Isherwood

After a bit of time goes by that is diligently devoted to thinking, and after a second viewing, I finally came to like this film that is Carnahan's baby. It is true that the trailers promised something completely different, but the result is an entertaining stylistic film that is definitely currently above average (let's blame it on clever marketing this time). Mainly thanks to the perfect direction and excellent casting (Ryan Reynolds is great!), this rather disparate whole holds together quite well. Unfortunately, as is still apparent, Carnahan isn’t a great screenwriter (Buddy's existential drama), but he's more than adept as a craftsman (changing one cool camera unit after another, the actual shooting races). He definitely can’t be compared to Guy Ritchie because they are both playing on completely different fields. This film is a much crazier and at times twisted spectacle, which is certainly not boring, but it is true that when a director makes a pure action spectacle, those far beyond the borders of Hollywood will bow down to him.

A legendary entwined (drugged-up guinea pig Rodriguez sweating blood to save on the budget, two real stuntmen changing disguises, and completely contrived end credits, all of which are the fault of Rodriguez himself) low-budget stylish film that means for action what Jackson's Bad Taste means for splatter. The oft-maligned clichés have been given a cool new coat, which the director has stitched together with the help of simple cinematography, some funny finesse (the sped-up image when the phone is being dialed), and a good portion of perspective that holds this mix of road & revenge movie together. Of course, some critics will see it only as a failed stylistic exercise for a later ride, while a genre-laden fan will see it as very peculiar guilty-pleasure entertainment with a hint of something grander.

Fulci's image composition is, by default, stunning. He has plenty of ideas, and he added some clever and original elements to the classic living-dead extermination (thew incredible underwater action). The fact that there is also more emphasis on female sexuality elsewhere than in the roles of defenseless victims gives the film a much more erotic feel. Combined with the distant glances of the eyes of the fairer sex (note that the main characters' eyes are either green or blue), this creates a rather mysterious and much more provocative feel. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but notice that if the director had been more careful to control his own filmmaking process (finishing a scene as a whole, establishing shots, a bit of plot clearing of otherwise stagnant water) the whole composition of butchered bodies would have stood out much, much more. Although it has to be admitted that maybe that's what this Italian film wave was all about...

This couldn't have been filmed better! Tom Tykwer took Süskind's seemingly unfilmable story and retold it. Like the author, with his colorful descriptions, the director also uses visual finesse to convey a subliminal sensation that the film medium deprives us of, and which leads the viewer's senses into a state of their own dubious confusion. With this film, there is no point in arguing about the strong implausibility of logic, etc. For the first time since Run Lola Run, Tykwer proves that brilliant craftsmanship can say (almost) everything.

A simple glance at the thickness of the book suggests that the task of cramming a sprawling plot into two hours of film was a daunting one for the director. Wright opts for a rather unfortunate method of occasional abbreviation, which produces a terrible stew of names and family-social ties right from the get-go. This hesitation is unfortunate because if the runtime had been extended by 20 minutes, the beautifully staged emotions would have stood out a hell of a lot better. Thus, all we have left is a promising hint of how catchy of a story the director can tell: the cinematography is charming, the set design is settling, the actors are decent - as befits the English - and the overall composition smacks of the sweetest kitsch. However, this merry-go-round of engagements and weddings is so sensitively, humorously, pleasantly, and above all sincerely filmed that much can be forgiven. At present, the boundaries of the genre could not be better.

Mel Gibson has definitely left the mainstream and after boldly stepping out with his religious opus, he confidently follows his own cinematic path, disregarding critics, audiences, and dollar expenditure/revenue. Yet while Jesus Christ’s last few hours carried plenty of emotion (in whatever way) to every viewer, regardless of any religious or social feeling, the end of the Mayan civilization is a bit more difficult. The simple story of a journey to hell and back is based on the viewer's mere perception of an audiovisual orgy, without any deeper emotional feedback. In order to fully appreciate the hour-long (!) sprint through the rainforest, Gibson should have focused more on the relationships between the characters in the initial exposition, and not just mindlessly joke about one of the protagonists' lack of potency. Also, the film’s form loses steam as the minutes go by. The use of the digital camera didn't work (the entire thing would have looked much better and more cinematic using classic film material) and Horner's music is slightly monotonous towards the end. Still, there is nothing boring about it and I applaud Gibson's efforts to make Hollywood tell stories in a different way.

A purely gentlemanly distinguished treatment of a classic substance propelled forward without unnecessary delays in the form of any formal excesses by Fisher's briskly elegant direction. The director's hesitation regarding the main point is somewhat unfortunate, i.e., the character of the undead count. Christopher Lee has absolutely no charisma in his role, which is perhaps due to the limited length of his overall presence in the film. In contrast, much is saved by the bombastic Peter Cushing as Van Helsing, whose charisma, insights, and overall delivery leave his fellow actors in other versions of the material far behind. This is a film that is definitely worth watching not only for the famous final scene.

A high-budget A-budget affair, which abounds with excellent sets, and impressive tricks by the magician Harryhausen, but also an inexcusably depressing story, coaxed from the director's chair by a chronic erotomaniac with a tendency toward fascism. The proportions of the silicone-sculpted beauty Raquel Welch are immediately striking, but much more attractive to the viewer (in terms of overall entertainment) is probably the perfect Aryan prehistoric society cultivating flower beds and flaunting a perfect look that even contemporary fashion magazines would not be ashamed of. All the effort is almost a waste for such an unambitious substance; otherwise, it would have been great.

A film of two contradictions. On the one hand, it features Al Gore as a skillful and witty speaker, who sprinkles onto the viewer one fact after another, the veracity of which even a layman cannot doubt (graphs, comparative photographs). On the other hand, Al Gore is a politician building a fertile ground for his next political career (the Oscar only helps). Still, it has to be admitted that his swimming against the current has something to it and he could change a lot if holding high political office. However, that depends on the voters on the other side of the Atlantic.

Kachyňa's formal austerity (changing only two locations, Illík's static camera) is a glove thrown down to the central acting tandem, who lifted it more than worthily. You don’t see this sort of riveting acting concert, based on Jan Procházka's brilliantly written book, very often. The paranoia of the times, the fickleness of the political parties of the communist regime, and last but not least the cracks of a ten-year marriage served up in one endless night. Thirty years ago, the film was an unsavory reflection of the times for the comrades, today it is an index finger raised in warning that deserves more than just a screening in club cinemas!