Lima

I'm sorry, but I can't take seriously the work of a 21-year-old disgraced kid who was twice denied admission to film school and, full of frustration, decided to "stick it to everybody". This mix of half-truths, twisted facts and downright nonsense is a kind of conspiracy bible for those individuals who stick the Rosewell UFO on their walls, believe that Hitler spent a happy retirement in Bolivia and that the Americans did not land on the moon after the example of Capricorn One. Nothing for people who find these skillfully manipulative tabloid speculations laughable and prefer to be cautious with their information. Perhaps I would have judged it more mildly if I had taken it as a stimulus to at least a little reflection on the issue of 9/11, because as they say "even among the manure a flower blooms", but Mr. Avery also mixed a horse dose of DDT into the silage. But nothing new, it's all been here before, even after Kennedy's death there was a whole host of "Averys" and today they have all been forgotten.

I felt like a little boy whose parents take him to the toy store for a good report card and he can choose a dinosaur on a key, rubber Indians, a big plush lion and a remote control car, too. And when you keep the family morality on a tolerable level, add a message like "Love museums!" and a likeable cast, it's a no-brainer. It's nothing mind-blowing, a visit to the cinema would probably be an unnecessary luxury, but it's definitely a nice relaxing way to spend an evening.

When the best thing about a whole movie is the main character's shirt, something is wrong. To be fair, though, there are two scenes that make this nonsense is survivable: the initial disposal of Castle's family has a certain amount of impact, and the fight with the Russian muscle-head to the accompaniment of an operatic aria, which is not without its comic exaggeration. The rest, full of ridiculous, pathetic poses, does not do credit to the creators, nor to the fluffy and dynamic comic book premise itself. Although I think Travolta shouldn't climb in front of the camera anymore, here he was mysteriously tolerable, while the mediocre Thomas Jane might not need a Shakespearean training for such a role, but I resisted the onslaught of my diaphragm every time I saw his badass face. But during the scene when the elevator goes up and there's Thomas turning on it, with a taut body under his tattered tank top and a harsh look on his face, I burst out laughing, I really couldn't help it :)

When the best thing about a whole movie is the main character's shirt, something is wrong. To be fair, though, there are two scenes that make this nonsense is survivable: the initial disposal of Castle's family has a certain amount of impact, and the fight with the Russian muscle-head to the accompaniment of an operatic aria, which is not without its comic exaggeration. The rest, full of ridiculous, pathetic poses, does not do credit to the creators, nor to the fluffy and dynamic comic book premise itself. Although I think Travolta shouldn't climb in front of the camera anymore, here he was mysteriously tolerable, while the mediocre Thomas Jane might not need a Shakespearean training for such a role, but I resisted the onslaught of my diaphragm every time I saw his badass face. But during the scene when the elevator goes up and there's Thomas turning on it, with a taut body under his tattered tank top and a harsh look on his face, I burst out laughing, I really couldn't help it :)

First of all, this isn't a fantasy film like Narnia, Lord of the Rings, etc., nor does it try to be, but that's okay. It’s definitely a very enjoyable film for young and old "boys and girls with their heads in the clouds", which shows that the best fantasy is not created by Tolkien, Lewis and others, but by children's wide open minds (and hopefully not only that). So don't expect a host of goblins, elves and fairies (although there are some creatures), but rather an intimately told story with two impeccable child actors. The unexpected plot twist then makes it clear that real life is far from Terabithia, but even a great pain on the soul can not destroy a journey to a magical land of fantasy. For such a well-deserved but unexpected success with overseas audiences, I wish Gabor Csup, as a debutant in feature films, the best and I look forward to his next film.

Come on people, don’t be silly! Nick, you better give that hair back to Tom "Langdon" Hanks, he's gonna need it in Angels & Demons. And you, Lee, try to quickly remember what a great, distinctive film you made in your early days and leave routine to the journeymen of the film strip. One thing is certain, Philip K. Dick was undoubtedly a genius, but in the case of Next I sincerely wonder if the final plot twist that shifted the overall viewer experience from "I certainly don't regret it." to "Once was enough" was really from his pen or just artistic license from the writers. Knowing the work of "Mr. Depression" P.K. Dick, I would bet on the latter, and the result would be all the sadder.

To be clear, I love horseshit, intentionally and unintentionally funny B-movies and parodies full of references, but there was nothing here. As with the previous Shaun of the Dead, I'm experiencing a slight déjà-vu. Wright's hammy humour bores me immensely, his editing epileptic jerks irritate me and quotes alone do not make a good film. The whole film leaves a sour taste on the tongue with a question directed at Edgar Wright: “What the fuck is this guy doing?”

Fugua is definitely not a loser (see KevSpa), when he takes on a solid script he can turn it into a very watchable affair like Training Day, its unfortunate then that he has to deal with people like Jonathan Lemkin, a strange character in the movie business in general. On the one hand, he can create such a marvel as Hackford's Devil's Advocate and then embarrass himself with a monstrosity like Red Planet, where you're not sure if the screenwriter is being serious. And Shooter will give you the same feeling with a lot of the dialogue and a few unintentionally absurd situations. Then neither the great Wahlberg, who was perhaps born for badass roles, nor Fugua, who proves his craftsmanship in action scenes, can save the day. At least the snipers' final showdown in the snowy mountains is definitely worth a look. If you don't mind tired clichés and dull dialogue, add as many stars to the overall rating as you like. PS: But Antoine, the nearly 20-second slow motion shot of Mark's macho walk really isn't cool. :)

Kids, pay attention! Ghost Rider is perfect for an afternoon at home, better with popcorn and the brain in “switch-off” mode. A painlessly paced piece of crap, with a comically overacting Cage (who's working on his possible future reputation as "the Ed Wood of acting" film by film), a pleasantly feminine Eve Mendes, and cute comic book stylings, with Johnny Blaze's funny flaming skull being even cooler than Cage's laboriously glued-on toupee, and that's saying something. It's just a pity that Blackheart, the main villain, is a total loser who wouldn't even scare my cowardly hamster, and even more of a pity about the absolutely awful finale, which drops somewhere down to the bottom of the C-grade mud in the neighbourhood of Power Rangers. But whatever, 3 stars, I don’t care. Johnson's film is one of the weakest comic book adaptation in a strong competition, but definitely a notch in my guilty-pleasure trophies.

If R´n´B music is sounds to you like the castrato singing of Pavel Horňák sounds for me (for those who remember), or nowadays, for example, the wailing of Tokyo Hotel (I'm still shivering now), then avoid Condon's film. Here you won't find sophisticated storylines, but a simple straightforward plot about "Cinderellas" who came to happiness and the pitfalls of their fame, which is based only on black music and strong voices. Oscar-winning Jennifer Hudson is – let's face it – not much of an actress, but when she belts, things happen. She handles all vocal positions with ease and when she gets it "hot", she could cut concrete with her powerful voice. Her desperate confession before New Year's Eve is an eruption of emotions, a permanent goosebump and a marathon of chills down my back. Eddie Murphy deserved his Oscar nomination just because he doesn't fart, scream or make a fool of himself, I would hang Beyonce on my wall (poster), and I’m liking the charismatic Jamie Foxx more and more.