ostentatious intellectual child" side of Gondry irritates me.

At the beginning, I will try to uselessly separate the individual parts from each other. Before Sunrise was a beautifully naive romantic comedy about two young people full of ideals who accidentally burned (went crazy). Before Sunset is the story of two mature adults who went somewhere, but memories draw them to something they maybe should have done (but didn't). Before Midnight is the story two people who changed their lives for a memory and did what they promised never to do at the beginning. As a result, the third film is necessarily the most open, most intimate (there are few secrets and room to pretend to “be someone else"), the most painful (many of the themes that were the subject of jokes in previous cessations return, but now it is a lot worse to laugh at them), and also the most markedly sarcastic to cynical. It's a conversational analysis of everyday routine that reveals the remnants of the "intellectual sex appeal" that Jesse and Celine felt, but above all it is a civilian dive into banality, fatigue and fear of being alone. Before Midnight is full of irony, both internal and contextual (the casting of the non-conformist observer of the disintegration of the traditional Athina family, Rachel Tsangari, in the role of a cheeky Greek woman), contains probably the best dialogue in the trilogy (car scene), and it is largely lacking the paper rustle of its predecessor. Smoothness bordering on routine (but the most interesting), the kitschy environment of the Greek idyll constantly clashed with minor conflicts, fears and suspicions that at the end of Before Midnight there will be no place for a dream and romantic dreaminess. Nevertheless, the final scene is fragile and playful, full of contrasts of hope, resignation and humor, which develops the relationship of one of the most remarkable film pairs, both poetically and relentlessly sober. Linklater's minimalist direction once again triumphs and relies on organically flowing time, sometimes divided by the caesuras of sadness / enchantment. The script is even more polished, pointed and full of sharp wit - although in a few scenes there is again hesitation as to whether the little pearl at the bottom is worth the big a pile of words. I don't want to share it with anyone, but if I have to, then Before Midnight is closest to me emotionally and mentally. So, Jesse and Celine, later... in the next decade.

Brrrr... in this film, the ghosts of dead ambitions are haunting. The script (re-written three times) bears witness to a shift from a not entirely perceived personnel perspective (a whiff of institutional crisis and slight hints of the sociology of disaster brought to a solid level by Forster's more civilian direction), to a bombastic spectacle (action adventure structure including some sequences that are obviously "scripted" - Jerusalem), and then back to the intimate plane (a completely redesigned ending that left behind the monstrous action storyline in Russia and edited in a bit of intimate Resident Evil in a lab). In addition to the surprisingly certain directing and atmosphere, the whole thing is saved by Pitt, who, even when infected with a can in his hand, looks as if he really cares a lot about the film (perhaps it’s the x million invested in it?). At its core, I like this indecisive wash between Contagion, The Walking Dead and a forgettable "disaster" film. If only because some people had foretold that it would have the fate of the disintegrated catastrophe a la The Invasion, but the film is more like Rise of the Planet of the Apes. The individual levels are actually quite entertaining, and when one abstracts from awkward transitions, the screenwriting issues and the fact that the only thing in common with the original are the undead, it was solid fun overall. [70%] P.S. I would love to bite the idiot who came up with a film with a frenetic cadence of alternating wholes, second-long details and out of focus shots converted into 3D. If you can, just avoid this desperate attempt to save an overburdened budget.

Subjectively: the last time I left the movie theatre this numb was after Sucker Punch, and I must add that Man of Steel is a much better directed film. If I keep my distance from the purely debilitating digital whirlwind of falling skyscrapers and exploding molecules of nothingness, then I must highlight the following: Goyer's attempt to elaborate the Krypton storyline and Superman's mythology. Russell Crowe and Michael Shannon have a huge share in the certain impact that the film has, whose characters are played and written much better than the rest of the film (Shannon's casting was far-sighted). The character of Clark Kent, played by Cavill with the pensiveness of a model whose shirts were all stolen, did not receive similar care and sophistication. The attempt to move Superman / Kent to the plane of one inseparable being, a closed-off and lonely alien, is fragmented by his performance and the fact that, unlike Batman's reboot, there is a lack of character development or some obvious internal transformation / dilemma. Man of Steel and his childhood flashbacks are purely generic, and in terms of content / meaning they don't really deviate too much from the Donner storyline (they just lack exaggeration), Cavill frowns through the stormy sea and finds himself in the inevitable situation where, as God, he overcomes the speed of sound and destroys cities with villains. The duel with Zod forms a surprisingly large part of the film, and if you don't buy into this trick extravaganza right at the beginning, you will literally be beaten by locomotives and tons of reinforced concrete. The hint of perspective comes late, and Superman's seriousness is monotonously persistent, but without feeling in any way dark and problematic. Simply a monolithic and well-produced blockbuster, with which I had only a minimum of fun.

In some ways a very funny update of the invasion sci-fi genre, in some ways unpleasantly claustrophobic, in some ways pleasantly exaggerated (the hats), but in other respects completely burdened by trying to go beyond and show something more than an intimate story of a family crisis surrounded by mysterious signs from above. I enjoyed watching it as one of the variants of the classic narrative of re-establishing the authority of a father through a disaster. In this respect, it is slightly reminiscent of Spielberg's War of the Worlds. However, Steven is a much better narrator and entertainer, without lagging behind Shyamalan in terms of thought (it’s not really even possible).

Two stars, because unlike The Happening, sometimes something actually happens here. It doesn't make sense, but neither does the story itself. It was as if Will was inventing it half asleep over his son's bed. But what kind of bastard tells a child a similar sectarian and emotionless story of subordination? A Scientologist? Shyamalan films some of the scenes under sedation - otherwise, he wouldn't miss how the dad and son rubberized him. The icing on the cake is a kind of eco message grafted on Moby Dick for unknown reasons. Cruel for a fairy tale, naive for a drama, lame for an action film. I hope the idiot who once called Shyamalan the new Spielberg saw this film. He should kneel and tell us how he feels. And the Indian master should retire to sniff turmeric. Which, of course, will finally happen. Judging by the effects, this is a huge $130 million fraud.

I can hardly abstract from the emotional factor because, as in the previous episode, I felt at home swallowing Abrams' upgraded poetics of the rigid Federation and the less-clamped crew of the Enterprise to the fullest. In some ways, the flight into darkness is a little less consummate than its predecessor - it was actually atypically brisk, functional, dynamically connected and clever for a prologue. He built the foundations of a new mythology, paid homage to the old, and economically sketched the new chemistry of the characters. The sequel toils more with the explanation of some motivations and events, the last instance being deus ex machina, or a reference outside the world of film (to The Wrath of Khan, to the series episode "Space Seed", to the first Abrams ST, to the accompanying comics, etc.). As a result, Into Darkness may seem like a nerd encyclopedia with poor logic. To some extent, I agree. Anyway, if we abstract from the occasional naivety, unsuccessfully pointed dialogue, and a certain sparsity (or rather evasion) of the script, the film simply works. The film elegantly uses the established motifs, cleverly re-interprets familiar events with a raster of "changed reality", all while not forgetting to work with a key element of the new ST: the relationship between Kirk and Spock. In many ways, it surprisingly brings them together (fatherly motif, anger) while not only acting as a derivative of the original film duo. Cumberbatch in the role of Khan is probably the most successful transcript - he was able to combine a certain human fragility with the theatricality of Ricardo Montalbán, and he also acts as a catalyst: in some ways he is similar to Spock (superior physical and mental abilities), and in some ways to Kirk (obvious interest in improvisation and problems with self-control and order). In any case, he puts them both in a situation where they have to reconsider their basic attitudes and views on their service. Fortunately, he does not resemble in any way the "destructive fateful" villains that Christopher Nolan so masterfully constructed, but he is actually old-fashioned at his core (good old fashioned revenge). The new ST is primarily an attraction. At times, it seems that the obsessive fondness for thinking and rendering that the Star Trek series is famous for was set aside and was replaced by pure dynamics. Nevertheless, observing the ingenuity and dynamism of often parallel and precisely constructed actions brings almost infantile pleasure. So does experiencing bursts of nostalgia from familiar scenes that shine again and, despite a certain rational calculation, still work and enrich the new story. A film where everything is in place for me. Sometimes it's a bit mysterious how it got there, but ST simply offers enough for a viewer raised on Rodenberry's world to come to terms with it.

Even if I didn't know that the film was an adaptation of the novel, the film would make it known nonetheless. It is clear that the screenwriter tried to maintain a rough literary structure with a lot of relational nuances, but the result is roughly such that the characters act like mere sketches, the narrative is full of seemingly redundant digressions, and for most of the runtime, it is not clear what is going on and what the central theme is. I'm guessing that Fredriksson's masterpiece is a bildungsroman, but Lisa Ohlin tries in vain to make Simon into the strong center of the storytelling. There are simply so many of these motifs and twists and digressions, and it turns out that this is a rather cultivated mess overly burdened by the director's love for sharpened lyrical symbols. It amounts to film-compulsory reading, a collection of various visual clichés that rarely become truly full of life. It does not offend, but it also does not entice, and it does not succeed at creating credible development of the protagonist at all. Average.

OK, when it’s Refn, I absolutely don't mind and have never minded superficiality. Not even being a poser. I always felt something more behind it - vibration, a unique vision, the ability to captivate through image. Only God Forgives is the first time that ostentatious self-affection and the importance attached to every (albeit non-plot) shot has severely bothered me. The entire film is actually the anti-thesis of Drive, an image of a passive, incompetent, insufficient, castrated protagonist, on whose side are neither justice nor sympathy. Unfortunately, Gosling's pleading gaze into the camera seems sometimes tragicomic, similar to the didactic repetition of castration motifs and the emphasis on the archetypality of the plot (sometimes horribly didactic). The plot element is as truncated and frustrating as the protagonist - it's certainly not a fail - it's an intention, a rather mischievous creative intention, which Refn ostentatiously presents to us. Disconnection, inconsistency, extraordinariness - what made sense to me in Valhalla Rising as a lyrical poem resonates in Only God Forgives as an empty and pompous mannerism, gratification of the armless, sometimes even rebellious and strenuously aggressive. Mechanical declamations, the absence of logic, a bizarrely interconnected world in which the only possible order rules - the order of the director's ego. For me, a completely empty pose, empty enough to frustrate me. A few scenes are, of course, masterful (the fight, the chase through the city, ending with a recipe for a funny wok pan), but the enchantment of the whole faded. Nicolas Winding Refn reduced to excess.

Democracy as a sexy product and Pinochet destroyed, among other things, by free-market marketing rivalry? Despite the detachment of the introduction, for me this film represents an ideal synthesis of retro consistency of Good Night, and Good Luck (whilst noting that thanks to the masterfully meaningful television look, it goes a bit further) and the fun of Frost / Nixon (those collages of spots are fantastic). In addition, thanks to the great Bernal, the intimate plane also works. No is a drama / para-documentary that seamlessly combines records of history and fiction, but it does not do so to convince us that it captures the pure truth of history, but rather to show how our civic experience of truth is always necessarily mediated, truncated and distorted. In the end, luck and people with baguettes in a basket always work best. Good evening.