POMO

A Seagal-esque revenge flick in the guise of modern trends with a female avenger, a mother who over the course of five years in Asia developed into a dauntless assassin for a ruthless drug gang. We never fully learn how she tracked them down or how she could have such luck that everything turned out okay. In short, it’s like the old days back in the ’90s when the “cool” parameter was enough and no logic was required. The only logical thing here is the involvement of director Pierre Morel, but with a screenplay like this, it’s still an exercise in futility.

This B-movie works thanks to nostalgia for John Rambo and Sly. And also thanks to the sufficient work with emotions (however basic they may be). Last Blood takes its time and gives plenty of space to all of its few characters in the simple story. Because of that, the climax is surprising and seems unpleasantly rushed, while lacking the energy accumulated in the build-up and coming up short with the catharsis that the film was aiming for and which should have been substantially more powerful.

The Lighthouse is about nerdy form, great actors and the director’s fearlessness in experimentation and ambition to do something that had never been seen before. The sound track is astonishingly engaging and almost even scary with the deep droning of the lighthouse. The cool black-and-white 4:3 composition is reminiscent of horror movies from the early 20th century. The depressing confining atmosphere of the remote, foggy and windy exterior and the damp and stinking interior. And the conflict between two men that doesn’t take all of these circumstances into account. Their drunken talk isn’t very stimulating, but it serves well to characterise the men and the place at the time.

Aquarela is an uninteresting visual documentary about water and its forms, moods and cooperation with temperatures and wind. And unknown people who are “at war” with it in various inhospitable conditions. The purpose of the film is not to show captivating and beautiful shots, as its entire runtime is not equal to the single best shot single best shot from Our Planet, for example. Nor does it explain or comment on anything or offer any prognosis. And the heavy-metal interludes, synched with the wildness of the stormy ocean, are a tasteless poke in the eye. A weak three stars.

In this pleasant conversational film, you will see the pope watching Inspector Rex and enjoying a slice of pizza. Meirelles wins viewers over with his depiction of the pope as a man who also needs to confess and who may also have doubts about his mission. The friendship that is gradually established between these two priests, who are incompatible from the start, becomes the film’s main storyline. Both of the lead roles are very well cast. Hopkins portrays the German radical with his typical gusto and Jonathan Pryce’s naturalness is absolutely sufficient for playing his gentler opposite.

Franco films my dreams, albeit in a dismal B-movie way, so his work has no value in cinema. The only other similar, generally respected film along these lines is Saló, but it goes too far and is rather more disgusting and evil than entertaining. Franco takes a lighter approach, with a lecherous smile and with the playfully cheap southern carelessness becoming his irresistible asset. The Eurotrash opuses of his filmography always get two stars at most, but I still enjoy watching them – once in three years, each time with at least two breaks of a few days.

Polyester is a portrait of a suburban American family that becomes dysfunctional from one day to the next. The daughter is an idiot, the son an aggressive pervert, the dad an unscrupulous boor and the mother a good-hearted, hysterical mouse who is dependent on all of them. Waters’ bizarre film, which has gained cult status in certain circles, is entertaining with its bizarre microcosm of characters, but without the endearingly over-the-top distastefulness that he served up in Pink Flamingos, it doesn’t leave such a distinctive mark.

Despite its interesting subject and high-quality work with the setting and characters, Red Joan was somehow not developed into something bigger, which it deserved.

With Marriage Story, it’s like when you forget that you’re watching actors in a film and you feel as though you are intensely living the situation that the protagonists are going through. This is a fragile, dialogue-driven relationship film that employs excellent camerawork and editing in telling the story. Scarlett’s first confession to her lawyer is perhaps the film’s most brilliant scene. Her acting is comparable to Naomi Watts’s breathtaking performance in the rehearsal scene from Mulholland Drive. There is also, for example, the build-up of tension through editing, with gradual approaches to tense faces in the quarrel, and the climax in which the worst is said and then immediately regretted. It wouldn’t work so well on the stage without those close-ups of the actors’ faces. The dialogue is so authentic and the natures of the characters so precisely formed that playing them must have been creative ecstasy. And it’s not just Driver and Scarlett who turn in wonderful performances here. Laura Dern makes a full-force comeback in a small space and Ray Liotta masterfully makes up for his absence in The Irishman in an even smaller space. Marriage Story is like the best of Woody Allen, with a touch of La La Land’s heart. In my opinion, an Oscar for best screenplay is inevitable.

This feel-good movie with a likeable ensemble ably brightens up the faded stars Murphy and Snipes. It draws you in with high-quality filmmaking and dirty jokes, and then it gradually slips into unsurprising clichés with no greater goal than to provide relaxing entertainment.