novoten

I like That '70s Show because it was an innocent series, maintained consistent quality for a long time, and took place in a different era than when it was filmed. Nostalgia for the old days sold well, and after enough time had passed the idea of continuing with a new generation struck me as a good one. But appearances are deceiving: 90's Show ultimately loses in every aspect compared to its predecessor. It wants to be exactly the same. Or even better – it completely plagiarizes the original series in everything. It takes place in the same locations, revives or revamps forgotten storylines, and Nate and Nikki are a weak version of Kelso and Jackie. What's not the same, and what led to a disaster in the ratings, is the chemistry between the actors. More than ever, I realize how perfectly they managed to find actors for Eric or Michael, because there is no one like that in store this time. Or rather, there is: in double. Kurtwood Smith and Debra Jo Rupp function as two loving opposites this time as well, but the script gives them too much space, and considering Red and Kitty's age, these types of issues clash unpleasantly with the adolescent series of troubles of young Lei. I don't see any other positives in the series after its first season. And no, even the episodic appearances of familiar faces don't help. In most cases, they do a disservice to beloved characters and turn them into caricatures of themselves (Fez) or their actors (especially Laura Prepon) appear tired, as if they wanted to leave this fandom behind for good.

Be careful what you wish for. I used to love the years when a single film not only won Best Picture but also collected almost everything that came its way throughout the evening. My favorite titans of film, Titanic and The Return of the King, managed to pull it off, and the last work to achieve this – with eight statuettes – was Slumdog Millionaire, which seems relatively recent but was actually a long fourteen years ago. Since that time, every year has seen films of varying degrees of success, but it was only this year did that they found the true king of the evening. As luck would have it, this was also a winner I was somewhat unfamiliar with, I barely managed to catch a viewing of it, and out of the ten nominees it (understandably) appealed to me the least. And yet coming face to face with all the winners linked to the project and witnessing their sincere boundless joy, I accept the results almost immediately and without any difficulty, and I accept that this was not an unfair or undeserving victor, just one that had passed me by. The evening itself was entertaining, what with Jimmy Kimmel's return as the host and the associated effort to get back to optimism and entertainment instead of overcooked instructional monologues and inspirational yet unremarkable speeches. There is still work to be done, especially on the clumsy transitions practically in the middle of a sentence, but out of the last five years this one was the first I watched with enjoyment instead of out of a sense of personal duty.

I enjoy that even in the ninth movie from a single universe, there are still new topics to explore, combining motifs from forgotten episodes (Rocky III, Rocky V) and intertwining them with side storylines from Donnie's separate stories. I just wish that in the social drama, which was so believably built up in the first half, would constitute an even stronger and more daring effort to move away from the inevitable turn towards the ring. Fortunately, even there, Michael B. Jordan is incredibly confident in the director's position and despite rolling out all the expected genre clichés, he gives Adonis' character a touch of maturity. The intimacy is much appreciated, when amidst rhythmic beats, he is not afraid to slow down completely and let Jonathan Majors' charisma, as well as his own, have an impact.

Erich Maria Remarque is one of my most beloved authors, one I come back to repeatedly throughout my life, and I have long postponed reading the first German adaptation of his most famous novel and the one most required in school curricula. There were many rumors about an inaccurate or even arrogant revision, so I am now shocked by how good the adaptation is. Not necessarily as the adaptation of a work, but rather as the comprehensive work of the filmmaker. It is precisely in the much criticized storyline of the negotiations over the end of the war that a few words or sentences are used to express the eternal pain that also appeared in books taking place long after the conflict or between the world wars. The minds and thoughts of the heroes mostly only harbor complaints about the unnecessary prolongation of the armistice, which results in the deaths of many innocents. For greater effect, such subjectivity is replaced with infuriating images and feelings of injustice. In the front lines, it is not about which scenes from the book were successfully transferred to the film (although the famous unbearable waiting in the trench with the enemy does not go lacking), but about the atmosphere of damnation, despair, and eternal damage that permeates every minute. I'm ultimately giving this the highest rating despite the omission of the storyline that troubled me the most in the book. In it, the main character returns home for a few days while on leave and realizes that the kind of return he imagined will probably never be possible. That people who have not experienced the battles will never understand the trauma and horror that a veteran carries. Within the condensation of the plot and the insistence on the destructive environment of contact with the enemy, I understand such a change and am happy to look past it. Because the literary work was created almost a hundred years before this film, and the warnings are no less relevant.

A tale about a man who has decided to make a drastic change in his life, entirely inspired by Irish folklore. The more he talks about it, the less he actually pursues it, and his behavior not only makes less and less sense over time, but also begins hurting the people around him. Martin McDonagh usually amuses me with how cleverly he torments his characters and the audience, but this time he crossed the line of likeability towards mere exhibitionism. Despite being one of Colin Farrell's outstanding performances, most of the time it's all just form without any substantial content. The third star is for the heart-wrenching scenery and the rising star of Barry Keoghan, but otherwise it's a surprising disappointment and a creative warning.

An insurmountable pile of ideas, where the good ones are too short and the bad ones – or empty, bizarre ones – are too many. The more that was piled on the relatively trivial (although undeniably archetypal) central plot, the more I wished it had stayed with the quiet contemplation of two stones.

I find it hard to believe the contrast between the lack of knowledge of basic customs or words and erudite expressions on various topics. The attempt to achieve richness of thought is thus lost in the need to create the most basic dramatic arc. The apparent academic certainty hides in narrative austerity, in strong themes, and of course, in the presence of the eternal critical spotlight of Frances McDormand. And yet I felt quite deprived as a film viewer rather than a radio listener.

The Hangover meets The Great Gatsby. A trampled reel with La La Land inserted into the projector upside down. Above all, a pure ode to the joy of cinema and at the same time the shine and misery of great actors. Every time it seemed that Babylon was taking a breath for the final act, another twist came. And another one. From stabbing joy to sadness on demand, the most positive emotions hand in hand with pain. Damien Chazelle probably got an excessive budget for the last time and used it to the last cent for a film that too few viewers saw. But in creating this, he climbed so high that it takes courage to even follow him.

Grand shots of intimate life struggles and little scenes in which the most important things happen. Steven Spielberg has perhaps never built his classic family backdrops so high, illuminated with all manner of imaginary spotlights, and focused his attention solely on them. What's more, Janusz Kamiński's playful camera loves the landscape, architecture, and people so sincerely that The Fabelmans speaks to me in a much more optimistic language than you would expect from the story and some of its twists.

I acknowledge the power of the ideas in the intro, in the repetition of lines in front of the camera, in the challenge for the viewers, which is bold and objectively not very emphatic. What comes after that is just a repetitive game with patience and expectations, which is ruined by dubbing, visual noise, and unfortunately, also the approach of the artist himself, whose priorities before and after a viewing is how many people he can offend and how many will leave. At that moment, the boundaries of creative trolling pass from boldness to deluded intoxication with one's own abilities and makes us forget how much work it must have taken to make Jonestown look like this (ugly).