POMO

The cadence of unexpected twists, constantly intensifying the tension of the situation, might have looked good on paper. In terms of probability and believability, however, the result is as leaky as a sieve. And the blonde mother who was supposed to be the driving force of the film is almost laughable. An unsuccessful attempt to spice up the traditional home-invasion theme. I choose to remember A-list actress Joely Richardson only from better films.

The opening quarter-hour is a masterclass in introducing the central characters and their inner pain, conflicts and life motivations. This is particularly true of the character of Enzo Ferrari, industrialist and engineer, a man of iron and principle with a tattered family life. Adam Driver was born to play this role, and the film’s energy and tone come more from him than from the cars. Daniel Pemberton’s emotionally rich and energetic music, supplemented with vocals in places, give the film spirit. The retro stylisation of both the settings and the other characters is great, and each of the supporting actors has the necessary personality. The apt lines of dialogue make clear both the mortal danger of the race drivers’ passion and the difficult position of Ferrari and his company in the given industry – responsibility for lives not only in the quest for prestige, but also in the principle activity of maintaining the company’s business.

These 140 minutes flow like water. J.A. Bayona is a master of his craft and genre rules, and here he has a powerful true story to work with. He doesn’t linger in the prologue or on the airborne plane, instead throwing his characters into the snowbound hell as quickly as possible. The mutual confessions of feelings in a desperate situation are effective, and the rising body count adds to the drama. The cannibalism is presented subtly and is shocking mainly in how long the story’s protagonists had to rely on it to survive. And how they got used to it. Good actors and an impressive ending of a film with ideas between the lines. My only criticism involves the work with orientation in the editing of some of the shots observing the mountainous landscape around the plane.

A typical role for the excellent Barry Keoghan in a relationship flick with shades of The Talented Mr. Ripley, in the setting of The Favourite with Britpop hits. However, the freakshow of characters from the wealthy family that Keoghan’s character infiltrates does not arouse the viewer’s understanding, interest or sympathy and thus the web of their relationships with him, which is crucial to the dramatisation of the film, comes crashing down. These relationships are simply not well constructed. The film thus becomes an ambitious yet ineffective cynical-psychological construct with several interesting scenes and constant ambiguity that arouses one’s curiosity. But in the end, even that seems rather the result of the same kind of sloppy directing with which Emerald Fennell made Promising Young Woman.

Epic slasher goulash. Though Thanksgiving lacks atmosphere and fear, it has obvious knowledge of the slasher genre and a screenplay that’s able to give it a forceful boost and is even surprising in places. Here we have not only a gory slaughter, but also a spectacular abduction, and the scenes involving the hunt for the killer are reminiscent of The Silence of the Lambs and Seven. However, the nod to Halloween in the first shot of the film makes it clear that Thanksgiving is not going to steal from the classics, but merely show respect for them. In places, the killings are enjoyably overwrought in a B-movie kind of way, like a crisply baked Thanksgiving dinner that borders on being disgusting. And the main course, Nell Verlaque, is extraordinarily appealing.

Naïve, but nice. The retrospective uncovering of who, what and why is well thought out in the first half of the film and the feats of cycling in the second half are even faster and more intense, with more obstacles. The probability of such a “chance” encounter in Manhattan is vanishingly small and chasing a bicycle with a car through New York’s congested streets is unrealistic, but the film doesn’t take itself seriously, so that’s okay. The girls are pretty, Joseph Gordon-Levitt is likable and bad guy Michael Shannon is eccentrically unhinged in a way that would be suitable for an action comedy. The cyclists go all out and the action is spectacularly shot and edited.

Funny Games without the artistic pretentions, hardcore without compromises in the level of the depicted horror, which could still be comfortable for viewers. Using long shots, Miguel Ángel Vivas creates a stifling atmosphere with a foreboding sense of bad things to come, which viewers hope will not happen, because they know that they could find themselves in the same situation in real life. And those things do happen.... However, besides this cleverly composed psychological game played with the viewers, the screenplay also reeks of a sinister intention to shake them by crossing the usual boundaries of genre entertainment. And it thus embarrasses itself on the level at which we applaud the sophisticatedly cautious Haneke.

From the same bag as Netflix’s Don’t Look Up and White Noise. And just as well aimed, but it misses the mark, as you would expect. Epistemic dialogue with a few existential ideas, though none of them are groundbreaking. Scenes of rising tension that boost the film’s drama, but every time they only give us hints as to what may be happening “out there”. And digital deer for a touch of mysticism, but without any meaningful incorporation into the plot structure. The elegant cinematography striving for inventiveness is appealing, but it doesn’t reach the level of Jordan Peel’s bold creativity. And the conversational aspect merely tries to involve sociology at the European or Asian level of screenwriting. Despite that, however, the film is entertaining and is fine to watch. And I also understand if some might find it an interesting alternative contribution to the disaster-movie genre. Because this is exactly how that could happen.

The protagonist’s repetitive lamenting over trauma and remorse becomes boring over time, but the gloomy tone of Japan’s deteriorating position in the war brings a lot to the gigantic monster. Against a background of dark, foreboding music, Godzilla is a symbol of the horrors of war, including the devastating nuclear threat. The ocean scenes with the monster are excellent, with a build-up and ideas to make the most of its physiological capabilities. It is scary, angry and indestructible. The scenes with Godzilla in the city are only perfunctory, as if the filmmakers didn’t want to repeat what has already been seen a hundred times before (even in American monster movies) and instead wanted to retain the specific maritime nature of the story. The budget of $15 million for such high-quality CGI mayhem is unbelievable and the film’s success in American cinemas could signal a change in thinking among the Hollywood bean counters as to what a good movie needs and doesn’t need. In this respect, Godzilla Minus One is another “transformational phenomenon” of the year, much as Barbenheimer was.

Not any weaker than Gladiator (as we had hoped), but only a bit better than Robin Hood (unfortunately). Passages from the historical stages of Napoleon’s rise to power and “world conquest”, intimately interspersed with his relationship with the woman in his life. The film is entertaining with its actors and the occasional battle, but it is so inwardly reserved that it borders on being bland, with no interest or ability to find personality traits in Napoleon on which the psychology of his story or any other idea could be built. Nor does it make use of the possibilities offered by his personal confrontation with the supporting characters, which could have filled out the narrative with solid content. And Napoleon’s romantic relationship, which receives a great deal of attention, remains cold and thus fails to touch the fewer. The routine narrative raises concerns that the longer director’s cut will be richer in informational content, but equally soulless. Ridley Scott’s first historical film without a musical identity.