Isherwood

This cannot even be reviewed ironically.

Sometimes I feel the need to internally analyze where exactly the error occurs in the creative process - when that honorable intention, which embarked on realization, reaches its "breaking point" and irreversibly withdraws before it even begins. Alternative truth-tellers then experience ecstasy and in powerful outpourings flood social networks with testimonies about what was produced for their monthly fees again. I see that as fuel for these slaves of media ego, for whom the spotlight is a distorted view of the world, the mantra of their lives. Whether the original format is whatever it may be, both the moderator and the guests sitting at the table have been outdated for about 20 years. Labeling truths and lies to the tabloids is like a lecture in elementary school. I see the turning point in poor dramaturgy that fears a sharper approach toward the real mess of the media space. To pick out that professionally processed stupidity, which soothes the hearts of conspirators, and confront it, describe and label it as true stupidity without hesitation, requires minimal effort, but it takes courage. Behind it stands a capable creative team, but one of the most conservative institutions in the Czech Republic covers it with its name. Forget about humor, Háma and Pawlowská have long lost their spark, this must slide into fair journalism, as otherwise, people will just laugh at it. It really saddens me, although I'll give it a chance. But it will have to detach itself from the bottom very awkwardly.

A polished diamond. Sure, it's a filmmaking exhibition by genre fans, but it reaches its peak in this third film. In those aesthetically refined backdrops (neon and rain always work), a festival of creative imagination takes place, which refuses to ease up and sprinkles one highlight after another from its sleeve. The uncompromisingly long, clear, and unrelentingly physical action scenes are in many ways borderline trance-like, and it doesn't matter if there’s shooting, flipping through a book, or ordering dogs around. The story is a phantasmagoria, and every other line is a declamation, but it springs from it quite a few ironic dialogues and comedy performances. It can't be pushed any further. And if it can, then let’s have a Reeves vs. Iko Uwais matchup in the fourth film, please.

The portal to another dimension no longer leads anywhere and has become secondary. At first, I felt similarly awkward as many people around me, but then the Duffer brothers take the reins in the last two episodes and it becomes a ride. Teenage love gushes forth in a mighty geyser, friendships are cemented, character transformations show a willingness to move on, a Soviet Terminator pops up here and there, and then you just lovingly savor the individualities. Like the phenomenal conversation in the vomit-stained toilets of the mall and with it the ice cream goddess Maya Hawke, the never-ending story when it all bursts into the right genre and the injection of distilled milking straight into the tear duct. The magic is gone, but the rest of the world keeps on spinning... and the upside down too.

Almost like Hitchcock, but only almost... It's got the fear in hand, and it takes very little to lead the characters in the right direction, the actors give it their all, and the basement apartment of an anonymous Prague apartment building reduces the play area with passing minutes amazingly. It is therefore surprising that everything is subject to a completely retarded screenplay, where Epstein forcefully pushes all those worn-out motifs of "home invasion" genres, but he wades in the mud of clichés and logical nonsense (MacGyver wouldn't be needed for those keys on the window frame!), while luxuriously burying it Kryštof Hádek's character, who turns a cunning brat into a violent scumbag with the snap of a finger, but without a real transformation, without the willingness to work more on the motivations. It's all downhill from there, with Bohdalová riding, Hádek flirting with the border of parody (but somehow holding it together), and the sophisticated ending, which is supposed to be a tough catharsis, you expect and kind of smirk at it... foolishly, ironically, and with relief. PS: I understand that Jiří Strach is a devoted Catholic, but he and Marek didn't say their "yes" in church, so it wouldn't be a sin to use another writer's text.

This is an event. The initial puzzlement has a quick half-life, as those disembodied moments eventually stand out more than the tangible pressure. It’s a screenwriting university on how to handle the "based on a true story" license while staying in observation mode. It’s a perfect study of human arrogance, lack of humility, and unwillingness to face the truth. A live broadcast of lies that has been coming to us for over thirty years. With all due respect to all the criticisms, the hype is well deserved.

The most exciting physics lecture of all time. A nuclear split between superb acting and clean editing. The speech about lies that owe a debt to the truth is a screenwriting pearl that appears only once a season.

...and reality is worse than any conceivable fiction. To hell with personal planes, here you don't look into the core, the core looks into you. Iodine tablets instead of popcorn.

Putting together such a complicated bit of revenge is quite the event. Especially when you choose unorthodox tools for it and come up with an even more complex scheme. Fortunately, retards work at the Olomouc police, so you can mow down more than you may have hoped for. The first two episodes are genre average, which don't handle tension very well, and the characters are more like cute caricatures (where the excellent Michal Isteník was the only one who understood his assignment) who rather awkwardly flounder in a heated situation than actually solve anything. Hřebejk does his routine, which needs to kill three Sunday evenings at all costs while being hindered by Jarchovský's screenplay, which turns the final episode into a pure hell of creative laziness, where banalities mix with nonsense. The ending tops it all off. It's not space for the audience's imagination, it's stupidity.

Here, reality plays to the (dis)advantage of the film medium. A paradox that will be built upon or undermined in future episodes. Factual accuracy as a means of detached narrative, which no one would believe in the field of fiction even if they wanted to. I want more of a relationship with the characters; otherwise, from the position of a neutral "documentary" with a generous budget behind it, it's a fundamentally missed opportunity.