DaViD´82

This is neither a superfluous sequel nor is it a failure of a sequel; this is just a sad example of what part one would have looked like if it had been filmed by a routine filmmaker with no style who saw the main assets of the material primarily (and exclusively) in all its perversity, controversy, rude words and violence for violence’s sake. Where part one was about children, but not for children, part two is about teenagers, and only for teenagers.

If you take an hour of untethered action from Bad Boys II and replace it with an even larger portion of infantile entertainment aimed at gut reaction, so typical of Bay, this time presented as “nerds overflowing with clever plans". And although I would prefer to see this story in the hands of the Coen brothers, I can’t deny that in his own guilty pleasure way, Bay shows that he can also be, although not actually funny, at least entertaining. And this is in spite of its length and Marky Mark’s return to Calvin Klein underpants.

I-I-I w-w-was sh-sh-shaking with f-f-fear; not. Tension without fear with ineffective fright moments. Which wouldn’t matter if the movie weren’t all about frights and fear. Although, in the first half, Wan builds up and further tightens the tension in textbook style (basing this all on genre classics), nothing comes of it. Although, perhaps... An over-combined finale which tries to cover so much that it covers nothing fully. P.S.: Squealing Valena was priceless!

Lukáš Grygar versus a Germanic James Coburn in an exhausted variation on the underground killing game "we crawl where we shouldn't, then we wonder, we run away and squeal a lot". The unbelievable boredom is partly avoided thanks to the villain. And at least it's not filmed with a shaky amateur camera.

An unacknowledged King adaptation with everything; from the last name of the main character to the setting and style. Darabont is simply amazing.

The most entertaining Asylum ever. And better and better with every co-viewer, every beer and as every minute goes by. The last third was absolutely unbeatable and, for its ingenuous idiocy, a work of genius; in the history of cinema it would be hard to find anything at least remotely similar to the heroic salvation of Nova in the history of cinema (who would have guess that someone like Ziering would send Chuck Norris into retirement?).

This isn’t a documentary in the real sense of the word; it looks ore like a feature-length version of a well-made Kickstarter video for a indie game creator’s product. Although this is about the independent game scene, it focuses exclusively on the trio FEZ, Braid and Super Meat Boy who, before, during and after the release, were enjoying considerable (well-deserved) media and even critical success; and commercial too. So in fact, it doesn’t address or even mention the “real" indie scene. It’s not about development, not a glance behind the scenes and so it’s primarily about four people. And about what they have to say. And although everybody here has something to say, with the exception of Jonathon Blow and Edmund McMillen they are just chewing the cud, while not saying anything of real worth. On the other hand, this does confirm that for someone to be a genius, they must also be a bit crazy or a complete jerk. Here everybody is unhinged to a greater or lesser extent (each in his own way). This is most surprising when it comes to Phil Fish who is a prime example of a self-centered, aggressive, trans-Atlantic douchebag who, judging by his arrogant demeanor, you might expect to spend his days trolling internet discussions (even though... maybe he really does, it would be no surprise) and not authoring something so boundlessly ingenious, calm and innovative as FEZ, another game that goes to show that the gaming scene can also produce works of art.

The sixties in Indonesia and their own peculiar solution to the threat of communism. You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs... A mirror to a democratic society that partially emerged in consequence of the murder of hundreds of thousands, held in the hand of an entertaining old man enjoying life to the full, an exemplary grandpa, a national hero and also, just by the way, one of the high-ranking executors of the aforementioned slaughter? The horrors of the past that formed history may be presented variously. As a stark list of the horrors, as a portrait of those actively involved and maybe in a couple of other ways. If you are lucky, you can even get some of the culprits in front of the camera. But you probably won’t be so lucky that the culprits will want to actively cooperate to such an extent that they agree to re-enact the horrors that they committed because they feel that the young are no longer aware of what they did for their country and want their heroic acts to leave a mark behind them. And that when preparing for filming they start talking about “how they saw things then and how they see them now". At the strongest moments (and there are lots of them) it is powerful, fascinating and chilling like nothing before; however, it is an indisputable problem that this extraordinary documentary is presented in a form that prevents cutting too deep and getting the best out of it. On the contrary, there is a danger that as a result of its rather exhausting two-hour length, the uninspiring form and the talking heads syndrome, this will bore audiences to tears (if they don’t fall asleep). And that would be a shame if only because the authors gave you a good tip for where to send some of our Communist Party dinosaurs for “re-education".

About America and Americans via food. No, not cheaply about obesity through fast-food hamburgers and fries, but through real food. And it’s presented nicely, like a Michael Palin travelogue (yes, it’s more about travel than cookery); it focuses on genius loci, experiences and people. And so in one episode, through (il)legal aliens and their national cuisine, Jamie focuses on New York where guerilla and domestic protest restaurants play an ever more important role, but then in the next episode he jumps to Louisiana where, apart form searching for real gumbo and hunting alligators, he looks for the answer to the question of what makes settlers choose to stay in places regularly hit by destructive tornados, but then in the next episode he tries traditional Mexican cuisine in the suburbs of LA amongst Latino gangs and learns what role food can play in disrupting the vicious circle “if you live among gangs, you join a gang" and... Well, that gives you some impression. And in addition to occasional excesses (yes, the hair styling scene), this time he neglected to make an episode about himself (you know, him talking about himself, his wife, problems in his chain of restaurants etc.; in other words, how he wrecked the otherwise solid concept of his journeys around Italy) and so he is primarily the guide here. Which is a role which suits him unsurprisingly well, considering how funny and endearing he can be.

A new movie about an invasion by toerags from another dimension which, instead of NGE (the blues know what I’m talking about), is more similar to Emmerich’s version of Godzilla, eighties style. Guillermo has a lot of strong sides and one (and for the purposes of a summer popcorn movie - fundamental) weakness: he is simply no good at action. Under his directing action turns into a succession of clichés and wonderfully arranged images with no dynamism, inner tension, build up or clarity. No wonder that the most successful movies of his career are those with no action. Despite this handicap, he decided to make a movie based purely on action in massive dimensions. And... And certainly this didn’t turn out to be that proverbial exception that proves the rule, but simply solid Bayism with nice visuals, which might just break the iceberg of racist xenophobia so common in this country. After watching this, every little boy will want to have a little Gypsy Woman figurine on his bedside table.