novoten

The essence of the Eleventh Doctor packed into a single viewing. If Steven Moffat ever faced a real challenge, it was the anniversary episode The Day of the Doctor. And if there was a task before him that could cause a nervous breakdown, it was writing another rule-changing piece that must resolve something, conclude something, set something in motion – and above all, move you. For some, it is an incomprehensible tangle that is only a shadow of the soul that the series had during Matt Smith's tenure. For me, despite the fact that the Eleventh Doctor will never be the hero of my heart, it is (perhaps because of that) a perfectly tear-jerking, nostalgic, and exciting ending. I will always remember...

The intertwined plotlines suit holidays in the Tardis as much as the childlike excitement from the previous two adventures, but they slightly distract from the actual essence of Christmas that characterizes the last Gallifreyan in this particular era. The circumstances then almost force me to label it the "weakest special," but that is probably due to the apparent hopelessness and sadness that even the Doctor cannot avoid and which this time remains deep in his heart.

Lots of joy, lots of childlike naivety, thrilling mystery, and exactly according to my secret expectations, a small dose of tears. Steven Moffat's standalone specials simply grab your heart with such force that the poignant moments from Doctor Who have become a pleasant Christmas tradition.

Though the fifth season in itself sufficiently indicated the possibilities of a new personality of the central hero, it was only during A Christmas Carol that I definitively understood that I will like the Doctor with Matt Smith's face. That's because this eternal story of past Christmases is not only magically mysterious, charmingly romantic, and perfectly nostalgic, but it also deeply touches the heart. It may not just be my favorite special, but after a moment of contemplation, also my favorite standalone story of this unruly traveler of time and space . His (so typical for this regeneration) thin line between a wise pilgrim and easily irritable child was never as clear as in moments with the tactless Sardick.

It's fascinating what different moods and emotions each episode can evoke. Romance, paranoia, a detective's chill down the spine. And Ben Whishaw is perfect in all these roles, and he truly shines in them. His vulnerability and shaky courage made me feel like anyone who has even a hint of faith and naivety could find themselves in such a situation if you look at it in the right light. With each twist, I kept thinking that it might not even be humanly possible to live up to the escalating intensity of tension to bring about a final resolution. Unfortunately, I was right, because the explanation before entering the last episode raises more questions than reassuring answers, and the finale itself tries to play too many notes at once. However, thanks to the brilliant previous plot, the sour taste of the failed ending is only partially present.

An overcooked start. There is a voiceover, an unreliable narrator, an attractive plot, and expensive art. After twenty minutes, only a hint of the original idea remains, which surprisingly, even by Danny Boyle's standards, fails to reach a sufficiently high level with its piercing visual and thunderous musical accompaniment. I am all for surprising twists or the denial of clichés through lively passion. However, all of this must not happen at the expense of the viewer's engagement.

The true essence of Star Wars, built on new characters who are fun, interesting, and above all three-dimensional, which is something I wouldn't have expected after the eternal division between the light and dark sides. Yet even more pleasing are the emotions of all the returns, reminiscences, and general nostalgia. The greatest triumph is the emphasis on a great adventurous story of self-discovery based on intimate family drama. Gone are the empty political talks that felt inappropriate and forced in all the previous installments, which is why The Force Awakens, with the exception of Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, is the only episode that I can fully enjoy. J.J. Abrams brings a subtly subversive humor that pleasantly undercuts even the most serious scenes and saves its most powerful moments only for the most crucial scenes. And when he combines the archetypal outlines of the original trilogy with the longing atmosphere of the new trilogy, I find myself wanting to see and know more. Much more.

Season 1 – 70% – If you blink you'll miss the joke; if you don't pay attention you won't know whose doing the killing. Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, and Ian Brennan rely on innuendos, winks, and openly parodic jokes with unstoppable speed. One of the funniest points of the whole murderous concept, however, remains how many people didn't understand it. I would never dare to explain to someone how they should interpret a specific genre in life, but the more users complain about Scream Queens being not scary enough and not seeing or wanting to see the humor, the more I have to laugh. Still, the Kappas are lacking much that keeps them from perfection. First, at least some, even pretended, coherence. The concept would work best in a full-length movie. This way, the search for the identity of the killer or other key characters is too fragmented with unruly nonsense. Not that Chad's self-centered monologues or the snarky jokes at the expense of Chanel No. 5 needed any further development. The key to appreciating the series, however, is admiration and respect for the main and supporting actresses. I would never have believed that Jamie Lee Curtis could get back in the saddle so quickly, and yet she steals every scene. The most appreciated scenes, of course, go to Ryan Murphy's favorite ladies, namely Emma Roberts and Lea Michele. Any one of their grimaces, grounding lines, or bewildered questions are pure gold. I enjoyed it, shook my head, enjoyed it again, but at the very end, I still need to know more. After everything that happened, a possible second season could be the real challenge. Season 2 – 70% – The guessing game of the killer doesn't work too well this time around due to the low number of new characters, and because there's no point in dragging it out, the creators reveal the truth quite early on. From that moment on, it intentionally focuses on mindless parody, which those who were complaining about that last year would certainly be unable to survive. Unfortunately, this also explains the very low viewership numbers, which were so low with each episode that I suspected the series was being watched by Czech pirates more than American TV viewers. However, the level of entertainment remains high because Abigail Breslin, in the role of the fifth Chanel, becomes even my favorite character, and she was the one I felt the most for when she was mercilessly pursued by the green monster. John Stamos was also a pleasant surprise, with his timelessly (?!) handsome doctor stealing the majority of scenes with his deadly comedic timing. If this is truly the end, I have even more positive feelings about it than the previous season.

Aksel Hennie was born for the role of the slippery Roger and the polished charisma of Nikolaj Coster-Waldau suits the film, but unfortunately, the originality was somewhere else. For every well-constructed idea or bizarre joke, there is also one wasted. I enjoy both the dramatic introduction and the chilling development of the thriller, but in the end, due to some minor simplifications, there is a lack of more satisfying twists. The Jo Nesbø source material has more lightness in it.

The most characteristic Steven Spielberg film in decades. No side is black and white, the main character played by the perfect Tom Hanks has increasingly clear human motivations amidst a thickening plot, and the technical aspects of the pivotal scenes (the plane, the wall, and ultimately all of Berlin) is so close and formally perfect that it takes your breath away. Despite the generous running time, you never get a moment to catch your breath, and every plot twist or complication forces me to spin my brain over and over again and think about how to maneuver out of the situation at hand. And that's where my only, yet all-encompassing, criticism is directed. Everything turns out exactly as I expected without knowledge of the given historical events. The painfully contemporary message reaches the viewer impressively, but there remains a feeling of being a bit shortchanged, which Steven brought on himself. In his hands, such a topic could not go wrong, but despite its formal perfection, it could have turned out even more sincerely.