Marigold

First of all, interpreting the first half of Captain America through the prism of the espionage genre requires a relatively high degree of tolerance for the reckless and simply transparent twists, but which, I’m afraid, also leads to disappointment about halfway through, when inevitability comes to the fore and the Captain reminds us that he can hardly break the Avenger’s rules (in a way, the IM3 twist is much more subversive, but it somehow fits into the humorous style). In other words, for me, this film maintains a stable level of simplicity. To perceive it as a subversive and overlapping moment, when the symbol of American war propaganda plays out on the aggressiveness and unscrupulousness of US foreign policy, requires a certain degree of leniency. The true and authentic values are not particularly endangered, because the main character carries them from beginning to end. In this respect, Marvel films do not test the integrity of their heroes much and they bend the world to their image (no one is going to tell me that not only is contemporary America troubled by the snooping of citizens and "leaks", but also by the problem of internal enemies and denazification). But no more criticism. This is truly a superstructure that one can / does not have to build. Otherwise, the Captain ticks off the Marvel blockbuster box par excellence. The film has the best directed action of the entire Avengers series (great kinetics and physical contact surprisingly survive without opacity and 3D glasses). In his muscular version of Grandpa Simpson, Chris Evans still finds enough fragility and goodness, the supporting characters have their "careful magnetism" and this time the storytelling does not suffer from overlong exposition. Although it makes it difficult for me to get emotionally hooked on it, I still have a good time. Definitely one of the three best Avenger films. [75%] P.S. Out of competition: isn't the Marvel Universe a little too divergent and unmanageable? Terrifying destructive objects levitate in the air, and one wonders ... where the hell is Tony Stark?

The best comedy about real socialism, which has elegance, audacity and a great protagonist. The question is whether, in the case of the biography of one of the iconic (and certainly problematic) characters in the fight against communism, this is necessarily a win, or just a reasonable compromise. As soon as humor disappears from Walesa and it starts "documenting" (the middle strike passage), its considerable dramatic flatness stands out. However, ranked in terms of Eastern European lessons from history, it is above average. [70%]

Animals and Manicheans. How do you combine a disaster feature film of biblical proportions with an intimate drama about a father / sons relationship, succession and the moral implications of being "chosen" by the Creator? It’s labor-intensive. Noah alternates between the successful tricks, but at the core ordinary "big compositions" on the border of post-apo, fantasy and new age screensavers with very intimate positions. These are characterized by Darren's precise work with detail of faces and Libatique's contact-raw filming. The first half, which ends with the epic battle of the Ents with the goblins, offers more flashes of attraction, which the more cohesive second half surprisingly takes advantage of. The intimate drama on a schooner full of sleeping animals and Old Testament cruelty has intensity, overlap, and a wonderful thing called the Russell Crowe factor (considering that at one point he plays Noah, Abraham, and himself, it's a gargantuan performance). It is a pity that another dove of peace in the epic breadth of the post-catastrophic landscape kills the impressive catharsis in the form of a gesture, and also the discovery that the whole metaphysical framework of the "creator" is in fact more of a purposeful machination ensuring that "fantastic" things happen in the first half, whilst in the second half heaven is significantly silent and impressively torments the hero. Unfortunately, Noah's message is New-Age banal, i.e., "treasure all living beings, respect them, and multiply in the love that exalts us above innate evil." Noah simply sways between shallow spiritual pop-up and unexpectedly good details. P.S. The greatest miracle of creation is just Divine Emma, isn't it? [60%]

Before the screening, Western producers, irritated by the word propaganda in the Febia program, needed to consistently ideologically orient us in their work. What we learned was: Comrade Kim Goes Flying is an apolitical work, universally human, aimed at the North Korean audience and groundbreaking in several respects, when, for the first time in the history of local cinema, it places the protagonist at the forefront, allegedly emancipated and making decisions of her own free will. Of course, we can perceive Comrade Kim's suffering as a cute, clumsily-told and "deeply human story", but that requires a degree of ignorance from us. First of all - there can be no question of any emancipated and independent protagonist. Comrade Kim's decision-making and her "always higher" rise is always motivated by a collective framework that serves as a corrective and encouragement where the individual fails. Comrade Kim Goes Flying it is not a story of the triumph of the individual, but of the strength and determination of the working class, which I did not invent, because the characters in the film repeatedly emphasize it. The subject always acts here in a firmly hierarchically defined framework of power, at the top of which stands the Leader, who has decided that the world will be as it is (which one of the characters again tells us when Comrade Kim doubts the most). Alleged universal humanity is exactly what every ideology plays at, and it doesn't matter if the Leader-Sun rises above it, or a marketing phrase about the fulfillment of dreams, which could, as far as I know, be the slogan of a bank. In this regard, the "anti-propaganda" statement of the creators can be taken as the statement of a masturbator who, being caught with his cock in his hand, claims that he is not masturbating, but rather that he is caressing his limb. What Comrade Kim Goes Flying tells us about North Korean cinema: human automatons are acting here who demonstrate emotions (especially joy) in a way that ensures there is no doubt about what is going on. The camera anchors these emotions in a clear environment (when the comrades talk about love, boats decorated with flowers full of dating couples sail in the background). The humor is limited to harmless family squabbles and grumbling grandfathers. The scenes of "building" and collective fun are partly taken from documentary films, which can be seen in the quality of the visual. The situation where the characters of the workers "build" a new house, which consists of plastering a monstrous panel ruin, remembering the young years of Kim Jong-il, is the best ideological "slip of tongue" of the entire film. If we summarize the ideological ground plan, the narrative pattern and motivational structure, Comrade Kim Goes Flying is essentially a model product of Stalinist lack of conflict, and rather than "Juche Flashdance," it evokes Sequens' Way Leading to Happiness. The question of what the audience does with a film like this is up in the air. A) they are outraged by the propagandistic stupidity of the criminal system, B) they laugh at that naivety and quietly rejoice that they have the upper hand over the "heroes", C) they are annoyed to death, because the film offers nothing revealing at all and very little stimulus, even for propaganda lovers. In any case, it is not entirely clear to me what this "cultural exchange" between East and West was supposed to achieve. The producers most of all resemble tourists who travel to North Korea with a tour group, go through the "Indian reservation of totalitarianism" and end up at a dance of rosy children, because, of course, "it's beautiful when children rejoice". But it is not that simple. Not even Comrade Kim's square somersault. P.S. In connection with Žižek's metaphor of insight from ideology as glasses that we are afraid to wear, the question arises whether similar films are not popular with Western audiences mainly because they confirm that he does not need any glasses, because "he clearly sees the delusion".

An excellent disturbing prologue, but the next hour or so was lazy. Unclear motivations of the characters, very convulsive work with a retrospective that pretends to be tied to one of the characters, all whilst cheerfully mixing perspectives. An unnecessarily melodramatic voice over, uncertainty about how to actually perceive The Hour of the Lynx - as a detective story? a thriller? a psychological drama? The traditionally very civil and subdued Sofia and Kragh-Jacobsen, who is manneristically enchanting with the connection of detail and the soundtrack, color and environment, both keep it up to par. There is nothing in it beyond art exhibition, but at least it looks nice. Then comes the point, which in the true sense of the word is redemption, for the characters and the viewer. A magnificent film in a film composed of short fragments, clearly demarcated images, lyrical verses about love born of swearing captured in an almost fairy-tale composition, where wires running into nothingness touch the voice of the divine. The Scandinavian concept of spirituality and at the same time a taciturn milkman. Things are finally starting to make sense, the question is whether it may be too little late. The point is again pushed into the last piece of knowledge spoken aloud. It’s too bad, because greater economy of expression and more fragmentation would suit it better. Also because all of the attempts at causality end confusingly and half-heartedly in The Hour of the Lynx. In the end, the best aspect is the cruel spiritual core of the whole story, which I admit got to me.

The moral imperative in me and the starry sky above me. A semi-ultimate dialectical existential detective story (until about the 5th part), followed by a procedural metaphysical thriller / horror, referring to the tradition of storytelling fools of the 19th and early 20th century. The conclusion is like a bromance written by Immanuel Kant. Overall, one of the most interesting projects in the history of TV, which suffers a bit from the imbalance of the script, but then balances it with perfect directing, set design and acting. If there is a consistent and meaningful counterweight to Scandinavian noir, it is True Detective. However, True Detective also properly teaches the "Nordic" combinatorics about straightforwardness. [90%]

Western civilization in the grip of threats from all available real and mythological spheres. Bizarre and magnetic, yet subtly moving van Warmerdam's playful morbidity closer to phantasmagoric realism... [85%]

Breathtaking gymnastics of film speech able to create extremely precise sets with a completely economical reperotary of movements. Synergies of seemingly incompatible atmospheres, twenty years of life contained in several taciturn temporal and spatial planes. Landing on both feet. Without walking up hill. Please teach the way in which Hajdu encompasses standardization in several semi-details. In addition to Václav Kadrnka, there may be other Czech artists who will understand that often a look at the curb will say more than a flashy retro panopticon with comedians in overalls.

SPOILERS: It's too bad that Andrea Sedláčková paradoxically makes things easier for her characters. Not so much on the level of physicality, which is one of the film's strengths, because the ability of Fair Play to slip into physical intimacy and be an unpleasant experience goes beyond domestic customs. The film is "easy"on a moral level, in which it depicts the failure of characters who either do not know that they are failing (Anna), or failing because they are forced to do so because of good intentions and resistance to the system (the mother). From a certain point of view, Fair Play can come off as a chain of creating an alibi for what could provocatively be a "sick parental ambition" in another context. The film is not so much about doping in socialist sports as it is about (from my perspective) a less probable scenario where anabolic steroids serve as a desperate attempt to escape the dull machinery of normalization. It's nice that Martin's colleague tells Anna "don't take it if it’s not allowed", but Anna doesn't have to deal with this dilemma at all in the end. In fact, there is no one to doubt, because even the mother does it purely in bona fide and eventually symbolically "pays" for it. Fair Play is such a pleasantly digestible soft drama, which is undoubtedly engaging and well-told, cleverly shot, but also extremely descriptive and semantically unambiguous (does the mother still have to throw up by the garbage cans after a suggestive interrogation on Bartolomějská street? Does the director believe so little in the effect of that scene? This is another one of those films where the little guy morally triumphs over the machinery of power, while the failures are secondary and actually only serve to highlight the fair play attitude of the protagonist. I think that this greatly undermines the impact and reach of the testimony. [60%] P. S. I admit that I made my own film in my mind, where the famous fate of the socialist bloc at the LA Olympics would be a cruel joke for the protagonist. It is probably because I am attracted by the fatalistic vision of the recent past, in which the little lies and compromises eventually catch up with the characters.

Wes and his animated woods, this time in a cabaret version of The World of Yesterday: Memories of a European. The film is best described by the quote dedicated to the main character: "His world came to an end long before he entered it." Unlike Zero, however, I seriously doubt that Anderson handles this paradox with grace. Unfortunately, I am already able to guess ahead of time the points and camera movements, and the cameos of the stars. The story is less inventive than Murder in a Parlor Car Compartment, and it's hard to tell if an alibi with nickel-and-dime novels will stand up (these are full of twists, which The Grand Budapest Hotel is not in its linear caricature). As soon as the enthusiasm for the artistically beautifully grasped retro faded away (if we can call a style retro that is freely reminiscent of something old, but does not even correspond to it), I found myself in a sequence of dynamic and loosely connected gags that float in an approximate intellectual goulash of references, paraphrases and winking. Anderson is so fascinated by the veneer of his toy industry that, when you finally make it to the melancholic finale, you are almost sorry that he has devoted so much time to characters and scenery that are beautiful but totally flat. The Grand Budapest Hotel captures an artist at the height of narcissism, who misses what is really interesting under the influx of colorful props and grotesque gags. No doubt more fun than the desperately overrated Moonrise Kingdom, but otherwise similarly meaningless.