Lima

Kirk Douglas's performance is as passionate and expressive as Vincent Van Gogh's paintings are passionate and expressive. The film does make a lot up as part of its Hollywood license, but Kirk gets you through it. Also a plus for the cinemascope format, which was not standard in the 50s. I avoid dubbed films and prefer the original version, but here I have no choice but to say that Karel Höger was excellent. Not very valid, the old dubbing in K.M.Walo's time was really good.

Thanks for my beloved Pink Floyd in the opening, but otherwise, please disregard this God-knows-what episode of the cancer of the contemporary film industry. In the monstrously overblown runtime, it all emotionally passes you by in a big arc and deals with uninteresting things that have no continuity within the Marvel franchise. Kevin Feige may have made good on his promise to give space to unconventional directors, but I still wonder at the unconventional Chloé Zhao for going in as a mere disposable craftsperson.

Disbelieving laughter from start to finish, even in the passages where the two protagonists are just talking or walking around, in moments when you think nothing can go wrong, it's completely silly. The timing, the cinematography, the incongruous pilfered music, the hammy acting, the things they say. After the appearance of the killer birds and the "fire" in the woods, the laughter becomes incessant. I've never, ever seen worse visual effects in my life, and I've seen the complete works of Bert I. Gordon. I've seen a lot of things in my lifetime, the vintage sci-fi genre from the 50s has absolutely incredible pieces like Mesa of Lost Women, Fire Maidens From Outer Space, Ed Wood's films, Robot Monster, then later the Turkish Star Wars, or Al Adamson's films... But this, this is guaranteed to be the most unintentionally hilarious attempt at filmmaking I've seen in several decades. And I'm surprised it hasn't gained a cult following like Tommy Wiseau's The Room, the potential is enormous and thanks to the Shockproof Film Festival for helping me discover it. So I can't really give it a pass, here you truly realise the magic of the medium called film, just like with Wood's Plan 9 from Outer Space, and taking into account the fact that like Wood, James Nguyen honestly thought he was making a great movie and gave it his all, living and breathing for it, even if to label the result a workmanlike disaster would be a compliment. The world of cinema would be poorer without people like them.

In the world of South Park, they'd probably say: “They killed Witcher, you bastards!” More specifically, Lauren Schimdt ground Sapkowski into disposable paper and wiped her ass with it. I found the first season excellent, event though it’s been criticized as confusing. Its interweaving of storylines was easy to navigate, and although it visibly suffered from a small budget, it did a good job of promoting the fantasy genre. The budget obviously swelled in season 2 – Kaer Morhen looked beautiful, all honour – but the writers from season 1 must have been eaten by some brux during the filming and they messed it up as much as they could. When Lauren's pros were outdone in terms of the script's engagingness and narrative richness by the CD Projekt enthusiasts in the excellent third The Witcher game, I don't think the girl could put it past her. And a little side note: sorry, but proud elven warriors can't be played by black boys with boyz-n-the-hood haircuts, just not really. This forcefully pushed political correctness is turning the world upside down.

Although I really like some of his directorial work, I generally have a problem with Henri Verneuil, I usually find his films quite naive with a logic that often takes a holiday. This is the case here, too, unfortunately, and I found the much-praised scientific experiment naive; and the lure of Morricone was absolutely untapped. My attention in this cold, verbose procedural was held only by my favourite Yves Montand, who was never a Belmondo or Delon type star, but his charisma and acting skills were unquestionable (e.g. he was absolutely riveting in The Confession). And the final twist? Well... it didn’t knock me down, but that ending IS impressive.

I enjoyed the first half more, balancing nicely on the edge of nostalgia, where it was still bearable. But then the digital crap kicked in (there's no substitute for practical 80s effects), and Finn Wolfhard made me feel like I was watching a weaker episode of Stranger Things. And as much as I love the old crew from the 80's classic, they unfortunately – and surprisingly to me – weren't the element that lifted the film up at the end. A brief reminiscence is not enough for me. And when the post-credit scene is the only fun thing in a film, there’s something wrong.

Having been a uncle for 35 years and a great-uncle for about 4, the character of Ben Affleck resonated with me and was terribly likeable, both in the way he behaves and how Ben plays him. Welcoming, easy-going, wise, like the whole movie, it totally stroked my troubled soul. Moreover, the beautiful friendly community of regulars in the bar is something we can only envy in today's unfortunate covid era. And if anyone keeps telling me that Ben Affleck is a bad actor, they're a moron, and I’d suggest they buy some drops for the fog in their eyes.

It's easy to see why Leonardo DiCaprio, an environmental activist who chooses his films carefully, gave his nod to this one – substitute a deadly comet for current and worsening climate change in the coming years and you get the picture. On the one hand his character, Dr Randall Mindy, and on the other – in real life – deniers like Klaus, Trump and similar idiots who, despite clear scientific and factual evidence, deny the human effect on climate change, just as McKay's film shows. And the people who, just like in this story, generally don't give a shit, they'd rather superficially like an article about how some pseudo-celebrity broke up with her boyfriend and completely ignore something that will be in a few years, or is slowly coming, because celebrities and other such superficialities in commercial media (and now, unfortunately, in public media as well), which focus primarily on entertainment, are pulling their weight these days. You can't be surprised, then, that Ariana Grande's breakup is hilariously taking precedence on TV over information about impending danger from outer space. Unfortunately, after an energetic first half, when McKay, in addition to the aforementioned, aptly addresses the unfortunate influence of social networks, the superficial and short-term thinking of politicians and the herd mentality of the population, the film loses its grip and its momentum and reaches the end at an idle. It just goes from a biting satire to an overly activist thing with no insight. But overall, the 4 stars are well deserved for the message that we're sitting on a barrel of dynamite while laughing like idiots.

I know, I know, most of you probably took a good nap, counted your fingers, or watched the cockroaches crawling under the TV, but I enjoyed Matt's quasi-detective "Lost in Translation" quite a bit. Even in slow-moving films, there's plenty to find interesting and here, despite the respectable runtime, only the essentials are told. It would be a shame to cut out the family relationship ballast around it, because it would only harm this sober narrative. The story has a very realistic esprit, with a moral dilemma at the end – as in real life, nothing is just black and white. And I liked Matt Damon's subdued performance very much, exactly what a dyed-in-the-wool praying Republican would look like.

I love Elizabeth Taylor in her "pre-Virginia Woolf" years, because she combined fragility and beauty with exquisite acting. Here she’s the one keeping things afloat, unlike her namesake, who is as soulfully flat as a ply board. I love 50s movies, but this has one aged a lot. It doesn't even impress with its decent production design (it doesn't bear the slightest comparison with the seven years younger Ben Hur) and the choreography of the battles is rather ridiculous, with extras running around in confusion and being tickled by the tangle of arrows like toothpicks bouncing off them. Even Miklós Rózsa is going about half throttle.