Marigold

A pleasant genre piece that, after three parts, has no problem keeping the tone set by a somewhat overcomplicated pilot. Interestingly developing characters and the two biggest badasses of the current series - rat killer Vasilij and maestro Satrakian ensure a sufficient supply of platelets. Viggo Nekromortensen Thomas Eichhorst on the other side of the river only completes the beautiful panopticon. The fear that the wheels will fall off and everything will start going in circles disappears in part five. As soon as the fight for life and death begins, The Strain gets going in exactly the way that pulp demands. Te Nosferatu commando and the formation of vampirological-deratization-virological revolts are explicitly top moments.

A sympathetic horror hipster that works quite well as a "coming of age" story about uncertainty, but worse as a genre piece. The attack attempts by ghosts in make-up are stupid and bring the film down. Although Mitchell has a good sense for visuals, the design (Detroit again) works best when it comes to working with tension and space, but it's not particularly inventive (the scene on the wheelchair is explicitly amateurish). I value the effort to update and the overlap, but the result is only slightly above average.

After watching the pilot, I can't shake the impression that the creators love le Carré's novels and the recent TTSS film adaptation. Cold, methodical, looking into photogenic and strangely withdrawn compositions as well as mysterious, inaccessible and unsympathetic characters. A smart approach given the topic. I was very intrigued. Edit after seven episodes: this series is made average by incredibly didactic and clumsy directing. I understand the fact that Blick as an author tends to emphasize every detail, but the result is indigestible theatricality, which becomes unbearable episode after episode and culminates in an inadvertently comic attempt at drama at the end of the 7th episode. If I have tried to ignore partial scenes and details so far, this can no longer be overlooked. Critically the most overrated series of the season.

Don't worry. A muted account of the traumas of history, an intimate detective story about identity and a film that deceives through its name, because the core of its power lies not in the beautiful but passive eyes of the nun, but in the electrifying character of Aunt Wanda (yes, this is a character no one here would want to play or write because she is a communist and is not portrayed as a lefty from hell). Pawlikowski looks at his characters through obsessively arranged frames, in which new-wave nostalgia, sacral chiaroscuroes and, in some places, the Kaurismäkie dance retro all meet. There is a bit of mannerism in it, and at the same time the film achieves a noticeable distance, which on the one hand is detrimental (it may be too withdrawn), on the other hand beneficial (the film does not fall into sentiment and defending / judging historical injustices and excessive psychologization). Ida is an extraordinarily clean and understandable (which is rare) shape that hides much of the drama beyond what is shown. It remains very strict and pleasantly reserved until the last moment. In a good way, a "noble" film that is always needed. [80%]

Dense, emotionally very rich, layered, fun and charming work with effects and "inhuman" protagonists, who take most of the space from their counterparts made of flesh and bones, which we simply don’t get to see that much (a slightly "sketched" Oldman, for example). Reeves has a more distinctive style than Wyatt, and it must be said that the use of long steady cam rides or a static camera in a few larger action sets is very refreshing, while giving the world of Planet of the Apes a prudence that goes beyond frenetic blockbusters. The tricks do not act as a self-serving tool for arousing astonishment, but rather as a deft means of characterizing characters with limited ability to express themselves verbally. In the same way, the action forms part of a compact and intertwined whole, which is characterized by surprisingly sensitive work with a detail of a monkey's face (not only a symbolically mirrored introduction and conclusion), but the film is brought down a bit by some partial clumsiness in the narrative. The film does not focus on simply entertaining, but truly strives to create a functioning universe, the possibilities of which deepen with each film. Also exciting is the way in which it "distributes" sympathy for "non-people" and makes them the bearers of our own historical dilemmas and failures (Caesar and Koba - sic! - as two faces of the revolution and the effort to create a functioning community). That's why Planet of the Apes is currently the most interesting "running" blockbuster series and Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is a film that stands out enough in this year's fierce competition to call it the best high-budget affair thus far. For me, it’s even a bit more convincing than the first film. [90%]

A similar case as Stations of the Cross: a young creator, a radically different concept, a captivating design. Enchanting choreography of camera trajectories and sign language by deaf characters, silence transformed into the most intense sound of all, and precise work with familiar storytelling, which allows one to understand the sign language even where we do not know its exact meaning. An overwhelming finale that balances on the verge of exploitation, but thanks to the director's consistency, gives an uncompromising KO.

The terrible disadvantage of festivals is that a film that would otherwise be amazing to someone only comes off like a very solid piece, even if it is a historical endeavor. Linklater has no competition in the subtlety of observing everyday embarrassments and sorrows, nor in how simply he accentuates the beautiful burden of transience in his films. In this, Boyhood is as captivating as the "Before" trilogy. Truthfully, however, I expected him to distill even stronger emotions from the theme of adolescence and the natural transformation of characters, and an even more precise web of connections (unfortunately, some attempts to use motifs from the past feel very forced, such as the Mexican gardener character). But I will not pretend to be disappointed at all. Boyhood reveals the power of the film medium as a fictional memory and the beauty of unpretentious filmmaking language, which demands nothing by force, but rather deserves everything honestly. [80%]

True Detective from the sheltered workshop. Mesmerizing, as they say on sunny days when you can see the cliffs of England (and it's not raining). I rank the funeral mass among the funniest and best-constructed scenes I have ever seen in a film.

I like Xavier too much to write off this movie, so I gave him more and more chances. And he disappointed me again and again. The fundamental problem from my point of view is that Dolan's directing method is the same as the desire of his characters: "I am loved, but I want to be loved even more". If "brattiness" didn't bother me with his early films, in fact shallow pubertal diaries, enchanted by the possibilities of the media, then I can hardly bear it with a psychological melodrama of this type. I do not agree with the praise of the acting performances. On the contrary - it seems to me that Dolan does not direct his colleagues and lets them affectionately overdo the individual scenes beyond the point of tolerability (hysterical laughter, depressing Hebephrenic litany). Several times the film goes over the line even within the melodramatic license - the mother's visionary scene is simply cheesy, and karaoke with Bocelli has a naive amateur effect with the expressiveness of the montage of details. The fundamental problem for me is that even though Mommy has well-observed details, the arc of the relationship is based on excessive greed. Dolan hides behind the fact that his heroes are stilted, so his film, which is empathetic to their behavior, should also be stilted. But everything has its limits - and Dolan simply crossed it with Mommy. [50%]

There are no merit awards in Cannes, and Zvyagincev's screenplay deserves it. Precisely balanced by various genre elements, it works as an intimate study and an ambitious metaphor of Russian reality. Kolja's character is built precisely so as not to arouse pity during the film, but his last words ultimately function as a reminder of the deepest human helplessness. Leviathan is lyrical, perceptive, funny, composed with absolute balance and a masterful feeling for each shot (reflection of the introduction and conclusion, static units of the landscape). The work with crumbling architecture is unpretentious, while reflecting the protagonist's gradual downfall and a stale system, who automatically spews paragraphs, sublime words about truth and God to cover the hypocritical intoxication of power. The authorities are, in fact, similar to an excavator, which maliciously smashes into a dilapidated, rotten house of an ordinary person. There is something Russian pathetic, moralistic, soaring, beautiful and overwhelming. And it is good to realize that Zvyagintsev did not make a noble and insignificant artistic gesture, but rather a bold act that will probably at least affect his film career in Russia. [100%]