Marigold

A slightly anemic affair that’s halfway to a radical feminist statement and halfway to a more traditional impression of the life of a celebrity, which demolishes the conventional ideas of a beautiful empress. Krieps is once again excellent, but directorially it's pretty weak, it's overworked, and the occasional provocations like a guy with an earring, a forgotten mop or modern music don't quite save it. Kreutzer returns to the popular theme of female restlessness and overcoming inner turmoil, and adds a piece of imperial impotence and dead Habsburg conventions. However, the actual corset of the concept doesn't quite make it through, and the cry of defiance is rather lost in it.

I'm at peace with it. It's totally unbalanced directorially (the juxtaposition of the opening Jedi Temple scene and the utterly parodic chase between the robbers and Leia is relentless), and script-wise it's a mess, with characters meeting and leaving as if being in the middle of something substantial. It suffers from the Disney SW syndrome - it has terribly limited boundaries because we know where it's going, and it narrows them even further by bringing in completely unnecessary familiar characters in a central role. However, as a collection of pretty set pieces, the dark atmosphere of the Inquisition period and a grim Ewan, who could pull emotion out of a pile of dried dung, it just sort of works. Setting aside the fact that even the best new character, the obsessed Third Sister, doesn't make much dramatic sense in the end, and the expected duel between Ben and "you know who" ends with one team's premature exit to the locker room, it's actually a reasonably entertaining and atmospheric series worth a single watch from a world that's beginning to resemble a coal pit. However, the producers should have come to terms with the fact that a Leia who has barely stopped wetting herself and a digitally-smoothed boomer Anakin might not be what SW fans want.

This is a concise, factual and chilling reconstruction of one of the most bizarre kidnappings in history. It's pieced together purely from period footage, it explains nothing, it puts nothing into context, and instead it just soberly captures 54 hours and a nihilistic media farce that turned into quite a brutal tragedy. I have a soft spot for these procedural-edited films, and I haven't enjoyed one like Gladbeck in a long time. "Ich scheiß auf mein Leben."

A totally unworkable plot of repetitive action scenes that jumps like a flea only to finally retell what has been told several times before, but in a much more clumsy and emotionless way. The screenplay is a disaster, the direction of the action scenes follows the Bourne Bond axis, but it is not very skilled at that either. In the end, it's a mix of cluttered dinosaur MMA and Sir Attenborough having a severe stroke.

A deliberately apathetic crime story about tired justice and one case that becomes a nightmare for the lone commissioner protagonist. It’s a highly relevant depiction of violence against women and institutional victim blaming, but above all a beautifully depressing procedural about hope and futility. After Only the Animals, Moll is great once more.

An uncompromising moral procedural about the loss of the teenage protagonist's virginity. There is something more at play here besides virginity - the first (and perhaps crucial) compromise with communist power in 1970s Romania. Precise, anticlimactic (probably the only flaw in its beauty), and highly relevant.

The film elegantly demonstrates the distorted optics of the teenage victim and the true nature of sexual violence in a family, which is not about hurting, but rather a complex manipulation of what we consider normal. An amazing performance by Zelda Sampson.

The Northman is the kind of film that I'll probably be more disappointed with the more time that passes since I saw it. Robert Eggers has never been a storyteller for me, more a master of atmosphere and sinister impressions. That works best here too, coupled with great pagan music it is a wonderfully meaty ritual in places. Unfortunately, the story isn't helped much by Sjón, who writes scripts as statuesque mythic scenes with no discernible arc or catharsis. The fact that it was made into chapters is pretty weak, it's dramatically underdeveloped and the rich visual mythology is a bit flat at times. The highlight for me is the creation of Kidman, who may have the look of a modern woman, but has all the demons of the North in her eyes. The same goes for Skarsgård. This is what Tarzan was supposed to be like. In a nutshell, I'm in danger of forgetting this film, made just for me, the day after tomorrow. Refn's Viking fetish Valhalla Rising is still stuck in my heart.

This is an ideal case of a film where both the kids and the old man, who appreciates the Borat references and actually enjoys the starkly simple model of the theft of all the basic superhero clichés, had a wonderful time. A napkin would really be an unnecessarily generous area for the plot of Sonic 2, but never-mind. Fowler has once again created brisk and edible family entertainment that doesn't run out of steam and even has something of an emotional edge. With the number of video game adaptations, I dare say that both Sonic films are essentially the only ones that hold up completely fine. They don't try to be anything they are not and are as carefree as that blue hedgehog in sneakers. And most importantly they have Jim Carrey, whose performance carries them just fine.

Of course, it's a pity that the asshole with the appearance of a degenerate Monty Python squire didn't live to see it, but that's a small blemish on the beauty of a precise and detailed documentary that explores in detail the cult and gradual power immunity of one celebrity. I knew nothing about Savile, so I appreciate this documentary immensely. It's excellently constructed dramaturgically (with a minor reservation about some of the repetitions), and the second episode is very strong in the victims' testimonies and in how loyal love for "one of us" suddenly turns to disgust. However, this British horror accurately reveals the hypocrisy behind a whole host of favored perverts. Savile is monstrously fascinating, with its human facade, the network of institutional protectors, and its appalling boil of bigoted Catholicism. Since I don't believe in hell anymore, at least let them fry nicely in a similarly well-done investigative piece.