Remedy

An uncomfortably naturalistic spectacle that incorporates the old familiar concept of "righteous vengeance" as well as serial murder. With the exception of the first half hour, this is indeed a strong revenge movie, in which the psychology of the two main characters is pretty sparse (we learn absolutely nothing about the killer's past), which on the other hand gives more room for gore and action scenes. At its core, it's a very superficial and overexposed contribution to the serial killer genre, but it can't be denied a few strong scenes and formally a completely professional execution.

I didn't experience very godly feelings with this film, but Todd Phillips wasn’t going for that in the slightest. In the purest sense of the word, Joker is a dirty, gritty, and very powerful film that doesn't worry too much about promoting violence. *SPOILER ALERT* If I were twenty years old and pissed off at the whole system, I'd probably take to the streets, too. *END SPOILER*. Phillips' Joker is a universal model of the boundless arrogance of the upper classes who regard Arthur Fleck and his ilk as inferior individuals. The demonic Joaquin Phoenix, in the least comic book portrayal of the Joker, then shows that the consequences of such arrogance and reckless superiority on the part of his "betters" can be pretty damn serious. Even if the film completely legitimizes the use of violence when a human being is treated as the ultimate non-entity, it still works very well on the level of a "journey into the depths of the Joker's soul", providing perhaps the deepest insight into the psyche of DC's ultimate bad guy to date. On the other hand, I'm glad the whole project stands apart from the comic book universe as a whole, because I can't imagine any connection or even a sequel, either within the DCEU or some "darker branch" of it.

The biggest problem is that the whole movie is cold as a dog's snout. The much-proclaimed (swooning festival-goers, women running out of the theater) and mentioned explicitnesses are only rarely impressive in their own right – for me the highlight was ironically the sumptuous camera shot at the beginning of the film, when the main character is launching a boat down the river and the camera takes the whole scene nicely from the surface of the river upward in a kind of "aerial arc". The problem might also be (for me) that I was expecting a completely different film. After the reviews from Venice I was expecting agony, but honestly only one single scene stuck with me a bit, the one from the barn (I won't spoil it, it takes place in the second half of the film and one of those involved is a crazy woman), otherwise everything kind of happened and I kept saying to myself: "Okay, we've ticked off non-consensual sex, next we'll have murder, then abuse, and what's next, Václav?" The film suffers terribly from its format, where it wants to be poetic on one hand (and in which it succeeds to some extent, thanks to the black and white imagery and some really nicely shot scenery) and at the same time convey a powerful and intimate message. "Storytelling through images" is an art in itself, but Marhoul has simply not yet grown there compared to the world's best. I've read in reviews that the biggest difference from the book is the lack of the main character's inner monologues. I dare say (and I haven't read the book) that if Marhoul had retained these at least in part, all of The Painted Bird could have had a much stronger emotional charge. In this film adaptation, there are "just" unpleasant things happening, with a young and "different" boy running around in between it all as he really just tries to survive and get back home (whatever that means). And the psychological evolution of the boy into his tougher self is so terribly cheaply rendered that it felt like downright shoddy work from Marhoul. The film has no proper psychological or emotional depth. There is, of course, a strong social motif, where the black and white shots of the demonic faces of the lifeless villagers are quite chilling. But the whole of The Painted Bird still suffers from a spasmodic episodicity that hopelessly undermines any more powerful lasting impression. Too bad; I'd like to give it more, but I just can't. Still, I must say that I doff my cap to Marhoul, because once again he has put us in a wider awareness than just from Aš to Krnov. The most emotional part of the whole film is that Slavic song in the closing credits.

The Lost City of Z is unique in its narrative style, as its sweeping form perfectly demonstrates the main character's motivation and, it must be said, powerful obsession. An immense passion for the process of discovery itself can be felt in almost every frame here, and is all the more believable because it is not represented by a desire for money or fame, but just a simple desire for knowledge in the purest sense of the word. The fact that I only fully appreciated The Lost City of Z for the fourth time I saw it proves (at least to me) that this is not exactly typical or even bland Hollywood entertainment. It's actually a very intimate human story about a special kind of obsession that is extremely appealing and actually quite moving, provided the viewer has the right mindset.

The second installment is clearly the most cerebral work about John Rambo. On the other hand, it is so beautifully crystal clear in its humor ("Rambo, you made good choice") that it has an irreplaceable place within the series. It's never going to be the best Rambo film (that's still the luxurious fourth Rambo for me), but the honestly acknowledged comedic parts and its indelible imprint on pop culture are what make the second one the second one. "What you choose to call ‘hell’, he calls home."

Unfortunately, all the less than rave reviews didn't lie, and though I say this with a heavy heart as a die-hard Tarantino fan, this is one of Tarantino's weakest films. What probably disappoints the most (except for the ending) is the lack of any powerful or memorable scenes. Unfortunately, there's also virtually none of the absurdist humor you'd simply expect from Tarantino. There is also next to no dialogue with surprising and graduating zingers and basically everything that happens in the first two hours is a bunch of preset fluff. Sure, that’s nothing really new for Tarantino, and normally I wouldn't even rate that as a complaint, but there's one major problem here. It's simply not entertaining; instead, it's terribly long-winded in places and if it weren't for the famed Pitt and DiCaprio, it might very well have ended up being an even bigger bummer. Brad Pitt basically steals the whole show and plays one of his best roles ever here. DiCaprio is great too, but Pitt has a much more rewarding and audience-friendly role. I'm afraid another viewing won't immediately help here. Plus, at this point, I'm kind of glad to have it all behind me. I freely admit that I'm not a 60s pop culture expert – if I were I might have enjoyed all the hidden references and allusions as I should have and rated this, supposedly Tarantino's most personal project, completely differently. The last 30 minutes or so, however, are sheer beauty and I'd be interested in the immediate impressions of the real Roman Polanski. 30 Dec 2019 – my first self-counter-review after a second viewing on UHD. It wasn't until the second time that I fully appreciated Tarantino's genius and the partial departure from his earlier work, which in the case of his ninth film is only to the benefit of the cause. It could be safely characterized as Tarantino having grown up a lot as a filmmaker, and his Once Upon a Time in Hollywood can be given a small amount of grace as an adult variation on Pulp Fiction or Jackie Brown. Otherwise, don't be fooled (as I was on my first viewing) – Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is no less cool than Inglourious Basterds, Django Unchained, or Pulp Fiction. It just doesn't show it so ostentatiously and, on top of everything else, the last half hour beautifully rehabilitates a cruelly overlooked piece of history. And for the real Roman Polanski, it must have been that much more of a tearjerker at the end. I'm upping from 3 stars to 5 stars and will continue to search for the reason why it didn't sit well with me on opening night at the cinema.

"Don't cheat on your lady, man, when you live in a country that only has eight people in it." A beautiful story about stepping out of your own shadow using dreams and real-life experiences. But the main character's escape from reality is so two-faced here. On the one hand, Walter's "secret life" pushes him towards bolder and more impulsive actions in reality, but due to the influence of his dream experiences, he sometimes fails to register important and crucial information in real life. Purely in terms of emotions transferred to the viewer, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is worth five stars in my book. But the final pathos (the highlight being Walter's extremely naive appeal to the humanity of the slimy manager) unfortunately brings the final rating down to a slightly weaker 4 stars.

A tired 2.5 stars. The best thing here is clearly the exposition and period atmosphere, but that really ends the list of positives. Until the stories are "discovered" and start being told, it's pretty good for the reasons mentioned. Overall, though, it's a terribly routine affair that offers nothing new at all, and which unfortunately is neither scary enough nor comic enough. In fact, the whole thing felt like eating three-day-old bread with butter. You can eat it, and you will eventually (if you have nothing else at home), but you'd much rather have something fresh and more nutritious.

A bloody 4 stars for the really sharp gore scenes and the appealing Kaya Scodelario. Overall, Crawl is a very decently made survival thriller with no shortage of blood and water. The script is of course purely mediocre, but would anyone really want to watch one of the characters become deeply philosophical and self-reflective in a situation like this? After all, those awkward lizards there would have dismembered them before they could even make a real apology. The only major complaint I have is perhaps the health of the two main characters, who remained in admirable condition even after repeated alligator attacks. See you later, alligator.

"We patiently wait for your verdict." Crystal clear proof that even a trip to Sweden (or a trip in Sweden:))) really doesn't do a dysfunctional partnership any good. Instead, it will only contribute to the manifestation of accumulated negative feelings, which simply cannot end well. Midsommar is basically a revelation in the horror genre, because it disregards established templates and contains virtually no jump scares. Moreover, it can't be denied a certain detachment and openly admitted superficiality, because at some point it flips from atmospheric (and wannabe serious) horror to a gore grotesque. But in no way does this mean that Midsommar isn't scary or shocking. The intense, stark, and at times almost uncomfortable visuals are very reminiscent of Aronofsky's best work, but otherwise Ari Aster is going a pretty sovereign and original route. The story isn't very intricate or deep, but it manages to bait the hell out of you right from the beginning and from the moment of the first ritual it grabs you and doesn't let go. One of the best cinematic experiences of this year and both thumbs up for the appealing courage to buck the mainstream while abstaining from the arthouse wanker approach.