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I don't understand how such a gem could fly completely under the radar of attention or critical acclaim. I especially don't understand that they never made a second season was never made, but at least Phoebe Waller-Bridge was then able shift her attention elsewhere, making it possible for a second season of Fleabag to come about. Crashing is much wilder, more vulgar, and more straightforward compared to its more famous counterpart, so it would lose out in a direct comparison. However, thanks to Jonathan Bailey's explosive performance and the touching anti-love story of Melody and Colin, it's perfectly unpredictable and hilariously sharp, so I will gladly recommend it to anyone who doesn't entirely understand what I'm talking about.

Unexpectedly thoughtful and playful in terms of finding the pop culture references or the gags in the background. And yet for this very reason it is also spread out over too many genres, too its own detriment. Indeed, when the plot development started becoming beleaguered by screaming and tossing together ever more absurd scenarios, I again had to remind myself that I was watching a Czech comedy, where sometimes they just have to push the envelope. However, it is still an unexpected discovery with an admirable cadence of natural lines and an incredible situation where Jiří Havelka uses a fresh and unexplored cast to set a high standard for comedy, satire, and an escalating mosaic of supporting events.

Ignorance truly is bliss. Rarely today do I go to the movies blind, without the slightest knowledge of the premise or the cast. With Barbarian this was a double advantage because the question marks started piling up right from the first few minutes. It's a shame that the opening act is by far the best. Every little twist brings about a first-class thrill, and the last two minutes had me glued so tightly that I almost couldn't bear it. Unfortunately, the second and third acts, when compared directly, are a diluted, subversively told fairy tale that becomes weaker the clearer the who, what, and how become. When even the appealingly rational rules are violated in the finale, and the showdown begins so abruptly that I had to make sure I didn't accidentally skip fifteen minutes of runtime, it seemed almost a pity if you consider the massive yet rather quickly blown potential.

I can only regret that for so long Satoshi Kon was nothing more to me than just the creator of the now legendary Paprika. His earlier films struck me as small artistic experiments worth getting to only in a moment of leisure. But as I made my way through time to Chiyoko, it finally occurred to me what a great genius her creator was and what a huge loss it is that only four feature films came after it. He was unique in that his signature is not as immediately recognizable as those of his other famous peers. Perhaps only by having a beautiful, shy-looking girl in the lead role and by the musical aspect of Susumu Hirasawa's yodeling choruses. So why did I find Millennium Actress so enchanting? It is from its affection both for the audience and equally for the medium of film. There have been enough love letters dedicated to cinematography, but this one understands its audience. When a documentary filmmaker tearfully and passionately recites his idol's most famous lines, he speaks from the soul to all those who have ever looked at a movie poster with emotion. When combined with the universal and heavily used inspiring message that it's not the destination, it's the journey, you simply have no emotional defense.

A satire that refuses to be simple or one-sided. Thanks to that, it is surprisingly accommodating of the audience and anyone with even a minimally open mind can pick up on the winks, nudges, and jabs. And yet it could really have been just a bit more balanced. While for many the captain's dinner was the highlight, I far more greatly enjoyed exploring the individual vanities and snobs, as well as the unpredictable, slow, but daring final act. After all, the dinner is the scene everyone remembers because of its accessibility, but it's that very overcooked quality that harms it. It does show how difficult moments are inevitable for everyone in the world, but there are too many of these instances. I picked up on the metaphor of wallowing in one's own bodily fluids the first time around; I didn't need it repeated so many times. Triangle of Sadness is not easy to recommend because its unnecessary length can be a turnoff for a lot of people, but the question "How would I behave in such a situation?" keeps popping up and every time it sets off a whirlwind of questions, which are not easy to answer even for yourself.

It was agony to spend nine years waiting for Baz Luhrmann's next feature film, but at least in terms of the visuals, the editing, and the overall use of the author's characteristic mannerisms, Elvis didn't disappoint, quite the contrary. Everything shines, pulsates, and moves from side to side, from window to window, or over the rooftops exactly as the fans would have hoped. The problematic yet daring creative twist is the narrator. To distance oneself from the idolized icon and let someone speak who, even with the greatest objectivity, is the antagonist, could have resulted in an absolute screenwriting disaster. Instead, Elvis is more alive than other biopics, but also not always comfortable for the audience and sometimes even venomous. In short, it's as if Fletcher were telling us about Australia, or even if the Duke himself was guiding us with his voice after Moulin Rouge! – a completely different kind of emotional experience. I understand everyone for whom this change didn't land right, but I also understand everyone who felt that the creators were forcing them to start hating Tom Hanks. I stayed close to the enthusiastic fever of all the camera and sound tricks, but slightly bitter that all of Baz's films in the last thirty years have resonated with me a bit better.

Tetsurō Araki presents the best aerial action flick ever, one that surpasses even his own Attack on Titan. What's more, he openly references and even copies The Little Mermaid, gives an ecological wink or two, and emotionally elevates Bubble even to the level of Hayao Miyazaki or Makoto Shinkai. And I don't understand it. I truly expected this to be merely an aesthetically pleasing patchwork of everything possible, and I wasn't wrong. The surprise lay simply in the fact that anything and everything shook and moved me, literally in every aspect. I really didn't want to leave this version of Tokyo, and I would have preferred a series of at least twelve episodes. However, I understand that it could never have looked this flawless.

An uncompromising critique of everything and everyone. Critics, supporters, men, women, straightforward, fake, none are spared from Mike White and his ironic commentary on the current world. At some point, everyone wins or loses to some extent, because in life, you have to lose at least once. I will remember most fondly the tour de force performance from Murray Bartlett, whose chameleonic Armond keeps popping up in my memory even several months after watching. In the end, what holds me back from giving it the highest rating is the amount of space given to Shane. I understand the point of his storyline, but Jake Lacy is once again the king of unappealing characters just like in Girls. And what about you? Can you get the Hawaiian soundtrack full of "peekaboo" out of your head?

1st season – 90% – There are TV series where I hope for quality and there are those where I already pretty much know from the genre that it has to be good. And I have never been so convinced about any teen show as I am about Friday Night Lights. A combination of romance and sports, consistently topping the charts in genre rankings? I was defenseless against it. Especially since my all-time favorite series is One Tree Hill, which is thematically similar though set long after the teenage years. Many themes or characters seem like they could have come straight from it's little basketball brother, but the Friday Night Lights world shines differently. Much more civil and gentle (with storylines that very rarely cross over into soap opera territory), yet still in a slightly more family-oriented spirit. People talking about divorce or infidelity have a tough time in this community, because they pray before the game, during it, and after it, and even occasionally at a party when they're talking about the next game. That doesn't bother me since the story is set in Texas; I can believe that it's giving me an authentic experience. The games are a feast for the eyes, and the omnipresent handheld camera is especially well suited to them. As they decrease in number, even the least important match makes me tremble, even if these tense moments occasionally borrow from highly clichéd sports movie tropes. But with the wind of emotion at my back, I am willing to forgive even that. And because I enjoy the storylines about football, school, and relationships, I quickly settled in this town. I'm not giving it the highest rating just because some specific storylines and characters (Smash) entertain me less than the main ones like Tim or Lyla. But most importantly, I have become attached to the coaching family. Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton stole the series right from the first episode and prove why the phrase "Coach Taylor" is a pop culture term in the U.S. 2nd season – 70% – A bit of the wild, which might have flown in from another channel. I understand why the creators decided to spice up their sleepy town with new themes. After all, second seasons are perfect for that, since we've gotten to know all the characters in the first one, in the second one their personalities are explored and the plotlines move to the far limit of tolerance until sometime in the third or fourth season, when everything starts going back to its roots. Friday Night Lights follows this structure perfectly. Almost every teenager experiences a moment that doesn't quite fit into their character development. Julie is chasing happiness, Tim is balancing on the edge of danger and crime, and Matt becomes a Casanova, and that's just scratching the surface of the most widespread character about-faces. Lyla, Tyra, and Landry simply draw the shortest screenwriting straw, and even though they all handle it with aplomb, it's an unnecessary collection of clichés that becomes even more unnecessary because they get lost due to the writer's strike at the time. But through some incomprehensible mystery, I still want to live and grow up in this town, even though I can't understand the reasoning, either by the main characters or by myself. 3rd season – 80% – A return to the basics, where all the favorite story patterns are confirmed, the familiar schemes are switched out, and some constants leave. These moments are like a total emotional waterfall, no matter what kind of relationship the viewer has with the character. The moments when main characters step down caught me a bit off guard, but thanks to the endless charisma of the most important figure, I will gladly witness everything that awaits Dillon. Despite stretching the themes to the limits of credibility, I still feel at home here. During the bittersweet ending, when every emotion is reflected on the faces of the main characters in the archetypal way, I understood why this sports saga is turned to again and again in the U.S., even though the transparency of the individual motivations can sometimes be a bit too much for me. 4th season – 80% – The riskiest move a high school series can make. Partial restart with new characters, complemented by familiar faces, without a clear creative direction for them. The magical newcomer, Becky, immediately steals all the scenes, while Jess or Luke are surprisingly empty and unnecessary even in the most important moments. However, the whole season is primarily a somber story of three sad men, namely Eric, Tim, and Matt. They all feel that they have passed their prime and they are now just waiting to see what fate brings them and which way it will shake them. The way they rise from the greatest catastrophes or slaps in Texas plains never ceases to fascinate me. 5th season – 80% – It is almost unbelievable that such a popular and objectively excellent series could not avoid the hated creative move in almost every season where an interesting character from the previous season suddenly disappears, in many cases never to be mentioned again. Whether it was Waverly, Noelle, Santiago, or mostly J.D. McCoy, they all had more or less significant impact on the story and then disappeared and never came back. This is to be expected in teen dramas, but to have such a twist in reserve for literally every season is maddening for the viewer. This time, something similar happens even within a single season, when possibly the most important storyline comes to an abrupt end (Epyck) and a heavily promoted new character starts slipping into the background shots a mere few episodes before the final episode (Hastings). And yet the current storylines work perfectly. Michael B. Jordan stands out with his phenomenal performance, although his character Vince sometimes lacks appeal, he overshadows everything with his civility and believability. Luke is the complete opposite. The scripts repeatedly put him in the position of the nice, good guy, but I can't stand any of his decisions, and combined with Matt Lauria's stubborn or expressionless face, he is easily my least favorite main character. Despite that, I will always have a weakness for the Texas swan song. The returns of all the familiar faces, whether they last for a few episodes or just a few minutes, break my heart and prove how well-written the characters were. And with my weakness for bittersweet endings, I can't help but dramatically wave my hand with the winged phrase "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose!" on my lips.

Genre exploitation to the maximum. A romantic comedy that knows how to be truly romantic (that is to say thoughtful, deeply moving, and full of grand gestures) and equally humorous (and therefore absurdly crazy). I finally experienced Toradora after a long delay, fourteen years after it was created, when it was already an echo of the past. And yet I immediately fell into its madcap world with enthusiasm. School anime is a beautiful subgenre, and Ryûji and Taiga belong to its absolute peak. The enthusiasm with which the creators threw themselves into every occasion on the calendar, with Christmas in the lead, is unmatched.