Marigold

A bitter tale about a paranoid dad who kills a couple of ugly Arabs and Albanians on a trip to Paris, so that his princess’s luck doesn't run out and she doesn't end up on the gerontophile stick of a wicked rich man. From a rather illogical and sometimes sentimental spectacle, Morel and Neeson create an incredible adrenaline rush full of brilliant action and rough one-liners. I haven't seen such perfectly edited and frantic action for a long time, and they use almost exclusively very economical choreographies. One then forgets that the story doesn't really make sense at all and is only there as decoration.

It’s the opposite of the book: the filmmakers replaced the excellent exposition with a lifeless tour of Roman monuments in the company of the haughty pawn Tom Hanks, whilst the ridiculous finale in Brown's book was a replaced by a rather solid and visually interesting climax. Undoubtedly positive is the performance of Ewan McGregor, and negative the fact that the mysterious and thrilling pursuit of symbols lacked decent acting and directing, and was without a hint of invention and emotion. Langdon simply has a big problem in books and movies in that he still doesn't know if he's more of an action hero or an academic windbag. In literature, this can be somewhat tolerated, but in film it leaves a very bad impression. I round up the score given the last few final minutes. However, I consider Tom Hanks' involvement to be a historical mistake. In the next film, the poor gay will not even fall through the eyepiece of the Pantheon. There’s no way he swam those 50 laps in the morning. Well, maybe with a motor up his ass.

The atmosphere, which is as thick as pure gold, is considerably diluted in the middle by a) digital monstrosities b) black-ass agitation. Point a) is well balanced by Lawrence's strictly authentic directing and Smith's charisma, but unfortunately, point b) remains hanging in the air menacingly like a rotten crucifix. The raw and hopeless prelude directly tempts to leave it at it is, because the resulting depression would definitely be more impressive than a nice village with a church and God on a cloud. Despite the final "apage satanas", I enjoyed the film. If it wasn't afraid to stay in the declining genre, it could paradoxically be much higher. P.S. If it weren't for the coward producers, the alternative ending would have ironed out the final impression...

One of the smartest movies of the year. It's not so much the idea, but rather the way Blomkamp updated the genre. District 9 has everything one can ask for from dejected offshoots, moreover in a completely sophisticated package. And the idea of using a documentary not only as an authenticating component, but above all as a means of explaining abbreviations, simply deserves recognition.

Simon Wells is admirably clever in that he was able to glue together this slushy band of time cards into at least a bit of a fun sequence... but it is a futile endeavor to look for something above-average and lasting in this train wreck between Planet of the Apes and a Jules Verne Disney adaptation. I am adding a star for the likeable Guy Pearce... and for the fact that my evening went by quickly.

A quality Moore-like film which tames a certain degree of its own demagoguery with foresight and self-irony. Its stubbornness and radicalism is not a bad thing at all, especially when one considers the cruel distortion of the state apparatus – the populism of Pavel Bém and the technocratic blabbering of Mirek Topolánek, etc. The traffic situation in Prague deserves a similar constructive provocation, and if you prefer a bike to a car, you will like Auto*mate.

I don’t get it. Formally brilliant and complete (the harmony of music and image should serve as an example to other Czech films), and when listening to the dialogues you do not feel like someone is jamming a rusty corkscrew into your ear canal (even during the “I you love" expressions). When you are watching the story you feel that someone put some thought into it and presented to the viewer something that is noticeably missing. A plastic and non-hysterical image of succumbing to the magic of ideology, however primarily motivated by good intentions. A psychologically elaborate drama in which much more general features of the relationship between man and "history" are revealed on a protectorate backdrop. It's sarcastic, sophisticated and it has power. The image of riding a bicycle when watching it again is a phenomenally simple, and at the same time corresponding metaphor of any totalitarianism for me. Without the peddling man who seemingly has no influence on what is happening behind him, the illusion would not be perfect. Protector is a film that for years I have been longing for - mature, reflective, and it is free of Czech nonsense and stagnation. I forgive the mistakes. Love is blind.

A demented film about demented things, which tries to be relevant and to be above things, until it becomes completely tangled up in all-encompassing dementia... the only thing worth seeing in it is the musculature of Gerard Butler and the slow-motion off-road flying. Other than that, I'd rather see the Taylor - Neveldine directing duo in a soulless action film again, because this dystopian satire is ridiculous. It belongs somewhere in the preserve of Casper Van Dien and Canadian D productions.

Despite the perfect atmosphere, beautiful art aspects and great action, 9 is only about halfway there. Mainly due to a stereotypically constructed story, which also relies on a rather agitating and moralizing tone. One could deal with that if at least the handling had not been so wanting, and dramaturgy was also not done well. Even the characters are shallow and forgettable sketches voiced by stars. It's a bit of an issue when the screenwriter writes a weak Christian fairytale and the director tells the story as a raw apocalyptic horror. However, it is worth seeing for the bizarre world on the edge of World War I and cyberpunk... Especially if you like Bioshock or Fallout. :o) [70%]

An undertaker loads an anonymous deceased person into a broken-down furnace in front of the bereaved. The national anthem is playing in the background. This scene has everything – the directors are the undertaker, a spectator is sitting amongst the survivors. Absurd cremation of taboo and correctness, fantastic acting and the sly style of Monty Python storytelling. I assume Francoise Rabelais would enjoy this farce, pissing on the head of the system with grace and a surreal passion for the nonsense of the mundane.