NinadeL

It's okay, Emir just lives outside my universe. I find Goran Bregović's contribution unacceptable, as well as the imaginary fish and Depp's performance, who staggered then, just as now, between art films and commercial hits, and one could wallpaper one's room with him or let him go his own way.

I have not yet come into contact with Pascal Bruckner's novel of the same name, but it certainly deserves comparison with a film like Bitter Moon. The depths and corners of pathological love relationships are always challenging to process, and to achieve dialogue with the reader or viewer. It is only now that I realize how varied Polanski's work is, and at some point in quieter times, I will return to it contentedly. It is an eternal shame that his name is more of a case than a synonym for his work. Incidentally, the only fault I see here is the casting of Hugh Grant and Kristin Scott Thomas, who at that time were already too big of stars to play only supporting roles. The frame of that New Year's Eve night, the tightly packed environment of the ship, and the portrayal of the entire devastating romance as a confession addressed to a new victim are all good. In addition, the glossing Indian works ideally as a link between the old and the new world, which is a very wise decision.

I don't know Wim’s work yet, so this documentary was the ideal way to get acquainted with it. I’d like to believe it must have been beautiful in 3D. A light, educational, and above all aesthetically engaging narrative about the work of Pina Bausch. The beautiful soundtrack is a surprise. I can recommend this.

These are the "impeccable" films that have shaped generations. At the beginning, the protagonist declares: "I don't know." And that’s that. It's hard to judge what was decisive at the time, apart from the partnership with Antonioni. It's so simple to elevate indecision to an art. As long as it has a shape. Given the stock market fun and the recycled performance/non-performance by Delon, I consider it average. However, the last thing I want to achieve in life is to live through the entire tetralogy.

If anyone should have adapted the book "Perfume", it was probably only Tykwer, because a book with such a reputation requires a director of his caliber. It's a slight mindfuck in places, but I think it sufficiently rehabilitates the good aspects of modern German culture. Ben Whishaw is properly disgusting, Dustin Hoffman and Alan Rickman ensured the general public's attention and Corinna Harfouch and Karoline Herfurth added their inimitable faces to the whole.

I never really related to Jarmusch much (based on my experience with the poser-like Dead Man), but thanks to Broken Flowers and especially through his vampire fable Only Lovers Left Alive, I know he has a sense of humor. It's just not humor for everyone. So what's so wonderful about Broken Flowers? Bill Murray, of course. And the whole cohort of beautiful mature women. The tender Julie Delpy, the very sexy Sharon Stone, the fragile Frances Conroy, the refined Jessica Lange, and, last but not least, the wild Tilda Swinton. One can imagine a wonderful parallel to today's The Private Life of Don Juan. I only rarely share the feelings prescribed in the directing explication. I like slow-fading films.

The viewer's experience is somewhat spoiled by the fact that this is the imaginary climax of a trilogy whose first two parts were not released in the Czech Republic. I’m therefore reviewing this separately from them. Given the subject matter, I often thought of Holland's Europa Europa, during the screening, which is quite logical. Von Trier's formal exhibitionism here brings the combination of black and white and color film into the gears of the plot, the claustrophobic setting of the train compartments, so symbolic of the Holocaust, as if the schizophrenia of the first months after April 1945, viewed through the lens of a slightly naive American, were not enough. A challenging emotional film with a slightly surprising denouement.

The Hitchcock of the 1950s mostly includes all those famous films with Stewart and Kelly, and we see both of them in Rear Window right from the get-go. It's not bad. Watching the relationship of a chair-bound spoilsport with his leg in a cast and his efforts to break up with a frilly blonde whose only concern is her starched skirt. Thanks to the microcosm of the pavilion courtyard, this relationship nothing turns into an attractive detective story, and eventually, the relationship of the main characters turns into something worth paying attention to. Quite a pleasant experience, suitable for occasional repeated viewings.

These short story collages on the subject of capital cities are always problematic. After all, Paris after the year 2000 cannot be such a flat city of stories that fail to engage on their own and fit together as a whole. If I didn't take notes, after a few days I wouldn't even remember Tykwer's rather daring romance with Portman and the lovely ending of Payne, in which such a sweetly earthy American woman bade farewell to the city of all cities. Gérard Depardieu was a complete disappointment and what Natali made was absolute crap. 18 fragments are really too much for one film.

A very weak affair. An unimaginative shot-in-the-dark short story, which then as now attracted attention only by a bunch of familiar (but not interesting) names brought together. To start, we have a moment from the witches' coven, Madonna teases, Ione Skye shows her breasts and Valeria Golino is a familiar face, but no one knows her by name nowadays... and this group isn’t able to do anything together. Absolutely nothing. We continue with a story about how the couple has fun letting a busboy peek into their sex games, and yes, Jennifer Beals was and is sexy, but nothing more. Then we witness Rodriguez's prequel to Spy Kids. Okay, then. And the ending? He tries to convince us, in the words of Quentin himself, that Four Rooms is not complete bullshit, but rather that it holds together. That is the biggest mistake of all.